“Becca?” Mom called, her steps already headed up the stairs to Becca’s loft. “You up, sweets?” Mom kept her voice upbeat, but she’d been worried, and it showed in the cautious way she’d called.
“I’m here.” Becca’s right foot had fallen asleep from the way she sat on the futon. She shook it to wake it up. Her latest project had been a necklace gift for one of Velma’s co-workers. Velma had found some unique, hand-carved beads for Becca to work into the piece. Honestly? It looked fantastic. She nearly wished she didn’t have to sell it.
But she needed to sell it. Her tips were jacked since she’d driven Linx home. Given that her brain was in a perpetual fog, she wasn’t her normal, accurate, waitressy self. Twice last night she’d messed up drink orders. That was not her normal. Brek knew it, too. He said nothing, but Velma had been showing up more often, sitting at the bar to chat with Becca while she worked.
Velma didn’t sit at the bar. She just didn’t.
Becca hobbled toward the door, working her foot in circles to get the blood flowing again. She let her mom in, not that she needed to. Mom would let herself in since the fancy new lock wasn’t engaged. But it gave Becca a sense of autonomy to have some control over her own door.
“Hey, Mom.” She held her arms wide, giving her mom the hug she knew she’d want.
Mom gave a quick squeeze then hustled through with a tray of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies—her specialty. She used granola instead of normal oatmeal, and the results spoke for themselves. Becca wanted to eat the entire plate full. She wouldn’t, but oh boy, did she want to.
“I brought these as a peace offering in case your dad gives you more junk about interrupting his poker game.” Mom pinched her lips to the side. “I keep telling him to let it go. But you know how he is. All you have to do is ask him.”
Right, also, Becca spaced that her dad was hosting poker the other night. She played Dimefront music way too loud, apparently wrecking her dad’s concentration. Multiple times since, she’d heard all about the fifty dollars he lost thanks to her love of rock music.
“I’ll give him fifty dollars to stop talking about it.” Becca toyed with the edge of her fingernail polish that had chipped. Crud, when had that happened?
“Don’t worry.” Mom began folding the bin of Becca’s clothes she hadn’t gotten around to dealing with. “I gave Belinda’s husband a hundred-dollar bill to lose to him this week. Once he wins again, you’ll be off the hook and we’ll all hear about how good he is at the game.”
Uh. “Thanks? I guess.”
“No problem.” Mom held up a pair of lace panties to fold, looked at Becca with her eyes wide and a small smile showing her approval. Then she folded them and set them with the other laundry.
“How’s the jewelry coming along?” Mom nodded to the futon where the remnants were strewn.
Becca sighed. Knots were not enough to keep her mind off of Linx. She didn’t think they ever would be. And she couldn’t reconcile that with what she knew of reality. Deep down, on some internal level, she understood she’d created a smokescreen protection system. Her subconscious had installed it because the truth of the matter was—she could easily fall in love with Cedric Lincoln.
Digging a little deeper? She was already halfway there.
And instead of announcing that to him, she’d spent the past week holed up in her apartment anytime she wasn’t at work, thinking of him. Listening to his music, like she was a tween. Hell, she should probably buy one of his posters to hang above her bed and just get that part over with.
He hadn’t texted because he’d given his ultimatum.
She hadn’t texted because she was being difficult.
Too bad she’d gone into therapy work instead of music because she could’ve cornered the market on angsty, regrettable love songs.
“Can we talk about Linx now?” Mom asked off-hand, but it was more than abundant that’s why she’d come up. “Or is he still off-limits?”
“Mom.” Becca shook her head. Subtle, but hopefully, obvious.
“Off-limits, then,” Mom said to the laundry. “Can we talk about your job search?”
Becca had scoured the internet job listings for a therapist with her credentials. Turned out, she was in high demand. She could go back to her job in Portland, stick around in Denver, or go anywhere, it seemed.
She didn’t want to go anywhere. She wanted to go see her rock star. Throw the ball he’d set firmly in her court and make the move she was certain she wanted more than those oatmeal cookies.
“Sure. We can discuss the search.” Becca moved to help Mom with the basket of laundry. It was that or messing up another row of Velma’s gift bracelet. Her hands were itching to dosomething. “Nothing to talk about, though. I haven’t applied for anything.”
She couldn’t bring herself to want to apply.
“You want to run again, though. Don’t you?” Mom looked up from the sweater she wrangled.
Becca gulped. “Maybe.”
Yes.
