Page 47 of Hearts Don't Lie
She mentally crossed her fingers before telling her son a little white lie, having no desire to hint at anything intimate between herself and Hardin. “We had dinner and then stayed up most of the night talking, getting reacquainted.”
“You had that much to talk about?”
“It’s been a long time. There’s been a lot to cover and uncover. As I’ve said a few times, Stowe, it’s complicated.”
“Did you love him?”
Mac framed Stowe’s face in her hands and looked deeply into eyes that marked him as Hardin’s. “I loved him so much that when I lost him, I could hardly function. But when you came along, I discovered”—tears splashed down her face—“a different kind of love. Losing you… Losing you would be the death of me.”
“I love you, Mom. I’m sorry I was a turd.” He squeezed his arms around her waist and buried his head against her galloping heart.
She hugged him tightly. “I’m sorry too. I love you more, my sweet boy.”
Ten minutes passed before her heart returned to normal and Stowe had eased his hold on her. He glanced up at her. “So, dinner and sleepover at Beck’s tonight?”
“No dinner. The sleepover is a maybe.”
“Hardin’s coming for dinner?”
“Hm. How’d you get so smart?” She tilted her head and smiled at her son. “Yes, Hardin is coming for dinner and he’s nervous.”
“Is Hardin smart like you and me?”
The twinkle in Stowe’s eyes and the question with its embedded assumption amused Mac. Laughter bubbled up. “He does okay.”
“What time?”
“Six thirty.”
“I’m going to hang with Homer,” he said pushing off the stool. “Unless you need help?”
Mac ruffled her son’s hair and shook her head. “I’ve got it. You can help later. If the rain holds off, we’ll eat on the patio.” She needed to text Hardin and give him a heads-up that Stowe knew he was his father.
Hardin knocked on the side of the screen door, on time and nervous. He wore khaki shorts and a neatly pressed soft pink button-down, sleeves rolled up, hoping he looked casual but appropriate. He shifted the bottle of wine and a large bunch of sunflowers into his left hand, uncertain of the welcome.
“Hey!” Mac greeted him with a smile, which grew even wider when she saw the flowers, and clapped her hands. “Sunflowers! Oh, thank you!”
“You’re welcome.” His eyes scanned Mac’s sleeveless floral-patterned blouse and the denim skirt that showed off her beautiful legs before connecting with the eyes of his scowling son standing behind her. “Hey, Stowe.”
He grumbled something and turned away from Hardin.
Shit. Expecting his son to accept him out of the blue was unrealistic, but he had hoped.
She gave Stowe a look. “Where are your manners?”
His eyes simmered as they roved over Hardin, avoiding looking him in the eye. “Hello, Hardin.”
The greeting was chilly. Hardin would have preferred she hadn’t forced the issue, had let their relationship develop organically, but it was what it was. He was going to have to find his way through it.
Between the elation of being with Mac all night, little sleep, and the stunning revelation of having an eleven-year-old and not knowing how to bridge those years, Hardin had fought to balance on a tightrope of emotion, feeling as though he was barely holding it together. Back in his suite at the inn after helping Mac and Cori all day at Intrepid, he had researched parenting and how to bond with an adolescent. He certainly couldn’t rely on his parents’ example.
His brain was a mishmash—overloaded with information, expert advice, and incessant worry. Hardin had gone on a five-mile run, then showered and popped into the wine store and flower shop. His renewed but temporary confidence waned the closer he got to Mac’s home, hitting an all-time low when Stowe turned away from him.
She took his hand and held on to it. “Come in. I hope you’re hungry.”
“Pretty much always.”
Stowe trailed his parents into the kitchen, where she released Hardin’s hand to get a vase for the flowers and a wine opener. “Will you open the wine, Hardin?” She placed two outdoor wineglasses close by and recut the flowers. As she added the sunflowers and water to the vase, she tried to draw their son out. “I haven’t had sunflowers in so long, right, Stowe?”
