Chapter 7 #2
I roll my eyes. So I went a little overboard this morning. It was early. I lacked sleep, but most of all, I was riding a high from our time together and didn’t want it to end so awfully. “I won’t attack.” I flash a smile at him.
“How much do I owe you for the ice cream and gum?”
“May I have this apple juice?” Beckett asks, suddenly appearing out of nowhere.
Baylor looks down and ruffles his hair. “It’s like you sensed my wallet coming out.”
Beck laughs. “I promise this is it.”
“You sure? You left candy on the shelves,” Baylor says, teasing him. “Grab your gum and juice. I got you covered.”
“Thanks, Uncle Bay.”
“You’re welcome.” When Baylor turns back to me, he says, “It’s not on the house either. I’m paying, so go ahead and ring us up.”
“Since you insist.” I tap on the register keys, then tell him the total. After swiping the card he already has waiting, I hand it back.
His hand covers mine, the tip of a finger running over the top of my hand. “I’ve been thinking about today.”
“Hope they were good thoughts.”
The way his eyes are set on mine has me thinking they were not-safe-for-work thoughts. He licks his lips, then says, “I’ll stop by again before I leave town.”
I’m not sure what he means by that. Stop by and hook up. Stop by with the kids for ice cream. Stop by to say bye on his way to the airport on Monday. And I don’t have time to ask before he turns to leave. “Have a good day. Bye, Beckett?”
He turns to wave, but I’m still stumped by his hot uncle and what stopping by before leaving town means to that man.
God, I hope it’s what I think it is.
“Dinner, Lauralee.” My mom’s voice carries from the kitchen at the front of the house to my bedroom in the back.
“Coming.” I close my laptop and push off the bed. Padding down the hall in socks because she keeps it as cold as an igloo in here, I tuck my hands in the pockets of my sweatpants. Bundled in a sweatshirt I got from Colorado when visiting Chris at college years ago, I say, “It’s so cold, Mom.”
“I’m burning up, sweetie. Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I inspect the casserole on the stovetop. “King ranch chicken bake?”
Her shoulders slump forward in defeat. “I wasn’t inspired.”
“I know the feeling.”
She scoops some into a bowl and hands it to me.
“Did many customers come in today?” My mom opened the shop and bakery before I was in elementary school.
I grew up in that place and learned to bake in the kitchen.
She’s been trying to step away and hand it over to me for quite a few years, but she’s struggling. Like me, it’s her baby.
“Actually, business was good. Saturdays always are with people passing through town or visiting the Hill Country.” I set my bowl on the table and pour two glasses of water before sitting down.
She sits next to me at the table with a fork in her hand. “That’s good. Anything eventful?”
“Baylor is back.”
A smile comes naturally from the sound of his name. She always adored him even though she knew he would wreak havoc if you let him. We’re all a sucker for a bad boy, I guess. “How long is he in town?”
“Quick weekend trip. He brought Beckett and Daisy to the shop to get ice cream.”
As soon as she swallows a bite, she coos, “I bet that was adorable.” And then right on time, she adds, “I always thought you and Chrissy would have kids at the same time.”
I used to snap back at anyone who made a comment implying I had fallen behind in life or wasn't doing things on their expected timeline, or worse, treated me like a spinster at twenty-nine. I’m okay with the pace. I’m okay being me. “She met her soulmate.” I take a bite.
“It doesn’t have to be as glamorous as that.”
Lowering my fork, I laugh. “Soulmates are now glamorous?”
“Well, my point is, reliability, someone who can take care of a family is not the worst thing you can find in life, Lauralee.”
“And how did that work out for you?” I hate myself the moment the words leave my mouth. “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”
“Your father . . . um.” She takes a sip of water. When she sets the glass on the table again, she continues, “I confused love for responsibility.”
“Because you were pregnant with me.”
“We did the best we could.” She sets her fork down and looks at me.
Her eyes are green instead of brown. Mine come from him, something I’ve always had to live with.
My darker hair is from his side of the family.
My height, my attitude. All from him. The man who had no interest in seeing this parenting thing through.
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 more people 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 sunset and 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.