I reach over and cover her hand. “I know, but you’re the hero of our story. He lost the role the day he walked out and never looked back. Who needs a man? Not us.”
“That’s not what I want you to take from my past and my relationship with your father.” With her other hand, she covers mine. “You’re right. Don’t ever settle for less than your soulmate, sweetie. You have the shop. You have a life. You never accept less than you deserve. You deserve the world.” Tears swim in the corners of my eyes unexpectedly, but she’s holding me so tight that I won’t pull away to wipe them. She asks, “Promise?”
I nod, feeling too choked up to respond. Getting up, she hugs my head to her body. “I love you, Lauralee.”
Reaching up, I hold her. “I love you, too, Mom.”
We finish dinner, and I volunteer to do the dishes. She stays close, drying each piece after I wash it. “When is the apartment being listed for short-term rentals?”
The apartment . . .my own place, space, and where I finally feel like an adult. Unlike my bedroom down the hall, which was still painted pink from when I went through a bubblegum-pink phase in seventh grade, “I think it’s ready,” I reply, lacking the excitement I once had for bringing in the extra income. I just want to stay there, even move there one day. But that’s not the sensible thing to do. Bringing morepeople to Peachtree Pass, selling more in the shop, and making more money to start building my own bank accounts and investments are important.
I hand her the last one and dry my hands. “I think I’m going to work on it tonight. Get all the last details in place. I’ll probably be late, so I’ll just stay there.”
“Okay. I’m tired, so I think I’ll get in bed early with a new book I got and read.”
I hug her. “Thanks for everything you’ve always done for us.”
She cups my face, looks up—I’ve been taller than her since tenth grade—and smiles. “It was truly my pleasure. You are such a gift in my life.”
“Aw.” I tuck my head to her shoulder. “Love you so much.”
“Love you.”
I don’t waste time packing my bag and throw it in the car. Not sure why I’m in such a hurry, but it feels freeing to call somewhere my own. I have my own life. My mom doesn’t hold me back from living it. She’s good about not judging . . . most of the time and knows about almost everything in my life.
But it’s not the same when you still lay your head down in your childhood bedroom, resting on the same mattress I’ve always had, and staring at the same alarm clock I got when I was ten years old.
I’m sentimental, so I keep so much the same, except for my new place. That’s where I get to reinvent myself, where I get to be who I am now in the present and not stuck in the past. I open the windows and let the wind whip through the car, sending my hair flying about until I pull it back in a swift motion while still driving.
It doesn’t take long before I catch the last of the sunsetand pull into the lot to park behind the building. Grabbing my stuff, I truck up the staircase and let myself in. As soon as I close the door, I feel like I can breathe easier. Not because of my mom. She’s amazing. But I sure like feeling my age for once.
I uncork a bottle of red wine and pour a glass before getting into my pajamas and settling in on the couch to watch a series I’ve been bingeing. After snuggling with a blanket, a plate of deli ham, crackers, grapes, and slices of cheese, I’m ready to dive back into the show.
After the interesting night last night, the early morning, and the long day, I don’t make it two episodes or finish the second glass of wine before I’m sprawled with my legs hanging over the arm of the couch. A knock on the door startles me.
Sitting up slowly, I plant my socked feet on the floor and stare at the door. No one should be knocking, especially at this hour. Do I ask who it is? Pretend no one is home? The knocking is louder with the second rap, causing me to jump.
But then I hear, “Lauralee? It’s Baylor.” My spine sags in relief, and I’m instantly grinning like a fool. “Lauralee, you home?”
“Coming.” I stand quickly, tugging at my crop top and shorts until they’re righted in place. I moisten my lips and unlock the door while patting my hair and hoping it’s not too wild. As soon as I see his gorgeous face, I smile. “Hey there.”
“Hey there,” he says, smiling like I’m the first sunshine he’s seen after a month of storms. With his hands tucked in his pockets, he rocks back on his heels.
I laugh lightly when it seems all he really needed was to see me. Tilting my head, I ask, “What are you doing here?”
“I needed to tell you something.” His hands fall to his sides as a more serious side takes over his expression. Why am I suddenly so nervous?
Gripping the door tighter in one hand, I drag the palm of my other down the side of my hip. “What is it?” My smile falters along with his, unsure of what he’ll say next. “What do you need to tell me?”
His breathing has deepened, and his eyes are laser-focused on mine. Taking a step forward, he cups my face. “This,” he says before his lips crash into mine, and he walks me backward into the apartment.
It happens so fast that I grab his shirt to hold, pulling him as close as I can, and kiss him right back, never wanting anyone more than I do this man. As soon as we part to take a long-needed breath, I ask, “What took you so long?”
“Damn traffic.” He kisses me again, and all else fades away.
CHAPTER 8
Baylor
