Page 5

5

JAMIE

“I think I fell in love last night.”

Mom almost drops the coffee pot in her lap. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

I shift my weight on the patio chair and sigh against the homemade cookie I’m hovering near my mouth. “I think I fell in love with my robber.”

“Your robber ?” she echoes. The coffee pot clunks on the table before blue eyes the same shade as mine narrow into slits. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack, Jamieson?”

“No, Ma. I’m just being honest, and I don’t have anyone else to tell this to.”

“Perhaps your brother? I was absolutely not prepared for that. Not from you.”

She sits across from me, her stare gentling when I don’t backpedal. I’d have grown defensive if there was any part of me that thought she was wrong for being so surprised.

I doubt this is what she was expecting us to be talking about during one of our morning coffee dates. I’ve been so busy the past week with training that this is the first time I could make the trip over to my parents’ place. They’ll be at my game Saturday, but there’s never much time to chat then. Especially about topics like this.

“Maybe love is stretching it a bit,” I admit.

“A bit or a lot?”

“Whatever is halfway between those options.”

“Oh, Jamie,” she says with a sigh.

I take the coffee pot and fill my mug to the rim before taking a long pull of the bitter liquid. My tongue burns while I decide to dump even more word vomit onto her.

“When I said robber, I didn’t mean it literally. She was more like a bandit in training.”

Mom props her cheek in her tiny palm. She was always a dainty woman, but as she’s aged, she’s shrunk even smaller. The platinum-blonde hair I’ve seen on her head since my childhood is still intact, without even a strand of gray appearing. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s been dyeing it in secret all these years and lying about it.

“Continue, then. I fear I won’t be able to move on with my day without knowing all the details.”

“Well, are you wanting an entire recount of my evening or just the good parts?”

Her smile is bemused. “I’m always up for an hour-by-hour breakdown of your day, sweetheart.”

“Okay, maybe not hour by hour. Don’t be so needy, Ma,” I chastise with a cluck of my tongue.

“Have I ever told you that you’re too much like me?”

I huff a laugh, leaning back in my chair. “Only a million times.”

“Good. Just making sure.”

“Anyway,” I drawl, crossing my arms. “I had just finished up in the gym when I heard someone shouting inside?—”

“What do you mean ‘inside’? Did you leave the front door open again ?”

I hold out a hand before she can give me another lecture. “Maybe, but I swear I thought I’d closed it this time. ”

It’s only happened a handful of times since I moved into my new place, as if that makes it any better.

“Jamieson, you can’t be leaving your front door open! How many deer do you have to have wander inside and scare you half to death before you realize that? And for God’s sake, you were robbed!”

Her cheeks have flushed with worry and anger, her firm mom gaze unwavering. I wiggle beneath it, still incapable of ignoring how well it works to make you uncomfortable.

“That only happened once, but I see where you’re coming from. I wasn’t exactly expecting to be robbed when I forgot to shut the door last night. The neighbourhood has a gate with a code, Ma.” I blink, curiosity blooming. “Wait, do you think she knows one of my neighbours, then?”

“Who, Jamie? You’ve got to slow down here.”

“My robber. Do you think she knows one of my neighbours? How else would she have gotten in?”

Mom rubs her lips together. “What happened? Because if she robbed you, the police need to be involved. It doesn’t matter whether she knows someone in the neighbourhood or not.”

“She didn’t actually rob me. That’s why I’m calling her a bandit in training. When I caught her in my living room, she was mortified to see that I was there. I even offered my Xbox to her after, but she refused to take it. That’s not very robber-like, right?”

“Oh, honey. Did we shelter you a bit too much when you were growing up?”

I take a bite of the soft cookie and chew to keep from laughing at the question. We were absolutely not sheltered growing up. Not when Dad and my uncle Oakley were constantly in the spotlight, and we were exposed to nosy reporters and news articles.

My cousins and I grew up knowing that our actions were being watched and that we had to always be careful. That doesn’t necessarily mean that we weren’t up to some crazy shit in our teen years, but we had to be sneaky about it.

Dad never wore a mask in front of us either. He was his blunt, grumpy, sailor-mouthed self every single day of our lives. Mom even contemplating that we were sheltered is laughable.

“You did not shelter us. And I know I sound like an idiot right now, but there was something about this girl. I believed her when she said she didn’t come inside to steal from me but because she was worried something had happened to me. Doesn’t it say a lot about her that she went inside a stranger’s house just to see if they were okay?”

“If she was telling the truth, then yes, it does.”

“She was.”

She nods. “Okay, let’s say she was being honest. Did you get her name? Did she seem to know yours? What exactly happened?”

My stomach drops, the same reminders that have plagued me since last night making another appearance. “No. I didn’t get her name. Even when I asked for it, she wouldn’t give it to me. And as far as I could tell, she had no idea who I was. When I caught her in the living room, she looked like she was expecting me to storm over and curb stomp her or something. I didn’t want to scare her, so I didn’t push too hard. We talked for a few minutes while she rejected all my efforts to get to know her, and then she left.”

“So, she thought someone might be in trouble when she saw the door open, then she went inside and tried to take your Xbox? Then you caught her, and you talked for a few minutes before she left?” Mom asks.

