“Don’t do that shit again or I’ll really give you something to cry about.” Patricia casts one last motherly glare at Aiden, then turns to me. Her features soften, and she smiles. “Hey, honey. You’ve been doing okay? Your brother isn’t giving you too much shit, is he?”
I laugh and wave off her concerns. “I’m fine, and Aiden never gives me trouble, so you have nothing to worry about.”
“Good.” She nods and looks between us.
For a moment, I worry she can see past the front we’re putting on and knows about the taboo deal my brother and I made.
The worry disappears when she says, “You two still want your usual?”
Aiden glances at me, and I nod. He turns to Patricia. “Yeah. And add extra hash browns and make them crispy.”
She pats Aiden’s shoulder with a husky chuckle. “So, your usual. Got it. I’ll be back with your breakfast, kiddos.”
Patricia saunters off, leaving Aiden and me sitting in silence. I stare at the space where the middle-aged waitress had been. It still feels like she’s here with us, leaving a fragment of her down-to-earth personality and the warmth it brings.
“You okay, pretty girl?” Aiden’s voice cuts through my blank state of mind.
“Hmm?”
I blink a few times to clear my head, and only then do I realize how much time has passed. Plates of food sit untouched in front of us. Aiden’s crispy hash browns aren’t covered in ketchup yet, and my strawberry-cheesecake pancakes aren’t slathered in syrup.
“You left me for a while.” Aiden toys with the bottom of my braid, his touch gentle.
“I must’ve disassociated.” I cringe and toss an apologetic smile his way. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He shakes his head, his dark eyebrows pinching together in his visible displeasure. “We can take this to go and head home if you want.”
My back straightens. “No. Really, I’m okay. It’s just . . .” I glance toward the kitchen, where I last saw Patricia. “She reminds me of my mother.”
“She had the same smoker’s voice and I’ll-cut-your-balls-off vibe about her too?” He smirks and twirls the bottom of my braid around his finger.
A laugh bursts out of me, and I don’t care if anyone in the diner looks in our direction to see what the commotion is about.
Aiden grins, his gaze slowly dipping to my lips and lingering for a moment before returning to mine.
I wipe a tear from the corner of my eye and turn to the food. “Thanks, I needed that laugh. But no, Mom had a sweet voice. Just an all-around loving nature. She cared deeply for everyone.”
There wasn’t a holiday where our house wasn’t bursting at the seams with people I considered family. But when I lost her and moved into foster care, I learned that not every home is full of love and not every family wants to spend time together.
If it weren’t for Aiden and the friends I made, I would have given up hope of finding that feeling of belonging a long time ago.
I miss my mom every day, and I curse God for taking her away from me. He cheated me out of making more memories with her. Eight years of knowing her will never be enough.
Aiden unwinds his arm from behind me, and his hand settles over mine. He turns my palm upward and laces his fingers through mine in a firm but comforting hold. I stare at our hands for a moment, marveling at the stark difference. His skin is covered in tattoos and much warmer than my complexion. He has calluses from working with his hands and the countless fights he gets in, but he’ll never hear me complain. I like the roughness of his skin.
He had this hand down my shorts last night, and he sucked his fingers afterward.The wild thought bubbles to the surface, bringing the same weird flutter to my core.
I rip my gaze from our hands, and he watches me with an unreadable expression.
“She would have loved you too, you know? Mom would have raised hell for you and protected you like you were her own.” I give his fingers a gentle squeeze.
Aiden snorts a sarcastic laugh and pulls his hand from mine. “Nah, I don’t think she would have, but thanks for the ego boost.” He points to my stack of pancakes. “Eat.”
I roll my eyes and turn to the plate of food.
Aiden hands me a fork before smothering his hash browns in ketchup and hot sauce. “So, have you heard from that guy?”
“Yeah.” Butterflies fill my stomach as Brandon’s morning text floats to the forefront of my mind.
