Page 53

I was only cautiously optimistic she'd actually board. My mother considered time a suggestion. Much like speed limits, expiration dates, and medical advice.

Damon slipped outside to retrieve my luggage.

“Don’t take that tone with me, young lady.”

Oh boy, it was going to be one of those calls.

Cool, cool, cool.

“I just got off the phone with your Auntie Reba, and why in the H-E-double-hockey-sticks am I finding out about the new man in your life from my sister?”

I tried to keep my ‘tone’ in check as I explained, “It's new⁠—”

“And now I find out a pipe burst and you're shacking up with him!” she cut me off.

Her voice was so loud that Damon heard her as he returned carrying my bags.

I knew he heard her because he stopped beside me and silently mouthed, “Shacking up?”

I closed my eyes.

There were many things I loved about my mother.

Her ability to communicate at a volume only dogs should've been able to hear was not one of them.

“Didn’t you learn your lesson with that weasel, Kenny?”

“Mom, we can talk about this tomorrow. You need to get some sleep.”

“I'm not getting off this phone until you tell me what's going on.”

Damon disappeared down the hallway with my luggage.

“There's nothing to tell.”

“Are you sleeping with him?”

“Mom!”

“I'm a grown woman, Mikayla. I know what people do.”

“Congratulations.”

“Don't get smart with me.”

A little late for that. I had an MBA.

Damon reappeared with a half-grin that caused my knees to go weak and my heart to do backflips. He casually leaned against the doorway, stretching his arms overhead to grip the frame.

His T-shirt rode up. Exposing a strip of sculpted abdomen and the unmistakable V of muscles disappearing beneath his waistband.

Oh, for the love of⁠—

Was that necessary?

Was he deliberately trying to make me forget my own name?

“Missy, you better start talking.”