Page 16

A horn went off outside, and I glowered at the windows. “Seriously? He won’t even text me to let me know he’s here or walk to the door? No wonder he’s single.”
Birdie shrugged. “Maybe the charade doesn’t begin until you get to his parents’ house.”
Hen added, “You might want to remember that he’s doing you a favor, babe.”
She had a good point. And that was humbling. I hated needing people. But needing Jonas was kind of my only option right now.
I did another spin in front of my friends and asked, “You’re sure I look good enough to meet his mom?”
“Of course you do,” Hen said. “She’s going to love you just like we do.”
I took a deep breath. I could do this. Six months would go by faster than I knew. Hell, it seemed like only yesterday Birdie and I were splitting rent on a tiny apartment. That had been almost ten years ago.
“Lock up after you guys leave?” I asked.
Hen raised her glass of Cupcake wine. “We got you, boo.”
I laughed through the tightness in my chest and said, “See you later.”
Jonas’s car waited in the driveway, and as I approached, I saw him holding his phone to his ear. Maybe that was why he hadn’t texted or come to the door. As he saw me, he waved, then reached across the seat and opened the door for me.
That was kind of nice.
I got in, setting my purse between my feet and buckling up. He gave me a smile, then continued talking on the phone.
“If you get their books done, I can look over their last year’s return in the morning and see if we need to file an amendment,” he said into the phone. “I appreciate it... Great, see you tomorrow.”
He hung up and gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, normally I wouldn’t honk, but I had to work something out with my bookkeeper, and I don’t want us to be late.”
“It’s totally fine,” I said with a smile. Anxious flutters danced in my stomach. “Maybe it was better I had a second to prepare.”
He put his car in drive, then glanced my way. I couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes lingered on my chest, even when it was half-covered by a cardigan. “Having second thoughts?” he asked.
“Not at all,” I lied.
He kept both his hands on the wheel, at ten and two like he was still strictly following rules from a driver’s ed course he took in high school. I’d learned how to drive at twelve, taking my drunk dad home from whatever bar he’d landed at during closing time, so it was amusing and endearing to see him being so cautious.
“So there’s something I need to tell you about my mom,” he said, his eyes trained on the road.
My eyebrows drew together. “What is it? I know you said she was nervous around new people.”
“It’s related to that...” He was quiet for a long moment, and he let out a heavy sigh before turning down a side street and parking along the curb.
Those nerves in my stomach spread across my whole body. This felt like bad news, and I wondered what on earth I’d gotten myself into.
He released the wheel, putting his hands in his lap, and turned toward me. I didn’t think I’d ever been this close to him all by myself, but now I noticed things I hadn’t before, like the Cupid’s bow of his lips shaped almost exactly like a v. Or how his nose curved slightly out in the middle. It made me want to sit at my keyboard and write, to fill pages describing his features.
But I realized I was daydreaming again, lost in a story when I should have been focused on the current chapter of my life. I refocused my attention on him, listening carefully.
“About sixteen years ago, my mom went to visit her parents in Toronto. One of their friends had passed, and Mom wanted to be there for them while they were struggling.” He tipped his head down, as if not speaking the next part could keep it from happening. “They lived in an old house, the wiring was outdated...” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple sinking and rising. “Her parents died, and she nearly died trying to save them. She barely made it out alive, and she still has scars. Both the kind you can see, and the kind you can’t.”
I covered my mouth, horrified for him, for his mom and grandparents. “How old were you when it happened?”
“Fourteen. She was in the hospital there all throughout the summer, and my sister and I stayed with Dad’s sister in Toronto so we could keep visiting her after Dad had to go back to work. It was hard for all of us, but of course, Mom’s been different ever since.”
“Of course she has,” I breathed. Trauma, I understood. I knew first-hand how it could mold and shape you. How it made the world look different, even years after the fact.
“After she got home from the hospital, she tried to go back to normal life, but it was hard. Kids would stare at her when we went out and ask their parents what was wrong with her. People thought she was contagious and would always stay feet away from her. After a while, I think it just got easier for her to stay home or not meet new people who didn’t understand or love her like we did.”