Page 55

“Nothing . . .”
“You aren’t . . .” he starts, slow and unsure. “You’re not . . . you know . . . changing your mind?”
“No . . . no. I just . . . I didn’t get you a gift,” I admit.
His face breaks into a smile, and his eyes meet mine. “You’re worried about getting me a gift for Christmas?” He laughs. “Tessa, honestly, you’ve given me everything. You worrying about a Christmas gift is ridiculous.”
I still feel guilty, but I love the confidence on his face. “You’re sure?” I ask.
“Positive.” He laughs again.
“I’ll get you something really great for your birthday,” I say, and he moves his hand back to my face. His thumb runs along my bottom lip, causing my lips to part, and I expect him to kiss me again. Instead, his lips touch down on my nose and then my forehead in a surprisingly sweet gesture.
“I don’t really do birthdays,” he tells me.
“I know . . . I don’t either.” This is one of the few things we have in common.
“Hardin?” Trish’s voice calls as I hear a light tap on the door. He groans and rolls his eyes as I climb off his lap.
I give him a little frown. “It wouldn’t kill you to be nicer to her—she hasn’t seen you in a year.”
“I’m not mean to her,” he says. And, honestly, I know he believes that.
“Just try to be a little nicer, for me?” I bat my eyelashes dramatically, making him smile and shake his head.
“You’re the devil,” he teases.
His mom knocks again. “Hardin?”
“Coming!” he says and climbs off the bed. Opening the door, I see his mom, who looks completely bored.
“Do you two want to watch a movie, perhaps?” she asks.
He turns to me and raises his brow just as I say, “Yeah, we do” and climb off the bed.
“Fantastic!” She smiles and ruffles her son’s hair.
“Let me change first,” Hardin says and waves us out.
Trish holds her hand out to me. “Come on, Tessa, let’s make some snacks.”
As I follow his mom into the kitchen, I realize it’s probably not a good idea for me to watch Hardin change anyway. I want to take things slow. Slow. With Hardin, I don’t know if that’s possible. I wonder if I should tell Trish that I’ve decided to forgive him, or least try to.
“Cookies?” she asks, and I nod and open the cabinets.
“Peanut butter?” I ask her and grab the flour.
She raises her eyebrows, impressed. “You’re going to make them? I was okay with Break ’n Bake, but if you can make them homemade, so much the better!”
“I’m not the best cook, but Karen taught me an easy peanut butter cookie recipe.”
“Karen?” she asks, and my stomach drops. I didn’t mean to bring up Karen. The last thing I want to do is make Trish uncomfortable. I turn away to turn on the oven and hide my embarrassed expression.
“You’ve met her?”
I can’t read her tone, so I tread carefully. “Yeah . . . her son Landon is my friend . . . my best friend, really.”
Trish hands me some bowls and a spoon, asking in a purposely neutral manner, “Oh . . . what is she like?”
I level off flour in a measuring cup and add it to the large mixing bowl, all the while trying to avoid eye contact. I don’t know how to answer her. I don’t want to lie, but I don’t know how she feels about Ken or his new wife.
“You can tell me,” Trish prods.
“She’s lovely,” I admit.
She nods sharply. “I knew she would be.”
“I didn’t mean to bring her up, it just slipped out,” I apologize.
She hands me a stick of butter. “No, honey, don’t worry about it. I have no hard feelings toward that woman at all. Granted, I would love to hear that she’s a dreadful troll.” She laughs and relief washes through me. “But I’m glad Hardin’s father is happy. I just wish Hardin would let go of his anger toward him.”
“He has—” I begin, but stop abruptly when Hardin enters the kitchen.
“He has what?” she asks.
I look to Hardin, then back to Trish. It’s not my place to tell her if Hardin hasn’t. “What are you guys talking about?” he asks.
“Your father,” she answers, and his face pales. I can tell by his expression that he didn’t intend to tell her about his budding relationship with his father.
“I didn’t know . . .” I try to tell him, but he puts his hand up to silence me.
I hate how secretive he is; this is a problem we will always have, I assume.
“It’s fine, Tess. I’ve been . . . sort of spending a little time with him.” Hardin’s cheeks flush.
Without thinking, I walk over to stand next to him. I’d expected him to be angry with me and lie to his mother, but I’m glad that he proved me wrong.
“You have?” Trish gasps.
“Yeah . . . I’m sorry, Mum. I didn’t go near him until a few months ago, I got drunk and trashed his living room . . . but then I stayed the night a few times and we went to the wedding.”
“You’ve been drinking again?” Her eyes begin to water. “Hardin, please tell me you haven’t been drinking again?”
“No, Mum, only a couple times. Not like before,” he promises.
Not like before? I know Hardin used to drink way too much, but Trish’s reaction makes it seem like it was worse than I was led to believe.