by Maria Luis
“Mom?” came Julian’s hesitant voice by her shoulder. A hand landed on her arm. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She was not fine. She stirred the pasta and added a small bit of water so the bottom of the pot didn’t scorch. Over the years, she’d learned the mechanics of cooking even if she’d never learned to master the skills of spices and flavoring.
“That’s what Shae tells Brady every time he screws up.”
“Messes up,” she corrected again, still stirring angrily.
“Mom,” Julian said gently, “you’re decapitating the noodles.”
Anna glanced down and, sure enough, a few stray noodles had landed on the stove, the alfredo sauce splattered like cream-colored blood. “Right. I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
Because you obviously want a father figure and I can’t even manage a single date. Stifling that particular thought, Anna only said, “I don’t know.”
And, because Julian had lived with only a mother for his entire life, he deadpanned, “Are you on your period?”
His monotone voice made her laugh. Trust Julian to cut to the heart of the matter—or what he thought to be the heart of the matter, anyway. The truth was a lot more convoluted. “Yes,” she lied, because it was easier to blame her tears on PMS than to admit that maybe, somewhere in the last fourteen years, she’d done her son a disservice. “Don’t mind me.”
Biting his lip in thought, Julian planted his hands on the countertop and jumped up to sit on the granite the way he’d done since he was a kid, when Anna had to drag a kitchen chair over so he could climb up. Now, his legs hung loosely and he had to hunch his back and rest his elbows on his knees to avoid banging his head against the upper cabinets.
Her stirring gentled, thankfully, and the noodles were no longer at risk of losing their lives. “What are you thinking,” she prompted Julian. “A quarter for your thoughts.”
A grin lifted his mouth at their inside joke. At ten years old, he’d started demanding a quarter instead of a penny, already an entrepreneur in training while still in elementary school. “I’m thinking that I’ll have to ask you about the Mr. Ajax thing next week once your period is over.”
“Jules!” She swatted him on the knee, and he cackled joyfully.
“I’m just saying, Mom, you might really like him.”
Maybe, but would she like him more than a handsome, green-eyed veteran who had no interest in her? Questionable. She’d desperately wanted to meet Mr. Right. Sumner Ajax next door had all the right qualities.
And instead of pursuing Mr. Right, she was consumed with thoughts of Mr. All Wrong. Clearly something was wrong with her. Anna had always thought herself to be a smart woman, but Luke O’Connor had shown her otherwise in the last few weeks.
In the end, it was Julian’s earnest air that gave her pause. “You really want me to go on a date with him? Mr. Ajax, I mean.”
Steam rose from the pasta pot, and Anna removed it from the burning eye, all too aware that Julian watched her steadily. She took down two bowls from the cabinet and heaped a large mound of pasta into one and a small hill into the other. Parmesan cheese was sprinkled on both bowls—hers more liberally drenched with the cheese—before sticking two forks into the pasta and handing the larger portion over to Julian.
They ate in silence for the next few minutes, leaving her to wonder if it was Sumner Ajax specifically that Julian wanted her to date, or if any guy would do. She poked at her pasta, then reached for the green container to add more Parmesan. The noodles were bland, as usual. She’d forgotten to add the garlic again.
Julian, bless his heart, didn’t mention the poorly seasoned dish. He devoured the pasta, all but shoveling the food into his mouth, before rinsing the bowl out in the sink and placing it in the dishwasher.
“Can I be honest?” he asked, as Anna once again went for the cheese. Some people thought wine cured all hurts; Anna believed cheese had the same power. Julian didn’t wait for her to answer before he continued, “I just want you to be happy, Mom. Ever since . . . last year, you’ve just seemed down.”
“Things are great, Jules. The shop is doing—”
“I’m not talking about the boutique,” he interrupted. “Last year, with my dad . . .”
At his beseeching glance, she whispered, “I know.”
“Right.” He reached up to tug on his earlobe again. “Anyway, ever since then you’ve been different, Mom. I just thought, I don’t know, maybe if you had someone you wouldn’t seem as down.”
