Page 10 of Not So Very Sensible

“And your mum?” he prompted gently.

“Oh, Mum.” She sighed, and tears filled her eyes.

“Aw, Lucinda.” He reached across and held her hand.

She blinked at him. “I really don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He had a fair idea. He tried to gently withdraw his hand, but she held on fast, tightening her grip.

“Mum is really sick, and I just don’t know if we can go through chemo again.”

The cynical part of him wanted to point out that it wasn’t Lucinda who was going to face chemo. That was her mother, who had fought breast cancer five years ago and won. But now that the cancer had spread to her liver, things felt different. Still, he knew what a family faced, having gone through this himself, and he also knew what a friend should say. “It’s hard, but you’ll survive.”

“But what if Mum doesn’t?”

How he wished he could calm her with talk of eternity in heaven. But Christine, Lucinda’s mum, didn’t believe in things like that. Even after the health scare before. Her recovery had been put down to good luck and powerful herbal concoctions, not prayers. Still, it never hurt to drop some heavenly seed. “You know I’ll be praying for you all.”

“Thanks.”

She yawned, which triggered his own, reminding him of his early start. “I really have to go soon.”

“I know. You’re always busy. But you need to be careful. I don’t want you burning out.”

“Not my plan.”

“I don’t think it’s ever anyone’s plan, is it? When was the last weekend you actually had off?”

He shrugged, unable to say, her words convicting him. One of his New Year resolutions this year had been to be more intentional about taking time off. He’d clearly failed that one. Within a week, he was back to his old habits.

Her hand caressed his. “Ethan, I think you and I should plan for a weekend away.”

He coughed. “Excuse me?”

“No, not like that.” She laughed. “I know you’re not ready for that. Not yet, anyway.” She winked.

“Whoa. Lucinda, you know how I feel about that. And I won’t be ready until I’m married. Okay?”

“Is this your way of making a proposal?” she asked slyly.

Good gargoyles, the woman was persistent. “No.” Sometimes a man just had to be blunt. “Lucinda, I don’t know what you think this is, but I don’t think we’re at that stage of our relationship.”

As soon as those words escaped, he cringed. Because—yep, there it was. Her eyes had lit. He’d finally called this—this whatever it was—a relationship. When it was a friendship at the very most.

“I’m so glad you’re finally recognising that we’re together,” she purred.

Man. He’d never had much sympathy for Samson, but he could suddenly see how a man could get himself into a mess, where words grew sticky and stuck in a woman’s heart.

“Look Lucinda, we’re not together, and you know it.”

She pouted again. “But you and me, you know that’s what our mothers want.”

But not what he wanted. Still, saying that out loud seemed a step too far. “I really need to go—”

“Oh, but before you do, could you please keep the last weekend in September free?”

“Why?”

“Because I might have a surprise for you.”