It’s the only way I don’t start expecting more. Hoping for more. Letting myself reach for something I already know I can’t keep.
“Did you always want to work for a start-up?” I ask.
She smirks. “No. Originally, I thought I wanted to work for Timantha’s start-up because I figured I’d get hooked up with a billionaire bad boy or something.”
I arch a brow. “And that’s no longer the case?”
I know the answer. I just want to hear her say it.
“No. I’m partial to bears,” she says sweetly.
I grin, but I don’t let on how much those words hit. How much I crave knowing that she desires me.
“Bears can be dangerous,” I remind her.
“They can also be cuddly,” she counters.
I’d love to pull this truck over right now and prove her right.
Cuddle thefuckout of her.
We pull up to my mom’s house, and it’s exactly as it always is—something straight out of a damn fairytale. The cottage is small but sturdy, its walls whitewashed and half-covered in ivy. The other half is just pure beauty. That’s how my mom has always been. A little bit magic, a little bit heart.
I get out, open Max’s door.
“Wow,” Max breathes, taking it all in. “This place is…enchanting.”
I lead her inside, where the scent of lemon balm and vanilla hits us immediately. The house is warm, cozy, every corner filled with small treasures. Shelves lined with jars and glass bottles, bundles of herbs drying from the beams overhead.
Mom comes bustling in from the back room, apron tied at her waist. “Oh! I wasn’t expecting both of you. Come in, come in!”
She kisses my cheek, then turns to Max almost immediately. “I’ve got a fresh pot of coffee on and muffins almost ready to come out the oven. Would you like to help me bottle some oils? Just finished a fresh batch.”
Max practically beams. “I’d love to.”
I shake my head, already knowing they’re going to be thick as thieves before this is over. It’s written all over their faces. But damn if it doesn’t sting. Because my mom’s falling for her, too.
I watch them disappear into my mom’s workshop area. “I’ll be in the back,” I say, grabbing my toolbox, but they don’t even seem to care.
Mom’s front door frame needs fixing. The kitchen faucet’s been leaking for weeks because Elliott can’t be bothered to lift a damn finger. The thought makes my jaw tighten. She lets him off the hook too easy—always has—while expecting the world from me.
There are times I’ve tried to make sense of it—how we came from the same house, the same woman, and yet ended up with two completely different relationships with her and value systems. But anytime I ask, she never gives me a straight answer. Just that soft smile and the same damn line:“Mothers give their kids what they need. And every child requires something different.”
Yeah. Well, sometimes I think she gave him too many passes and left me with all the weight. But it’s something I’ve said far too many times and she’s refused to address it just as many.
By the time I’m done, I wander back to the living room and stop at the doorway.
They’re sitting side by side, laughing and chatting like old friends. Max is asking about oils for cramps, and my mom islisting off a whole damn apothecary—where to rub what, which ones are better for mood, digestion, skin.
I linger in the doorway for a bit, arms crossed, watching them work. The sight makes me feel like I’m seeing two parts of my life that should’ve never collided, blending seamlessly. Max is perched on a stool, sleeves rolled up, measuring oils with a focus that makes my mother beam. Their laughter floats through the air, easy and warm. It stirs something deep in my chest.
After a few minutes, I clear my throat from the doorway. “You two done with the trade secrets yet?”
They both glance up with matching smirks. My mom waves a hand, not the least bit rushed. “Oh, hush, Eli. We’re almost finished. Besides, Max was just telling me about all the drama she’s causing, pretending to be your girlfriend for the news. I’ve been seeing you two getting talked about on social media.”
I let out a breath, leaning against the doorframe. “How did you hear about that? I didn’t think you paid much attention to the tabloids, or I would have given you a heads-up.”
She just laughs, the sound bright and motherly. “One of the ladies from church sent me a screenshot. She said her daughter practically cried when she heard you were off the market”
