Page 193 of Rush

I lower myself into the chair, unsure at first. Warmth seeps into me, soft and steady, loosening what the day has tightened. My body yields—but my mind doesn’t seem to get the message.

His sister is here and he brought me to his mom’s house.

For pie.

This isn’t just sweet. It’s athing.A move. Something that means more than either of us has said out loud. My heart thuds behind my ribs like it already knows. I’m in too deep.

The table is small, square, worn at the corners. A vase with orange tulips in the center.

Marie brings out plates, two at a time, humming something soft and familiar under her breath.

She’s wearing socks with little sunflowers on them.

Broderick returns a moment later and sets down a dish of roasted chicken and some kind of stuffing that looked way too good to be last-minute.

“You didn’t have to fix me a plate.”

“Of course I did,” Broderick says, stealing a slice of bread before she can swat him.

“Oh no you didn’t,” Marie jokes.

“Well I helped,” he says with a boyish grin.

Georgia rolls her eyes. “His idea of helping is eating everything beforeIcould plate it.”

He shrugs, mouth already full.

He’s so playful around his family—I can’t help but smile.

“Thank you, Georgia, all of you—I really appreciate it.”

“It’s our pleasure,” Marie says, placing a gentle hand on my back. Reminding me momentarily of my mother. Something she would do.

We sit. No fancy linens. No assigned seating. No pre-meal toast about legacy or the stock market. Just plates and warmth and the kind of quiet that doesn’t need to be filled.

It’s cozy—perfect.

Marie passes me the bowl of potatoes. “So, how long have you and my son been circling each other?”

My fork freezes mid-air.

Broderick chokes on his drink. Georgia barks out a laugh before taking a sip of her wine.

“Ma.”

“What?” she says, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m old, not blind.”

“We’re not…” I start, then trail off. I don’t even know what we are.

Marie nods slowly, lets it hang. “Well. He’s a good one, if you’re wondering.”

“He is,” I murmur.

Because it’s the truth. But it’s me who is damaged.I wonder if she can see that?

Broderick’s hand slides under the table, giving my thigh a gentle squeeze.

I place my hand over his and squeeze in return.