“You’re playing with a fuse that’s been lit a long time, Knox.”
For years, I thought that’s what was between us. A flame waiting for the slightest breath of oxygen to become a raging inferno. Now? I’m not so sure. There’s attraction there, sure. But is there really anything else?
The knock at my door has me turning quickly from the window and crossing toward the door. I pull it open to see my mom on the other side, a hot bag in her hand. “Hey, Mom, what’s that?”
“Soup,” she replies as she moves into my apartment. “Day two of not working, and I thought it was time.”
“Time for what?”
She sets the bag down then reaches out to cup my cheek. “To talk, sweetheart.”
“Mom, I’m fine.” I’ve purposely stayed away from her because I didn’t want to talk. What is there to say? I self-sabotaged a perfectly good relationship because I have feelings for a man who clearly doesn’t see me as anything more than a prize to be won. If he did, then why wouldn’t he have kissed me on Saturday?
Why wouldn’t he have leaned down and breathed life into that flame?
Lit that fuse?
Ignited that spark?
“Sit.” She moves through my kitchen easily, mainly because she’s the one who helped me unpack and organize everything. After retrieving two bowls, she sets them on the counter and hums as she unpacks the soup and ladles some into each bowl.
The scent of my mom’s chicken and orzo soup makes my stomach growl. I barely ate yesterday since most of it was spent curled up on the couch watching cheesy Hallmark movies where everything goes wrong before being fixed. They give me hope that maybe my life isn’t such a dumpster fire.
Maybe, eventually, I’ll find a happily ever after.
“Here.” She offers me a bowl, then starts to leave the kitchen before pausing near my window. After glancing outside, she turns toward me, brow raised.
Embarrassment heats my cheeks. “What?”
“Girl, I didn’t raise a fool, so don’t take me as one.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
My mom finishes her walk to my small table, then sets her soup down and takes a seat. I do the same, sitting across from her, purposely putting my back to the window. “How long are you going to do this?”
“Do what?”
“Pretend that he doesn’t exist.”
“He doesn’t. Not in my world anymore. His decision, not mine.”
“You have always been stubborn, but you’ve never been cruel.”
“Cruel? Are you seriously taking his side? Sawyer walked away from me, Mom. Six months ago. He turned his back on me and went about his life like we were never anything more than acquaintances.”
“Because he didn’t want to watch you fall in love with someone else.”
I shake my head. “Sawyer’s a flirt. He always has been. Anything you think was directed at me wasn’t.” To keep from continuing this pointless conversation, I take a bite of my soup.
“Anastasia.”
“Mom.”
“Would you want a front-row seat to him finding someone else?”
“It would make me physically ill.” Did I say that out loud?
“Exactly.”