Stupid tears. She shifted the pasta bowl to her left hand and used her right sleeve to wipe at her eyes. “I’m okay, honey. I’ve got you.”
His blue eyes narrowed, not in anger but in confusion. “But don’t you want someone like how Shae has Brady?”
She did. Oh, how she did. Striving for nonchalance, she murmured, “It would be nice, I guess.”
“So, you never know—Mr. Ajax might be your Brady.”
Anna didn’t kid herself. For whatever reason Julian had, he’d set his sights on their next-door neighbor as being her perfect match. And perhaps he was. How would she know if she never tried?
20
“The cranberry sauce. I forgot the cranberry sauce.”
Luke looked over at his mother, her hands ten-and-two-ing the steering wheel in a death grip. “It’s Thanksgiving, Ma. I think that the Taylors have got cranberry sauce covered.”
“I left it on your kitchen counter. Will your horse eat it?”
“Sassy’s a Great Dane, but no, I think the cranberry sauce will be safe. If it’s not still mooing, Sass isn’t interested.”
Moira’s nose wrinkled. Though she’d met Sassy twice now, she’d yet to warm up to the “horse,” as she called him. The same couldn’t be said for the Dane, who’d taken to nuzzling up to Luke’s mom every chance he got. Luke had thought Sassy might be Moira’s cup of tea: gentle, quiet, and an all-around sweetheart.
But no, Moira had as much affection for the dog as the dog had for cats.
Luke rearranged the sweet-potato casserole on his lap. “Amy meeting us there?”
“Yes.” Moira sent a hesitant glance his way. “Robb’s joining.”
“I know.”
“Okay.” With a straight finger, she punched through the various radio stations, finally settling on Christmas music. It bothered Luke when people couldn’t wait for Thanksgiving to pass before they whipped out the garland and the blow-up lawn decorations, but he bit his tongue. Humming along to Jingle Bells, Moira said, “Robb told me that he filled you in.”
Luke stayed silent. He’d already forgiven his mom and sister for their deception—they were family and he had so little of it already. But the hurt lingered, arrowing in on his chest. Was it too much to hope that they would have just trusted him? God forbid they let the black sheep in on the family secrets. Better to just lie to him for almost a decade.
The bowl of green beans shifted at his feet, and he clamped his shoes on either side of the glass to keep it steady as they took to the shitty New Orleans streets.
Almost guiltily, Moira murmured, “I’m so sorry, baby. We should have said something—at some point. You disliked Robb so much . . .”
“I would have gotten over it.”
They pulled up to Brady and Shaelyn’s shotgun house in the Irish Channel. A blow-up turkey sat on the porch like a guardian of the house, and Luke chuckled. Until Shaelyn had returned to New Orleans, Brady wouldn’t have bothered with Thanksgiving at all. The guy was fully invested in his career, so it was nice to see him relax and enjoy life outside of the NOPD’s homicide department.
“Will you hold the green beans?” he asked, bending over to swoop up the bowl from the floor. “I can’t grab both.”
“Luke.”
He stilled at the steel in Moira’s tone.
“I’m sorry. I know you’re going to go in there and pretend everything is just fine. I just want you to know that I’m sorry. Amy is sorry . . . Robb is sorry, t
oo. It was never our intent to hurt you. We just . . . we didn’t mean to make you feel like an outsider.”
Except that they had. While he’d spent years putting his body through hell, and his mind through a grater, they’d picked and selected what they felt like he could handle. It was a brutal bruise to the ego, an even ruder awakening to his state of mind.
“I’m good, Ma.” He held out the green beans to her, and with a soft grumble she took it. “I know y’all had your own reasoning.”
“But you’re upset.”
Didn’t he have the right to be? “I’m solid.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yup.”
“Are you really sure?” she pressed, worry lining her brow. “I hate the thought of you being mad and just not saying anything.”
“I’m good, Ma. If I were any better, we’d have unicorns raining from the sky.”
She laughed at his dramatics, exactly as he’d intended her to. “You always did love Amy’s My Little Pony toys.”
“What?” Luke shook his finger at her. “Now don’t be spreading any lies at this party. I only played with Ken dolls, if I played with dolls at all.”
