Page 19 of Blush Crush

She stops beside her car, resting against it. Even from up here, I see the hitch in her movements, the hand lifting to her face. She swipes under her eye quickly, glancing around the parking lot like she doesn’t want anyone catching her.

Is she crying?

A strange heat creeps up my spine.

“What the fuck is she crying about?” I mutter before remembering I’m not alone.

“What?” Ethan asks, turning in his chair. “Am I boring you so badly you had to look out at the parking lot for entertainment?”

Shit.

I step away from the window like I wasn’t just laser-focused on his little sister. “No, just stretching my legs.”

His eyes flick toward the windows, narrowing. The last thing I need is Ethan realizing I was staring at Ariana.

Especially when I would never go there. It’s fun to tease her, to rile her up, and yes, she’s easy to look at. Beautiful in an untouchable way. But I would never cross that line. Besides, I get the impression she’s a hearts-and-flowers, romance type—definitely not the fun, casual-sex type.

Such a shame, really.

Ethan and I make plans to golf next weekend, but my mind isn’t on it as I get the hell out of there. It’s already back on Ariana and wondering why she was crying.

Cristina Benton is a complicated woman. On the one hand, she’s fiercely loyal, incredibly devoted, and would do anything to protect her children. On the other hand, she has a very narrow-minded view on how we kids should live our lives.

Whether she’s trying to make up for the time she lost while she grieved or she would’ve been this way anyway, I’ve never been able to figure it out. What I do know is that she came to this country from Mexico as a kid with her family, and they had almost nothing. It took years of hard work and sacrifice to become the woman she is today. Because of that, she has a work ethic I didn’t inherit, and a deeply held belief that a life without family isn’t a life at all.

Which is a beautiful sentiment, truly.

It just doesn’t leave much room for a son who has no interest in doing any of those things.

I find her in what’s technically Blake’s office, though you’d never know it with how little it gets used. She’s dusting the desk anyway, rearranging things that were already in order. I don’t need to ask if something’s wrong. With my mom, cleaning is a tell—the more spotless the surface, the louder the thing she hasn’t said yet.

“I was wondering when you’d come find me.” She doesn’t look up from her task.

“Were you?” I lean against the doorframe. “Because it looks like you’re very busy doing absolutely nothing.”

She cuts me a look over her shoulder that would’ve sent seven-year-old me diving behind a couch. “Don’t be smart.”

“I can’t help it,” I say through a laugh.

The corner of her mouth twitches in spite of herself, which is the closest thing to a victory I’m going to get. She turns back to her task, adjusting a book that was already perfectly straight.

“I spoke with Carol this morning,” she says, in the same casual tone she uses when she’s about to say something that is anything but casual.

Carol is Whitney’s mother. I would imagine they’ve been talking a lot more lately.

“Great. How is she?”

“Happy.” She sighs, staring off into the distance. “So happy. Her daughter is getting married.”

I cross my arms. “To someone who isn’t me, just to be clear.”

“I know that.” She finally turns around, balling up the rag in her hands. “I just think it’s nice. A wedding. A family starting. Two people deciding they want to build a life together.” She looks at me with those eyes, warm and brown and lethal in the way only a mother’s eyes can be. “Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

“Hmm,” I muse.

“Cole.”

“Mom.”