Page 95 of The Write Stuff

She made it sound so easy. There was just one little problem. “What if she won’t deal with you?”

“Then I’ll blow her pathetic little narrative right out of the water, and I’ll enjoy doing it.” Mom gestured toward the couch. “Sit down. It’s time I told you the whole truth.”

I padded toward the couch, uncertain. Just what was she about to tell us?

25

TWENTY-FIVE

Going to lunch with Mick made me nervous, although I had no idea why.

I was an adult, and he was never the villain I made him out to be. Okay, he was never the villain of my story. He was likely the villain of my mother’s story, which gave me pause.

She would not look kindly on us having lunch together. In fact, she would see it as disloyal to the nth degree. That was the thought that gave me pause outside Sunday Sunday, an adorable diner that Wylie and I had found a few weeks before. They had an eclectic menu and comfortable booths.

Mick’s hand landed on my back, reminding me that I’d stopped moving. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said in a low voice.

“That my mother is going to look at this as the most disloyal thing I’ve ever done?” I challenged.

“Yes.” He managed a flat smile. “I’ll take the blame for it and say I forced you into it, should it become an issue. We really need to talk, though.”

My first instinct was to argue. We didn’t need to talk. He’d left my life a long time ago. When I pictured Wylie’s face as I told her I could never see her mother and stepfather again, though, it made my stomach threaten a revolt.

“Okay.” I walked into the diner and waited for the hostess to send us to a table. Once we were seated, I made a big show of looking at the menu. “The Raspberry French Toast is great,” I blurted when the silence had stretched too long.

He arched an eyebrow. “That sounds like something that would make Wylie happy.”

“She loves pancakes and French toast,” I agreed.

“You’ve always preferred eggs.”

That gave me pause. How could he remember that? “Um …”

“Take a breath, Huxley,” he ordered. “I get that you’re worked up. I don’t blame you. This isn’t going to be nearly as bad as you think it’s going to be, though.”

I had my doubts, but I didn’t argue. “Okay.”

The server picked that moment to take our orders.

“I’ll have the Savoy Sunrise,” I said. “Eggs over-medium. I’ll have the London Fog as well, hot, and an orange juice.”

The server nodded and turned to Mick.

“I’ll have the shrimp and grits and a black coffee, please,” he said, smiling as he handed over the menu.

The server took it before bouncing off, leaving me nothing to do but stare at him.

“Where do you want to start?” Mick asked.

It felt like a trick question. “I thought you had something you wanted to tell me,” I pressed.

“I do, but there are some things I want to say to you, too. About Wylie.”

My blood ran cold. “I’m not letting you break us up.” If he thought he was going to bully me into saying goodbye to the best thing that had ever happened to me, he was sadly mistaken.

“I have no interest in breaking you up,” Mick replied. “I think you’re actually a good pair. I thought you were a good pair back then, too, although your mother had a good point about that when I was going to press the issue.”

I was so very confused. “What are you talking about?”