“You did. Amy begged you.”
And what Amy wanted, Luke had always done everything in his power to give her. Which was why, even though he wanted nothing more than to plow his fist into her boyfriend’s face, he had no plans of actually doing so. “Let’s keep that to ourselves, eh?”
As Moira threatened to tell the world about his love for My Little Pony—a show he couldn’t even recall watching—Luke unfolded his body from the car and grabbed the sweet potato casserole from the passenger’s seat. He spared the glove compartment a glance, where’d he’d stowed away a gift. For Anna.
He’d heard through the grapevine that she might be here today, but if she wasn’t . . . Probably better to just leave it here, for now. Luke had enough to carry without adding the ridiculous gift he’d bought her on a whim to the mix.
Didn’t help that his lower body felt constrained, thanks to the jeans he’d donned just before leaving. You dressed up for her—admit it.
Yeah, he had. But he hadn’t been able to rid himself of the cane, which he still clasped like a second lifeline, though he planned to leave it by the front door with the coats and jackets.
If he needed it, it wouldn’t be so far out of reach.
And if Anna wasn’t there today, as Brady had hinted that she’d be, he’d be surrounded by family. If he stumbled or moved a bit slow, no one would be waiting to make fun of him.
He and his mother crossed the street, sidestepping a massive pothole, and took the porch stairs slowly.
“I haven’t been here in so long!” Moira exclaimed with a little smile. “He and Shae have done a great job with the place.”
“Make sure you tell Brady that.” Luke held open the door with his good hip so that his mom could enter the house before him. “You’ll be his favorite forever.”
“I’m already his favorite,” his mom answered readily, just before a shriek echoed from inside the house.
“Luke!” The sound of high heels tip-tapping snapped his attention to Shaelyn striding toward them. “Mrs. O’Connor,” she greeted with a hug and a kiss when she came within arm’s reach. She welcomed Luke with a light punch to the arm and a half-hug.
A shiny flash caught his eye as she pulled back, immediately snagging his gaze to the rock on her finger. He recognized the ring. A smile pulled at his lips. “Damn,” he said with a chuckle, “he did it on Thanksgiving?”
Shaelyn blushed prettily, holding out her hand in that classic way women did when they were showing off a new piece of jewelry. “Actually, he proposed last night.” She leaned forward, cupping a hand around her mouth as though imparting a grand secret. “I don’t think he meant to propose, but I found the ring in the turkey pan.”
Moira laughed, grabbing hold of Shae’s wrist to appropriately ooh and ahh over the massive diamond. “It’s gorgeous. Congratulations, honey.”
Brady entered the living room, his customary Saints baseball hat pulled down low. “You showin’ off the ring?”
“She’s telling us how you couldn’t think of a better place to hide the damn thing than in a pan,” Luke quipped, wishing he had an extra hand to grab his best friend by the neck for a hug. Brady seemed to read Luke’s frustration, because he took the sweet-potato casserole dish and then clapped Luke on the back with his free hand.
“To be fair, totally slipped my mind that Thanksgiving was rolling up soon. There I was thinking I had the perfect hiding place, when all of a sudden I heard Shaelyn scream.”
“You screamed?” Luke asked Shae, grinning at the visual.
“The pan fell on my head,” she admitted, her hazel eyes glimmering with pure happiness.
Brady laughed. “It’s because she’s short.”
“Petite,” Shae countered.
“Short.”
“Vertically challenged.”
“All right,” Brady agreed with another hearty laugh, “vertically challenged.”
Luke was happy that they were happy. He just didn’t understand why he felt . . . alone. No, not alone. Lonely. Damn, he should have just brought Sassy along, no matter Moira’s adamant argument that dogs belonged at home on the holidays. “So,” he said, “the pan fell on you?”
“I was climbing on the countertop. I thought I grabbed the right pan, but apparently I didn’t. Next thing I know, I’m on the floor and the pan is on the floor and there’s a velvet black box on the floor. I looked.”
“She’s got no sense of waiting for a surprise,” Brady said with a shake of his head, and a what-can-you-do shrug. “So, I proposed.”
