“She wants me to be the best version of myself, but the way she sees it. Fully confident, not as bookish, happily engaged to the heir of a Greek shipping tycoon.”
“That specific?”
“More or less.”
“Well,” Ryan says, still methodically squeezing and releasing my shoulders, “a wise woman once told me that we’ll never regret the times we talk to our parents, only the times we don’t. And I know I’m the last person who should be giving you advice, but you’re incredible, Kara. And if your mom doesn’t see that, she’s just not looking at you the right way.”
A too distant sensation of feeling truly happy in my own skin starts to sprout inside me, and I bring my hands up to rest on top of Ryan’s.
“Thank you for saying that.”
“It’s the truth. And don’t you forget it.”
I can’t help myself. I lace my arms around his neck and pull him in for a kiss that’s soft and sweet but still filled with the promise of what’s to come later. He looks slightly dazed and almost shy when I pull away.
“Okay,” he says, “and now Duke and I are going to get out of here before I say or do something stupid and ruin the moment.”
“What could you possibly do to accomplish that?”
“I can’t be sure. Something weird. And considering you’re still wearing my sweatshirt, there’s a solid chance it’d be inappropriate.”
“I think I like it when you’re inappropriate.” My arms are still wrapped around his neck as I pull him in a little closer, bringing myself flush against him.
Ryan lets out a slow breath. “You are going to be the death of me, Sullivan.”
I push him away with a playful smile. “Have a nice walk.”
“Surprise!” My mother, wearing khaki dress pants and a pale pink top, kisses my cheek and crosses the doorway into the apartment.
“Wow,” I say, feigning astonishment, “I can’t believe you’re here.” I close the door and follow her into the living room.
Dear God, please let me pull this off.
“It’s so good to see you,” I go on. “I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch this week. I’ve been a little preoccupied with writing.”
Mom sits down on the couch, placing her purse and a shopping bag down next to her. “I understand that you’re busy and you have a deadline, but it’d still make me feel better if you kept checking in. You know I worry about you.”
“Yes, I know.” I sit down in my reading chair and try to ignore the flurry of risqué memories it now brings to mind. “Again, I’m sorry. I’ll make sure to keep checking in from now on.”
“Good. So has it been a den of productivity over here this week? Is that why you’ve been too busy to make a five-minute phone call to your mother?” My mom speaks two languages: English and guilt. If only she would harness her powers for good instead of evil.
“Pretty much,” I agree. “Just wall-to-wall productivity.”
“Well, that’s good. I know you’re cutting it close. Is there anything I can read yet?”
“Not quite but soon. I think you’ll like it. It’s another historical.”
“I like everything you write and I like contributing, too. Speaking of, I got these for you.” She picks up the shopping bag beside her and holds it out for me. I stand up from my chair and take it with a wary smile.
“Thank you.” I reach into the bag and, one by one, pull out three tank tops, all made with thin material. I force my smile to hold. “These are great. Very thoughtful.”
“You don’t like them.” Her voice is passive but lined with frustration.
“I think they’re veryyou.”
“You haven’t even tried them on yet. The colors will complement you so well. Why don’t you like them?”
“Because I don’t, Mom. I like T-shirts and sweaters and tops you can’t see through.”