“When you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous.”

Reaching across the table, she pats my hand. It’s not a pity gesture but a genuine one that she’s done a million times over the past twenty-three years of my life.

“Nothing that brings such strong feelings out of us is ridiculous. I’m just trying to piece together the whole story,” she explains gently.

“That’s all there is to the story. It’s nothing crazy. I just . . . felt something when I was talking to her. Maybe I’m losing it.”

Because surely there’s no way I actually wanted the bandit to stay for another few hours just so I could learn a bit more about her.

Maybe it was how beautiful she was that had me all tangled up. It isn’t normal for someone who looked like her to just show up randomly in my living room on a Wednesday night.

I’ve been with my fair share of women, but not even one of them has been able to hook me as quickly as my bandit did. Her chestnut hair was short and wavy, framing her narrow jaw and cheeks. Matched with her green eyes, naturally pouty lips, and a sharp tongue that lashed out without hesitation, I was more than intrigued.

The distance she kept between us and the worry in her eyes with every step I took toward her was concerning. I’ve always been a pretty protective person, and this stranger, a woman I’ve never seen before and worry I never will again, had me curious enough to contemplate asking for answers I had no right to have.

Even wearing ripped leggings, a dirty shirt, and her unabashedly bad attitude, I wasn’t turned away. That says more than I can explain to my mom right now. My desire to learn about her isn’t something even I can comprehend right now.

All I know is that I want to see her again. As ridiculous as that seems.

“You’re not crazy, Jamie. I’m proud to have raised a son who is so in tune with his emotions,” Mom says.

I can’t help myself when I grin and ask, “Are you finally admitting that I’m your favourite son?”

“No. But you and Oliver have very different and just as special qualities that make you incredible men. ”

“Boo,” I mutter before taking another sip of my coffee and taking another cookie from the plate.

She shakes her head, smiling slightly. “I’m very happy that you feel comfortable enough with me to tell me these things, sweetheart. I’m always going to be here for you, no matter what it is you’re going through.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Of course. Are you going to try and find this woman?”

I arch a brow, tapping my mug. “You don’t think that’s creepy?”

“No. It actually sounds like something a younger version of me would have done.”

“So, what was with all the questions? I thought you were thinking that I was just a weirdo for even contemplating being enthralled by a stranger!” I accuse, pointing my chocolate chip cookie at her.

She tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and curls her mouth into a sly smile. “I’m your mother. Of course, I’m going to get all the facts before adding my opinion. You’ve always been more like me than your father, and this is absolutely something I would have done. Nothing is ever too far-fetched for you and me, especially not this.”

I blow out a breath of relief before reality sets back in. “I have no idea how or where to find her, though.”

“Considering how you met, I want to say that fate might intervene again sometime.”

“So, I just have to wait until then?”

“Don’t pout, Jamieson. Wait, or don’t. Just make sure you know the risks with trying to find her with more . . . unconventional ways.”

“Like hiring a PI?”

She laughs and steals my cookie. “Exactly like that.”

Waiting doesn’t sound that terrible. I’ve never been in a rush to find a girlfriend or— Shit . I’m supposed to get married in a few weeks .

Suddenly, sitting here with my mother is the last place I want to be. Maybe I could just tell her the truth. It’s not like she’ll share it with anyone.

Only my father and brother, all my aunts and uncles and cousins.

I blanch, my skin growing cold and clammy.

“Are you okay?” she asks, leaning forward and peering at me.

Clearing my throat, I stand. “I’ve remembered that I have a meeting this afternoon.”

“Oh! Well, I won’t keep you, then. Can I send you with the extra cookies?”

“Dad won’t want them?”

“He’s cut out sweets again. Says he’s losing his abs with all my baking recently.”

I bark a laugh. “He lost those years ago.”

“Don’t tell him that.”

“You have my word.’

“Is that a yes, then?” she asks hopefully.

“It’s always a yes.”

Her eyes light up as she moves quickly, the plate of cookies held to her chest. We step in from the patio, and she searches through the kitchen for a container.

“Call your father today, okay? He’s going to be pissed that he missed you this morning,” she says while dumping all the cookies into a Tupperware.

I lean a hip to the counter and shove down my guilt for the last few minutes I’m here. “One of these days, he’s going to have to retire for real and stop spending his afternoons at WIT.”

White Ice Training is a hockey training facility that one of my dad’s best friends owns. He’s still as busy as ever and will continue to be that way forever at this rate.

“I think we both know that won’t be for a while yet. He doesn’t know the meaning of relaxation.”

“Book a spa trip with his credit card and pack his bags. He won’t have a choice then. ”

Mom pops on the lid of the container and hands it to me, her expression warm. “Maybe I’ll do that after Oliver and Avery’s wedding.”

“There’s less than three weeks to go now.”

“It’s finally time for you boys,” she murmurs before sniffling. “First, I watched my brother’s children fall in love and get married, and now I get to watch you and Oliver do the same.”

I take her into my arms as she cries, not having the heart to tell her that for now, the focus should stay on Oliver.

When she watches me get married for the first time, it’ll be nothing but a sham, and if she ever learned the truth, it would break her heart.