“Yeah.” I shrug. “I’m good in the kitchen, and I think you could use a comfort meal right now.”
“You really were written by a woman.”
My lips quirk. “What does that even mean?”
“You should read those books you bought and figure it out.” She winks, stepping off my bed and sauntering out of the room.
“I’ll be starting right away,” I say, following her into the kitchen. “How about I get you fed, showered, and then you can tab your favorite chapters for me like you promised before we go to sleep?”
She opens the fridge, raising a brow at me over the door. “Asking me to spend the night, Wes?”
“Unashamedly so.” I grin.
“We’ll see how good this meal is first.” She bends down, rummaging through the shelves despite having no idea what I plan on making.
“Great. Grab the heavy cream, bone broth, cheddar cheese, and bread in there while you’re at it,” I say as I gather the tomatoes, onion, basil, and olive oil from the counter. Opening the spice cupboard, I take out oregano, salt, pepper, and red chili flakes.
She spins a moment later, hands full of the items I requested. “Who the hell keeps bread in the fridge?”
“People who don’t like mold.” I wink. “Now sit that ass on the counter and look pretty for me while I make you dinner.”
“Yes, sir.” She mock-salutes as she drops the ingredients on the counter. “What are you making?”
“I told you—comfort food. Tomato soup and grilled cheese.”
“Fromscratch?”
“Yes, baby.” I laugh. “From scratch.”
“Wow,” she breathes, unwrapping the cheese and nibbling straight from the block. “I’m a lucky gal. Your mom taught you to cook, right?”
“Yeah.” I smile to myself, pulling out a baking sheet before cutting the tomatoes into cubes. “She worked for a cancer treatment center and ran the onsite restaurant for patient housing.” Willow tilts her head, brows softening in perplexity. “It’s where the families of the patients live during treatment. It’s a nonprofit, so the families don’t pay anything. Meals are included, and they deliver to the housing units, but also have a restaurant to maintain a sense of normalcy for the families.”
“That’s incredible,” she whispers.
“Yeah.” I nod, swallowing. “My mom ran operations, but she started as a line cook when she was a teenager. She worked there for fifteen years—until she passed.” I clear the burn of emotion from my throat. “Anyway, we didn’t have a lot of money, soshe had to get creative at home. Using simple ingredients to make good meals. She taught me to cook. She thought it was an important skill for me to have.”
“She sounds amazing, Wes. I mean... she must’ve been. Look at you.”
I raise my head, meeting her gaze. “I just don’t want it to have been for nothing, you know? Losing her, I mean. I want to be someone she would’ve been proud to have raised, because I think that would have helped her feel like her life, though short, wasn’t wasted. I failed those first few years, but...” I want to say I’m doing better now, but sometimes I’m not sure.
“You didn’t fail her. I don’t think she would’ve ever seen you as a failure,” Willow whispers.
“I have a criminal record and spent almost two years in a cell.”
“I’m not saying she would’ve encouraged your actions, but I have no doubt she would’ve understood them. You were fighting for her.”
I drop my head in shame. While Willow may be right—I was fighting for my mother—she doesn’t know the full range of my intentions. The initial impact may have been without premeditation and driven on emotion, but it only took seconds for the realization of what I was doing to set in, and only I know how far I would’ve gone had I not been pulled off him.
“And her life wasn’t wasted, Wes,” Willow continues, reaching across the counter and grasping my shirt. I drop my knife to the cutting board, allowing her to drag me between her legs. “She made you, and you arewonderful.” She kisses my nose, and I brace my arms against the counter on either side of her hips, leaning into her warmth. “But beside being a mother, raising the most tender and kind man I’ve ever known, she sounds likeshewas wonderful too. Talented and driven and doing amazing things in her community. She lived a life to beproud of, and I’m sorry it was robbed from her the way it was, but it wasn’t wasted.”
“You speak of her as if you know her,” I whisper, voice cracking.
“I know you. Makes me feel like I know her a little too, I guess.”
My nose stings, throat heavy, breath shallow as I rasp, “It’s nice to have someone else in the world who knows her. Someone I can share her with.”
Willow’s eyes are misty, and she blinks hard, clearing emotion of her own. “I’d be honored if you shared her with me.”
