“There’s nothing wrong with maturity,” I mutter. “Or someone who wants to settle down.”
Lucas stands, slinging his bag over his shoulder. Josh mirrors him, stick propped against one shoulder like he’s posing for a hockey trading card.
Then Josh says it.
Casual. Deadly.
“I think my mom might like you?”
Oh no he fucking didn’t.
A grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Okay, well, I don’t really know if she likes you but I’m sure she doesn’t think you’re ugly.”
“Josh,” I begin, but my brain scrambles for oxygen. I blink once, twice. Maybe I heard him wrong. Maybe he wasn’t suggesting I ask his mother out.
Ah, but he was, Tuck.
He absolutely was.
What the hell am I supposed to say to that…
2
Maria
I just finish pulling the last of the muffins from the oven when I hear car doors slam outside, followed by the boys’ voices echoing up the street. My hands are still dusted with flour, and a faint warmth from the oven heats my face. Between work and my new college classes, I haven’t had much time with Mom—especially since she moved in with Grant—and I’ve been looking forward to tea and treats, a few stolen moments of calm.
Not that we’ll really get a lot of that. Once the boys come home…chaos.
I smooth my hair back and turn the burner on to boil my old-fashioned kettle just as footsteps start racing up the steps. Ever since escaping California and making a home here in Boston, we’ve lived above the café, thanks to Gina and Ash’s generosity.
They gave me a job and a place to live, and while this place is small, we’ve made it our home. With Mom no longer living here, the boys finally have their own tiny rooms. Someday I’d like to move somewhere bigger, somewhere I can stretch out a little, but that day is still far on the horizon. Especially now, with college classes eating up what little free time and money I have.
I glance at my books on the table. It feels surreal, honestly. After all these years, I’m doing something just for me. Beyond the boys, beyond Mom, beyond the café, no one, outside of my small family, even knows I’ve gone back to school. I’m not sure why I’ve kept it a secret. I suppose part of me is embarrassed, going back in my thirties. And part of me is scared I won’t be able to do it, that I won’t have what it takes to actually finish an undergraduate degree and get into law school.
The voices outside grow louder. I pause, trying to figure out if they’ve taken the long steps around the side of the building, or slipped in through the café. The inside stairs make my morning commute down to the café easy—I don’t even have to step outside. Right now it sounds like they’re using those inside stairs. Probably so Josh can sneak one of tomorrow’s cinnamon rolls. I’m onto him. My boys are always starving and I’m sure they’ll come barrelling in here looking for snacks even after stopping for burgers.
The door swings open, and I walk to the doorway, reaching for the ties on my apron. But my hands, and my heart, freeze when I see who’s here.
Tuck Delray.
Barely a step inside my place, filling the doorway with that broad, solid presence I’ve been struggling so hard to avoid. I try to draw in air, but fail miserably as my lungs betray me. His scent hits first. Warm, faintly woodsy, lingering in a way that makes my knees feel weak. I remember that scent from that one night months ago, the way it had clung to my skin, the way I hadn’t wanted to wash it off in the morning. And the memory that comes next…well, I shove it down, hard.
“Hi,” I manage, a tiny voice struggling against the thrum in my chest.
Lucas and Josh don’t even pause. “Hey, Mom,” they call as they blur past me. Lucas heads to his room, likely to call his girlfriend, Ari. Josh goes to the kitchen. I try to speak, to say something normal, something about homework, about muffins, anything, but the words crumble.
My gaze keeps flicking the length of Tuck’s tall hard body. It finally stops at his broad shoulders, and I take in the sexy way he casually leans against the doorway like he owns it. The way he owned me that night. The way his teasing grin made me melt…
Stop thinking about him, Maria.
I clear my throat, trying again. “Hi,” I repeat, firmer this time.
“Hey,” he says, and then we just stand there, heat arching between us, taking up space in the silence. My chest tightens despite myself, and—of course—my mind drifts. Back in time.
To that night.
After months of tension, it had all come to a peak one late night in the café. By the next day, reality had hit us like ice water. A mistake. One that can’t, won’t, ever happen again. He knew it just as clearly as I did. We might have this undeniable pull, this crackling chemistry, but I’m a mother of two. Random hook-ups are a luxury I can’t have. Not when every choice I make ripples through my boys’ lives.
