Istared at her, unsure I heard correctly.
“What?”
Hersmile tightened. “I’m seeing someone,” she repeated.
Mystomach rolled violently around peas and chopped carrots, ground sirloin andpotatoes. I stared at the lump of food still on my plate, and I forced myselfto breathe. I welcomed the interruption of Devin’s electric screwdriver,filling the kitchen and dining room with a therapeutic, mechanical buzz for allof two seconds before moving onto the next screw.
“Kylie,I know this is—” The screwdriver was working again. She sighed, resigningherself to resuming her meal while Devin removed the old hinges from thecabinet.
“Sorry,”he called from the kitchen.
“It’sfine,” she responded with laughter working through her words. Then she askedme, “Are you okay?”
Inodded for a split second, before I shook my head. “Actually, I’m feeling alittle nauseous.”
“O-oh.”Her sympathy blanketed her face. “Are you sure you don’t want some Pepto?”
Witha weak smile, I slowly stood up from the table. “No thanks. I really think Ijust need some air,” I told her, and walked through the kitchen with Devin’seyes on me every step of the way. I opened the back door and stepped onto thedeck, walking to the railing. Pressing myself against it, clutching thesplintered wood in my hands, reminding me so much of those shards of glass,stabbing my palms.
Therewas a new bistro table, set up under a new umbrella and I resisted the urge tocry.
Myparents never had a bistro table. They never sat outside.
Aspredicted, Devin came to join me, closing the door behind him. I squeezed myeyes shut, wanting him to leave me alone. Wanting him to wrap his arms aroundme.
“Hey,”he said, approaching me from behind until he was so close, I felt the heatradiatingoff ofhim. “I fixed the door.”
Ishut my eyes to the yard. “Thanks for doing that for her.”
“Ofcourse.” Strong arms wrapped around my middle and he bent to put his chin to myshoulder. “You okay?”
Iopened my eyes, directed them to the sky, searching for something. A sign,maybe. “I just don’t think I ever expected her to say that.”
“Really?”
Itipped my head against his. Temple to temple. “I guess Ishould’veexpected it. I mean, she looks good, right? But I just thought … I thoughtmaybe she was just taking care of herself, notimpressingsomeone.”
“Maybeshe’s seeing someone that makes herwantto take care of herself,” heoffered gently.
Iconsidered it, accepting he might be onto something, and rolled my eyes as Ifound my smile. “God, I hate you.”
“We’vealready established that’s not true,” he teased, squeezing me before kissing mycheek.
Myhands left the railing to lay over his tattooed forearms. It was hard tobelieve this relationship thing was new for us when it came so naturally. Thisaffection. The love we were finally being honest about. It was the easiestthing in the world and I choked on the knowledge that, once again, he madeeverything okay.
Ishook my head. “God, I’m so fucking happy you’re here right now.”
“Yeah,so am I. You ready to go back in?”
Witha deep breath, I nodded, and he took my hand in his, leading me back inside. Wewalked through to the dining room, where Mom was sitting patiently, eating hercottage pie like nothing had happened. She looked up with an apologetic smileand tapped the table, requesting that I sit down beside her.
“Iknow this is weird, Ky—”
“Mom,why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I blurted out, unaware that it had even beensomething I was thinking. “You could’ve told me. You didn’t have to keep it toyourself.”
“Ididn’t want to say anything until I was sure it was serious,” she offered.
“Mom,I’m not a little kid,” I reminded her gently.
