Page 141 of Relationship Goals

“I’m having the team over for dinner and to hang out.”

The phone is silent for a long moment. Then the chair squeaks again.

“You?” She’s breathless. “My son, Luke Wolfe, is having people over?”

I turn away from the noise in the kitchen, walking to the backyard and the clear blue waters of the pool glistening in the California sun. “Yeah.”

“My goodness. Well, that’s just lovely.” She sniffs.

“Don’t cry,” I tell her gruffly.

“I’m not,” she says, but her voice is watery. “I worry about you. My oldest child. You always thought you had to be so tough for us allwhen your dad left. I worried you’d…I worried you’d shut yourself down so hard that you wouldn’t trust anyone again. You were always so solemn.”

“Mom—”

“No, now you listen here. I called to tell you something: that I’m concerned about you after this Abigail person but also that I’m so very proud of you. So proud. And to hear you’re having people over, well, it gives me hope.”

I grunt, and then I think of Abigail and how she’d make fun of me for grunting, and I clear my throat and try to form the words engraved on my heart.

“I love you, Mom. Thank you for calling to check on me. It means a lot.”

“Oh, Luke.” She sniffs again. “Now you’re going to make me cry.”

My eyes squeeze shut. “No, Mom, don’t cry.”

“Well, whatever happened between you and this Abigail they keep taking photos of, I think she must have been a good influence on you.”

A pain lances through my chest, and I rub absentmindedly at it.

“Yeah,” I agree softly. “She was.”

“Are things really over with her?”

I grunt again, and my mom lets out a laugh.

“Well, I’ll take that as a maybe.”

“You would have liked her.” The words come out so fast, I didn’t even realize I’d bottled them up until they hang between us.

“I would like just about anyone who made you smile like she did, Luke. Now, go have fun at your party.”

“It’s not a party,” I say gruffly.

“Fine, go have fun at your not-party. I’ll talk to you later.”

I chuckle at that, and my mom starts scolding my stepdad about something before the line goes dead.

I would like just about anyone who made you smile like she did.

The guys start filtering into the front door just as the catering company’s leaving, and still, my mom’s words ring loud in my ears above their good-natured ribbing.

Abigail would like my mom, too.

Gold takes one look at my face over a plate piled high with tacos and guacamole and cringes. “Do you need Tums or something?”

I glance sidelong at him as I fill my own plate. “What?”

“You look like you have heartburn. You’re having a party at your own house, and you look like you need to pound a bottle of Pepto.”