Shaelyn mock-frowned, poking her fiancé in the side. “Technically I proposed. I asked if he planned to marry me or if the ring was for someone else.”
“Obviously I planned to propose.”
“Y’all are obnoxiously nauseating, you know that?” Luke thumped Brady on the back and then gave Shaelyn another kiss on the cheek. “Let me know how often y’all are going to repeat that story today.”
“So you can congratulate us?” Brady teased.
“No, so I can pour myself another drink.”
Moira playfully slapped Luke on the back of the head, and they moved as a group toward the kitchen. He could already hear Brady’s grandparents, Arthur and Mary Taylor, arguing with Shaelyn’s grandmother, Elaine Lawrence. There’d been a year or two in high school, when Brady and Shae had dated early on, that Thanksgiving had included the Lawrence family. For the most part, it’d just been the Taylors and the O’Connors, forever linked by Luke and Brady’s longstanding friendship.
“Jules, grab that pie, will you?”
Her voice stopped him dead in his tracks before he’d even entered the kitchen. Jesus, she was here.
“Honey, you all right?” asked Moira, pausing with her hand on the door frame. “You look like you might pass out.”
Luke felt like he might pass out. He glanced down at his clothes: casual black button down, worn-in jeans he hadn’t touched in almost a year, a pair of tennis shoes. Hell, he’d planned for this, to see her today—hadn’t he? So why the hell did he feel so out of it, all of a sudden? “I’m good, I’m good.” On impulse, he leaned the cane up against the wall and took a half step toward his mom. “Ready to get some grub?”
Moira’s mouth opened and then closed. “You’re acting strange.”
“I’m not.”
At the sound of Anna’s laughter from the kitchen, Luke fought the urge to lean forward and look for her. Damn, but Anna Bryce made him feel like his emotions were on a tight line that he didn’t know how to walk. His right knee felt a bit wobbly; he chalked it up to being cane-less.
“It’s a woman.”
Luke’s gaze swung over to his mom. “What?”
“You, this”—Moira motioned at him—“you acting strange. It’s got to do with a woman.” Her eyes lit with warmth. “Do I know her? Oh,
this is so exciting!”
“It doesn’t—no. I’m not interested in anyone.” You keep telling yourself that, his conscience threatened. He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m just feeling out of sorts today. A bit tired. Nothing that some good turkey can’t—”
“Oh!”
At her soft gasp of surprise, Luke’s body jerked. She looked . . . Aw, hell, she looked beautiful. Her soft blonde hair hung loose around her face as she blinked at him in shock. Instinctively, he took in her dress, a flirty burgundy number that dipped low at her breasts and nipped in tight at her slim waist.
Luke felt as though he’d taken a swift kick to the gut, his chest heaving with an indrawn breath that he’d forgotten to take upon first seeing her.
Hoping that he didn’t sound nearly as off kilter as he felt, he murmured, “Happy Thanksgiving, Blondie.” He was all too aware of his mother’s presence. More than anyone, Moira O’Connor could read him like a book.
This . . . thing with Anna; he’d prefer to keep it to himself.
“Luke,” Anna replied, just as softly. Her lips were painted the same color as her dress, her blue eyes dressed up with dark, sexy shadows. “I didn’t know you’d be here today.”
He held open his arms. “Surprise.”
Her mouth quirked up in a wry grin, and Luke felt the absurd desire to pull her away into a dark corner, where he could kiss her until they both forgot their names. Until they both forgot everything but the feel of each other’s bodies.
Beside him, his mother cleared her throat and Luke jumped to attention. “Sorry, Ma.” He gently pulled her forward. “Anna, this is my mom, Moira. Ma, this is Shaelyn’s cousin, Anna Bryce. Don’t think y’all have ever met.”
“No, I don’t think we have. Maybe in passing, once.” Moira hummed speculatively, a knowing look in her gaze that Luke disliked immediately. “How nice to meet you, Anna. Tell me, are you the reason why my son has been acting strange?”
Goddammit. “She’s not.”
Anna turned to him with interest. “You’ve been acting strange?”