Braden’s chocolate eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. Was that good or bad? It wasn’t until he spoke that I knew for certain. “You are gorgeous,” he said, acting like he wanted to pull me into an embrace but keeping his hands to himself.
I couldn’t help but grin. “And so are these flowers!” Putting my nose up to the lovely petals, I drew in a deep breath, taking in the scents of delicate sweetness. I picked up the vase and moved it to the table and then, wanting to send Braden the right signals, put my hand in his to lead him out of the house. If we hurried, we just might—
But, of course, as we got close to the front door, I heard my mother’s keys as she tried unlocking a door that was already unlocked. So I turned the knob gently and pulled it open slowly. At first, she said, “Dani, it’s—” Then she paused, taking in both Braden and me, obviously dressed up and going somewhere.
“Can I help you with your bags, Mrs.—”
“Christine. Um, sure. It’s Braden, right?”
At that, he beamed. “Yep.”
She handed him the two bags in her arms and said, “You can put those on the kitchen counter. Dani, come help me get the rest.”
Thishad been exactly what I’d hoped to avoid.
No sooner were we out of earshot that she said, “Isn’t it a little soon to start dating someone else? Especially Zack’s best friend?”
Oh, God, she had no idea. And there was no way in hell I was going to tell her we’d already crossed that bridge. I hopedto deflect her attention by asking a question of my own. “Didn’t you just go shopping? What’s all this?”
“Well…when you told me you probably wouldn’t be coming home tonight, I decided to make a homecooked meal formyboyfriend.”
Oh.
I had so many questions—but she beat me to the punch. “But you should probably come home tonight, honey. If you think you and Zack—”
“Mom, thanks, but I’m an adult, and I’ve made my decision.”
No matter how stupid it was.
She drew in a quick breath, getting ready to retort—and then closed her lips just as fast. After handing me a bag, she said, “I guess you are…and I suppose I can’t stop you from making the mistakes I did.”
Oh, no. I was pretty sure the mistakes I’d made—and was continuing to make—were far worse than any she’d committed. But I didn’t want to have this conversation with her. So, as we walked toward the house, I said in a low voice, “Braden is a really nice guy.” I almost followed it up with saying I deserved to be treated the way Braden wanted to treat me—but was that true? Did I deserve it?
Part of me told myself I deserved no such thing.
But my mother echoed what had been in my mind earlier. “Then treat him nicely.”
I would do my best to try.
Our driveback to Dalton almost felt like what I might call thegood old days, because instead of talking about Zack and hisproblems or about the developing relationship between Braden and me, we focused on topics that felt…normal.
Boring even.
Braden was telling me about how his family’s next-door neighbor was renovating their house. They’d had the old home torn down completely while we were on tour and the newer, bigger home was getting built. Braden said they’d been renting an apartment but now that the weather was warming up, they were living in their fifth wheel parked in their back yard. Between that and contractors on the premises at all hours of the day, his dad was grouchier than usual—but his mother had tried talking his dad into having the neighbors over for a barbecue.
I’d never met his family but Braden never talked much about them. I’d always known he preferred the company of Zack and the band to that of his family—and, when I started to ask questions about his family members, he changed the subject so skillfully that I didn’t even realize it until later that night. “So the reservations are at Angelo’s. Have you ever eaten there?”
“No.” Growing up, my mom and I would eat out on occasion, but it was always at the only restaurant in Nopal, a little diner that sometimes closed in the afternoon when they felt like it. Every once in a while a new restaurant would appear until the owners realized Nopal simply couldn’t support more than one.
Braden said, “It’s smack in the middle of town right along the highway, so they get lots of tourist traffic.”
“Is that why you made reservations?”
His cheeks seemed to grow pink, but I couldn’t be sure. “I wanted to make sure we got a table.”
“So tell me what’s special about Angelo’s.”
“If you like Italian, there’s no place better. Their shit’s authentic, not like the crap we ate on the road.”
