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“I’m just glad you’re here and you’re safe,” she replies with her back to me. Her shoulders rise and her head dips. Taking another moment, I walk up to her and hug her from behind.

“I’ve always been lucky, Mama,” I say, squeezing around her waist. “But the luckiest thing of all is I have you and Daddy.” She pats my hand where it rests on her stomach.

“I love you, baby girl,” she whispers. After giving Mama a quick kiss on her shoulder, I sprint out of the kitchen and grimace at the sound my worn house shoes make as they slap on the parquet floors in my rush upstairs.

I close the bedroom door with a gentlesnickand hold the phone out as if it might become sentient and start singing Luther Vandross songs.

It’s just a message.

Except it isn’t. It’s a tiny grenade that could blow up any fantasy I’ve started to let myself believe. Because if he’s texting to cancel, that’s not disappointment. That’s humiliation with a capitalH.

“If you don’t pull yourself together…” I stare at my reflection in the dresser mirror.

Yes. For real.

Taking a deep breath, I press the side button to illuminate the screen, and sure enough, it’s a message from Storm.

Madame Lyle would have my head if I were to show up empty-handed. What should I bring for your parents?

I re-read the message several times, trying to decipher the different parts of the text. I reply with the first question spinning in my brain.

Madame Lyle?

His reply is nearly immediate.

My governess as a kid and the arbiter of all things etiquette.

My brows draw down. He had a governess? I look around my small room—the worn white dresser I’ve had since childhood and my twin bed with a hand-sewn comforter certainly don’t scream “I’m so rich I went to finishing school.”

My phone vibrates again.

Wow, that sounded like a lot. But seriously. What should I bring? I currently have six wine bottles in front of me and no clue which to choose.

I grimace.

My parents are COGIC, so for sure no alcohol. They never drink.

Okay, so thanks for keeping me from taking that L. Flowers? Chocolates? Jewelry?

You could save me here, Shae. What’s something simple but still says, “I’m not a total idiot” to your parents?

I giggle at his rapid-fire texting, but his next one sobers me quickly.

It’s important your family likes you with me.

I chew on my bottom lip for a moment, processing that.

“You with me,” I repeat to my stuffed animals. I’m not a dumb person, and Storm’s statement just now is pretty clear. He wants an “us.”

And…I’m fairly certain I want an “us,” too. The only problem is: What I want contradicts what I need.

I need to simplify my life, not complicate it.

Flowers. My mama loves flowers. If you were to bring yellow roses, she’d be over the moon.

Yellow roses. Got it.

I sit back on my bed, staring at the last message. My lips tug upward despite myself. It’s just flowers. Just dinner. Just a boy.