Page 29 of Easy On Me

I scrambled to get out. “Do not open that door until I get around there.”

When I swung it open, she gave me that this is so dumb look. “This is not one of those special dates where you get to do that.”

“Sure it is.” I kissed her and tugged her into me. “You’ll understand once you have my hot chocolate.”

“Do you have marshmallows?”

“Sugar dumpling.” I shook my head, steering her toward the back door, my hands on her hips. “We top it with whipped cream and cinnamon.”

“Whipped cream and Jeff Goldblum.” Mischief dripped from her words. “Now there’s a combination.”

“Whipped cream and me.” I laid a quick pop on the right cheek of her ass. “That’s your combination.”

Laughing, she stood in the circle of my arm while I unlocked the house, and I let that pure shimmer of sound pour through me like sunlight through a stand of pines.

“Hmm, I don’t know. Jeff Goldblum is pretty damned hot–”

The word ended in a shriek, my arm wrapped around the back of her knees as I dipped to toss her over my shoulder.

Sweet laughter vibrated from her body into mine, and she landed a light blow in the middle of my back. “What are you doing?”

“You’ll see.” Anchoring her with one hand on her ass, I carried her off to my bed.

Chapter Seven

Tyler

Before Colt, I’d never taken a man home to Mama Nancy. She’d liked him well enough, approved of him, and they’d gotten on pretty good. I had kind of grieved what I’d thought I’d have with him, then that made me feel bad, that I mourned the loss of what if more than I mourned losing him.

He deserved better.

The ending of us and the realization I wanted the life Colt represented more than I wanted him as a person made me cautious with Jase, even as I wanted to dive into the warmth and gentleness and steadiness of who he was and roll around in those qualities. We rolled around in bed often enough, and that was good. But then there was him, and I wanted that in a way I’d never wanted Colt for himself.

I believed the desire I had for him as a person was important – and terrifying – all at the same time.

But the fact Mama Nancy loved him on their first meeting? That settled me down a lot.

Now, the fact she loved him did not mean she didn’t grill him. I was her little girl, she told me often enough, even if I’d come to her late in life and half grown, and she was serious about any man I was serious about.

All two of them.

The first time I took Jase home, she fixed lunch – way more food than we needed since we were going to the Bartletts’ for a fish fry later – and I’d been proud to walk him into our home. Not because it was big, historic, and beautiful, even though it was all those things, but because it was home, where Mama Nancy had raised me.

Where she’d chosen me.

In the foyer, with its tall ceiling and original nineteenth century tiles, he quirked a brow at Mama Nancy’s favorite original David Lanier, hanging over the antique table where we tossed down our keys on a silver tray that had belonged to Mama Nancy’s great-grandmother. The painting of a red dirt road with trees arching over it was her favorite because it had been her ex-husband’s favorite and she’d kept it in the divorce.

Her holiday decor lingered, candles and the pink and ivory sparkle she loved instead of red and green, a bit of holiday greenery she could sneak into January. The final three years of my childhood – really, the only years that felt like childhood – had been like living in a Hallmark movie. And I loved it.

For lunch, the table in the kitchen was done up, with her brown and white Moore and Company china and gleaming silver. Flowers in white and ivory and more pale pink filled a silver pitcher, and the sun poured in through the big windows that looked out into the garden, a secret little space with neat hedges and a sparkling fountain. Fresh bread and spices lingered in the bright air of the warmest room in the house.

Jase paused in the wide hallway between the foyer and the kitchen, studying the photos grouped there in gold frames – my senior portrait, a couple of other shots from the years since high school. He lingered, smiling, his whole body relaxed.

I stepped by him, peeking at the serving bowls on the table – chicken salad, pimiento cheese, those spicy bread-and-butter pickles Mama Nancy put up every summer. My mouth watered.

“There’s my girl.” Mama Nancy held out her arms, bracelets tinkling on her left wrist, and I went into her embrace, inhaling Portrait of a Lady and home. I soaked in her tight hug, then pulled back to wave Jase closer. He looked perfectly at home here, in his button down and jeans and slightly worn driving mocs. Colt had stood in this same kitchen, wearing almost the same outfit, but never appeared like he belonged.

“Mama Nancy, this is Jase Hatcher.” I wound my arm about Mama Nancy’s waist and hugged myself into her. “Jase, this is my mama, Nancy Grant.”