Chapter 49 Mo
Mo
“Do me a favor?” Mo asked as she shoved a tote bag stuffed with picnic makings into Deli’s arms.
“What?”
Mo pulled her cleaning tiara from her pocket and put it on. “Remember to have a little fun?”
Deli’s face scrunched in confusion. “I . . . Is that a tiara?”
“It’s chore day.” Mo patted her pockets for her keys. “Chores are easier to do when you have a crown.”
“Why haven’t I ever thought of that?”
Deli grinned, and it loosened the worry that had gripped Mo’s heart since the night of the darts tournament a few days before. Her niece hadn’t been her curious, vibrant self since then.
“Royal secret. Sir Beans has one to match.” She reached out and booped the tip of Deli’s nose. “Seriously, buddy. Have fun.”
Deli curtsied. “Milady.”
Mo left Deli waiting for Lachlan in The Wallflower so she could bust out some serious cleaning before she had a cake tasting in the city.
Lachlan’s Land Rover came around the corner and drove up the bank of The Wallflower’s lane so Mo could squeeze past while he rolled his window down.
She smiled. “Hey, you!”
He nodded toward the top of her head. “Chore day?”
“Professional secret for you: Brides don’t like walking down the aisle covered in mystery cat fur.”
“Checks out,” Lachlan said as he tried to subtly scan her car.
“I left her in the pub, and you’re not sneaky.”
He slapped a hand to his forehead and groaned. “What’s wrong with me?”
Mo suppressed a squeal. “Are we admitting it?”
He stared at her, all pitiful. “I suppose we are.”
“Yes!” She fist-pumped into the air. “Yes, yes, yes!”
“You mock my misery.”
“Love is misery, my boy.”
“Mo, am I a thirty-four-year-old man with a crush?”
“Not for long.” If Mo had written a list of her wildest hopes, Lachlan and Deli being destined would have been on it.
“I don’t know why you’re so happy to see me fancying a girl who’s in love with someone else.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
“Have you forgotten the entire reason she came here?”
“Why she came here is yet to be decided, if you ask me.”
His brows knit together. A guarded hope crossed his face. “What do you mean?”
Mo felt the tug and push of what she wanted to say and what she probably should. “I mean that with space comes perspective, and that guy sounds like an asshole.”
“Such an arsehole, my god.”
They chuckled until the sort of charged silence that could only be relieved by things yet to come fell between them.
Lachlan reached toward her through his window, and she took his hand. “Mo, I’m so sorry for . . . for what I said about her. About you. I was afraid she would hurt you when she left, but I was out of line. And I was wrong.”
Over the years Mo had told Lachlan, again and again, that his fear of becoming his father was a thing without roots. He continued to prove her right.
“Lachlan? Remember—courage.”
He studied their fingers, knotted together like their lives. “From Deli? Or from me?”
Tug and push. Push and tug.
“Love you, kid. Have fun.”
Mo squeezed his hand, then let go, and Lachlan pulled away.