She wrapped me in a hug that smelled like cocoa butter and something called home. It knocked the breath out of me in a way that wasn’t all panic. She pulled back and searched my face like she’d been studying my blueprint.
“You came,” she said.
Chapter 25
Circuits and Soup
“Ithought I should,” I admitted. My voice wavered. “I—there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
“Come on.”
She stepped aside, and the smell hit me before I even crossed the threshold.
Chicken and dumplings.
The kind that lived in my grandmother’s kitchen every fall, rich and savory, dumplings soft enough to melt on your tongue. My knees nearly buckled. For a week I hadn’t beenable to look at food without gagging, but that smell wrapped around me, warm and familiar, pulling me straight back to childhood.
Mama glanced over as I shut the door. “Making soup for the week. Keeps me from grabbing junk after work.” She studied me, eyes softer than I remembered. “You hungry?”
I shook my head fast. “No. I’m good.”
She didn’t argue. Just ladled some of the stew into a small bowl, slid it across the counter. “Taste. Tell me if it’s right.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but my stomach growled so loud it betrayed me. Her brows lifted, amused.
I sighed, dropped my bag, slid onto the stool. “Fine. Just a taste.”
Thirty minutes later, I was wiping my mouth with a napkin, staring at three empty bowls I swore I hadn’t meant to finish.
Mama rinsed dishes at the sink, cutting her eyes at me over her shoulder. “Mhmmmmm. Just a taste.”
Heat crawled up my neck. I couldn’t even pretend. The food sat warm in my belly, not fighting me the way everything else had all week. I felt almost human again.
When she set the bowls aside and dried her hands, she leaned against the counter, studying me the way she always did when she knew I was hiding something. Not pressing. Just waiting me out.
Her voice came soft, steady. “How far along are you?”
The water I’d been sipping caught wrong. I coughed, eyes burning. “What—what are you talking about?”
She didn’t flinch. Just slid a napkin across the counter. “Baby, I’ve had two kids. Don’t play with me.”
Tears pricked fast. My chest tightened, my laugh weak. “Mama?—”
“Rayna.” Her tone was gentle but unshakable. “You can tell me.”
The napkin trembled in my hand. The truth was too heavy to hold alone anymore. My voice cracked. “I don’t know what to do.”
She circled the counter, sat beside me. For a moment, she didn’t touch me, just gave me space. “That’s not the same as not knowing how you feel.”
I shook my head, tears sliding free. “Almost everything in me says… I can’t. It’s too much. I’m not—” I broke. “I’m not ready.”
“And the rest of you?”
I swallowed hard. “The rest of me thinks about how it would be… ours. Me and Quentin. The best parts of us.”
Her eyes softened, but her hands stayed folded. “That’s not logic talking. That’s heart.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Everybody says lead with your heart. Look how well that worked for you and Daddy.”
