Hazel’s mother’s house was a bit bigger than her childhood home, but it still smelled the same. The wooden coffee table was still the same, as were the frilly curtains, which didn’t keep out any sunlight but created a cozy,old peoplefeel.
There had been several reasons why Hazel had never introduced Gareth to her mother or brought him back to New York, where she had grown up.
After they met, she had, naturally, googled him, and the photo of his childhood home had suggested that he had grown up as a prince of a small European country, or at least the son of an oil mogul who evaded more taxes than her mother had ever been required to pay. Their childhoods had been worlds apart. And despite telling Gareth that she had grown up poor, she had never been certain he had truly understood the significancebehind it, from the mold in their apartment to her mother’s coupon folders and the collection of ketchup packets in the kitchen. There was always room to cut corners. Even with a full scholarship and several additional grants, it was nothing short of a miracle that Hazel even made it to college, let alone Harvard. When she was accepted, she’d cried for a whole hour and then vowed not to let this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity slip away or let anything or anyone distract her from her path out of poverty. Because being poor was terrible — and she hadn’t taken Gareth home because she simply couldn’t bear his pity. He’d always treated her as an equal in every way imaginable — and too many of her ex-boyfriends had tried to slip her money when they found out how little her bank account held.
However, she’d been even more afraid that visiting her mother wouldn’t have changed Gareth’s opinion of her, that her mother would like him, and Gareth would have fit into this part of her life just as perfectly as the rest of it. And in doing so, he would have taken away any safety net she had woven around her heart.
The worry had been justified.
“Thank you for your help, Gareth!” her mother said as she escorted them back to the door an hour after their arrival. “I’m not familiar with all these legal terms and Hazel has never explained them as clearly as you.”
Hazel rolled her eyes and pulled on her jacket. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Well, it’s true. You lack patience,” she complained, and clicked her tongue. “And you’re certain it won’t end in a lawsuit?”
“Kosianos merely likes to threaten with it,” Gareth replied calmly — and Hazel wished she felt as confident as he sounded. “He’s as uninterested in the paperwork as any lawyer. And evenif he goes to court, there’s no way he can win the absurd sum he’s demanding.”
Her mom took a shaky breath, and Hazel’s heart clenched painfully at the worry lines on her forehead. “Are you sure?” she repeated quietly.
“Yes. But if you have any more questions, just call me, okay?” He pulled a business card from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to her. “Even if it’s late. I’m a night owl anyway.”
“Says the guy who fell asleep at ten yesterday,” Hazel muttered darkly. Gareth didn’t need to besonice, otherwise, her mother might think…
“You truly are a kind young man, Gareth! Here, take the remaining cookies.” Smiling broadly, she pressed a Tupperware container into his hand.
Oh dear. Her mother only fed the people she deemed worthy of her cooking. Things were getting worse and…
Hazel stopped abruptly. Her gaze had fallen on Gareth’s face and…was the multimillionaire who would undoubtedly get a spot as the ice monster in the musicalFrozenwithout an audition – was he blushing?
“Um, thanks,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment and smiling.
“Oh my God, now I know where I know you from!” her mother exclaimed enthusiastically before glaring at Hazel, which unsettled her to the core. “He’s the man in the photo in your wallet, isn’t he?”
Hazel’s heart lurched. “What? No. You’re confused,” she croaked.
“Yes! That’s how I know his face, he…”
“Mom, it was nice to see you,” she said hastily, leaning in and kissing her hard on the cheek. “Let us know as soon as you receive another letter. Love you.”
The next moment, she pushed Gareth outside and closed the door.
It was a shame Gareth had ears.
“What did she mean by photo?” he asked, frowning and following her down the driveway to their cars.
She waved her hand dismissively and shoved her damp hands into her jacket pockets. “My mother was talking nonsense. She mistook you for someone else.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. Probably with the muscle-bound guy on my gym membership card.”
“You go to the gym?”
“Of course not. I run around in high heels all day, that’s enough exercise. But can’t I still be a member?”
Gareth snorted, but when she glanced over her shoulder, she noticed that he was suppressing a smile. “Sure. So, I’ll write the reply to Billy’s ridiculous letter and let you know if he gets in touch.”
She rubbed her lips together, rocked back on her heels, and nodded, her gaze fixed on her mother’s kitchen window, behind which she could see her scrubbing the sink. The spotless sink.
