Page 16 of The Crafting Con

Her happiness must be protected at all costs.

The aroma of sizzling bacon lures me from my bedsheets, and I throw on a pair of jeans and a fitted, white tee before hitting the bathroom and doing a quick washup. By the time I shuffle downstairs, a stack of blueberry pancakes is ready and waiting on the table, along with a platter of said bacon and two steaming cups of coffee. One of which is ensconced in the hands of my mother, who beams at my approach.

A surge of love washes over me at the sight of her smiling face, and I skip past the food and go straight for a hug. Wrapping my arms around this beautiful, resilient woman.

She leans into my embrace, humming contentedly. “Morning, sweetie.”

I brush a kiss atop her faded, blonde hair. “Morning, Mom.” I release my hold, and take the seat opposite her. “Thanks for breakfast.”

“You’re most welcome.” She gives me a bemused smile, and I can almost feel her studying me over the rim of her mug. “It’s been such a busy week, I feel like we’ve barely spoken. Anything new going on you’d care to share with the class?”

A piece of bacon lodges in my throat, and I reach for my coffee, hacking away like a seventy-year-old smoker. Mom, I notice, seems unconcerned by my brush with death, the smile on her face taking on a knowing edge while she silently arches a brow.

“New with me?” I croak, guilt sweats tickling my back. “Not really.”

“Hmm.” Mom taps her nails against the ceramic. “So… no upcoming events we need to plan for then?”

O.M.G.

Does she know about OA Con?

She must know. Why else would she ask that specific question?

I’m a breath away from spilling the entire story when she sighs and sets her mug down on the table. “That boy still hasn’t asked you to prom? Doesn’t he know all the best dresses will be gone if he drags his feet too long?” Another sigh. “Typical, clueless guy. Honestly, I think we should just go ahead and buy one today while we still can. Then you’ll be ready when he does ask you.”

My mouth snaps shut, the incriminating words I was about to spill hot on my tongue. Prom. Of course that’s the event she was talking about. It’s literally the only thing she’s been talking about for the past three weeks. You’d think she was planning my wedding or something, she’s so excited.

I arrange my features in what I hope is an expression of eager anticipation. “Dress shopping would be fun. Count me in.”

“Excellent!” Mom claps her hands together. “We’ll go after lunch. I just have some paperwork to finish up on the Belmont house, and then I’m free as a bird. Oh, you should text Stasia and invite her along. We’ll make a day out of it.”

“Sounds great.” I should probably check in with Declan about workshop prep, but the atmosphere was so tensely awkward when I left yesterday, I kind of don’t want to be the one to reach out first. Especially if he’s changed his mind.

I’ll just wait for him to text me, assuming he still has my number.

Only, what if he doesn’t?

A knock sounds on the door, as if summoned by this very thought, and I morph into a panic-stricken Popsicle as my mom’s gaze swings that way. Oh no. No, no, no. This isn’t happening. Declan is not standing outside my house right now. How could I possibly explain it without mentioning the workshop?

Wait, why am I still just sitting here?

I need to cut her off, distract her…

But it’s too late. Mom is already heading into the foyer.

I’m doomed.

I hear the door open, and the muffled sound of voices. The one outside is distinctly male. Crap, crap, crappity crap.

“Come on in,” Mom says, her voice ratcheting up to max brightness. I can literally hear the grin on her face. “We’ve got pancakes and bacon.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I ate before I came,” the male voice replies. The deep male voice. The very much not Declan’s male voice.

“Tyler?” I blink in surprise when the six-foot-two lacrosse captain steps into the kitchen like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to be at my house at ten o’clock on a Sunday morning.

“Hey, Ava.” He grins, all effortless comfort and ease. “How’s it goin’?”

“Good? I guess?” I glance from him to my mom, who practically floats into the room behind him. “What, um, what are you doing here?”