With a satisfied nod, she headed for the door, but not before throwing one last look over her shoulder. “I’ll be watching—er,checking in—on you two!”
As soon as the door clicked shut, I let out a long, exhausted breath. “Well, that was a disaster.”
Topher ran a hand through his hair like he was about to pull it out. “You think? She’s going to be watching every move we make.” He grabbed his laptop. “Let me do a little work before we go visit my mom.” He typed for a moment, but then froze mid-motion and groaned like the world was ending. “The internet’s slowing down again.” He whirled around, narrowing his eyes at me like I was the Wi-Fi saboteur. “Did you do something to it?”
I blinked, incredulous. “Me? I didn’t do anything! I haven’t even been on the internet!”
I couldn’t believe this guy. He could run a multi-million dollar company, but he couldn’t survivefive minuteswith slow Wi-Fi. It was like watching a grown man unravel because his lifeline to endless work emails had been cut. What kind of person is so obsessed with working that a minor internet outage sends them into a tailspin?Unbelievable.
Topher paced, running a hand through his hair again. “I can’t work like this. I’ll figure it out later.” He glanced toward the window, his eyes narrowing like Gladys might already be out there plotting. “Let’s just go see my mom.” He looked down at his crisp slacks and button-up. “Let me change my clothes first.”
I nodded absently. “I’m going to have one of those muffins.” All the stress was making me hungry. In the kitchen, I froze.Wait a minute.The muffins weren’t wrapped. Gladys had made such a big deal about the Saran Wrap, and yet there they were, muffin tops exposed to the world like nothing had happened.Weird.
I glanced down the hall to tell Topher about the muffins, but when I saw him, every word I ever knew flew right out of my head.Muffins? What muffins?There was only Topher’s muscular back as he pulled off his shirt, the bedroom door slightly ajar.
And, wow.
He was...in good shape. Not just “Oh, he works out occasionally,” in good shape.Really good shape.His back was all lean muscle, flexing with every movement as he tugged his shirt off. I blinked, my brain doing a weird thing where it completely short-circuited. Was this the same guy who spent his life obsessing over work? This was not the image I had in my head of him. At all.
I should’ve turned away, should’ve said something,anything,but instead, I just stood there, staring. He moved fluidly, obviously not aware of the effect he was having, as he grabbed a Henley and slipped it over his head. His muscles rippled with every movement. The shirt clung to him as he adjusted it, and my eyes lingered far longer than I’d care to admit.
I thought back to everything Gladys had said about him being a math nerd. If this was what math did to a person, maybe I should’ve paid more attention in algebra.
7
We didn’t even makeit to the curb before the bickering started.
By the time we slid into Topher’s waiting car, we were already mid-argument. That’s right—Topher had a driver. And this was not the limo driver with the walker from the airport, mind you. This one looked like his only job was to wait around until Topher snapped his fingers and demanded to be whisked somewhereimportant.Like the hospital. Where we were headed. To visit his recovering mother.
With zero flowers.
I shot Topher a glare as we marched toward the hospital entrance. “Flowers are not frivolous!”
“For the last time, Mom doesn’t want flowers. I mean, she doesn’t need anything, but if we get her something, she’d rather have something useful.”
“Useful?” I threw up my hands. “Oh, sure, let’s grab her a screwdriver set. Maybe a nice set of pliers to really brighten her day!”
“She doesn’t need something that’s just going to die in a week.” His eyes were glued to his phone, which only made me more irritated. There we were, visiting his mom in the hospital, and the guy couldn’t even pull his face away from his work for five minutes.
“Yeah, well, she doesn’t need you glued to your phone either, but here we are,” I shot back. “Are you seriously working right now?”
He didn’t even bother looking up. “I’m not working. I’m just checking in.”
“Just checking in?” I stopped dead in my tracks, letting out a frustrated huff. “Topher, we’re here to visit your mom, not to make sure your company’s stocks haven’t crashed in the last five minutes.”
Miraculously, he slipped the phone into his pocket. We marched toward the hospital entrance in stiff, irritated silence. The tension clung to the air between us like static. But the moment we stepped inside, the sterile smell of the hospital hit me. It was a scent that always brought back memories. Bad memories.
Topher’s pace slowed as we approached the recovery wing, and worry creased his forehead.
At his mom’s door, a nurse stepped out, smiling warmly. “You can go in. She’s doing well. The surgery went smoothly.”
His mom was lying in bed, looking pale but peaceful, her eyes closed. Her hair was a little disheveled, and the lines on her face showed exhaustion, but when she opened her eyes and saw us, her whole face lit up.
“Hey, you two,” she said weakly, her voice full of warmth.
Topher walked over to her bedside and gently adjusted her pillow, smoothing it with careful hands. “Hey, Mom.”
“There’s my boy.” She reached up and patted his arm. Then her gaze shifted to me, and despite her exhaustion, she smiled. “And Kathleen, sweetie, thank you for coming.”
