My mother’s voice cut through the moment, edged in a way that made me straighten instinctively. She leaned into the doorway with easy authority, her eyes sharp and curious as they moved between us with a quiet intuition that made me wish I could disappear.
“Oh, Ma,” I stammered, awkwardness creeping up my throat. “Didn’t think you’d be home yet. This is… well, this is Culver.”
Her gaze swept over him slowly, calm and unreadable, and for a moment, I felt as though I was standing trial, waiting on a verdict I hadn’t prepared for.
“Hi, Culver,” she said at last, stepping out onto the driveway with her arms loosely crossed.
“Hello, Mrs. Loshe,” he replied with effortless composure, offering his hand as though he’d been made for moments like this.
She took it, then tilted her head slightly, a slow smile forming. “Actually, Ira took her father’s surname. You can call me Taylor.”
“Ah, of course,” he corrected himself smoothly. “Taylor. I was just leaving. It would have been improper to let Ira walk home alone on her first day. I couldn’t allow that.”
“What a gentleman,” she murmured.
The words lingered, carrying something I couldn’t quite place. Her eyes remained fixed on his, and discomfort settled in my chest. It felt… too intimate.
Then he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles with old-fashioned grace, his gaze rising to meet hers slowly. “The pleasure is all mine,” he said, his voice smooth and warm.
My mother giggled.
I just stared, caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief.
Betrayal.
Instant betrayal from my own Ma.
“Anyway,” she said, her tone light as she stepped back toward the house, “you two finish up. I’ll be inside.”
“Alright, Ma,” I muttered as the door closed behind her, my pulse still unsettled.
Culver turned back to me, more serious now, his voice lowering. “You should dress for the weather tomorrow. You are shivering, and that flimsy jacket does little to keep you warm.”
“It’s all I’ve got right now,” I said, wrapping my arms around myself. “I’ll be fine.”
He didn’t believe me. I could see it in the way his gaze lingered, sharp and assessing, as though he were reading past what I said.
“It may be true that you own nothing warmer,” he said. “But that does not mean you are fine. I already have a solution, though.”
My brow furrowed as tension flickered through me. “What d’ya mean by that?”
“It is nothing you need to concern yourself with,” he replied, the evasive tone slipping neatly back into place.
“Why do you do that?” I snapped. “Why’re you so mysterious?”
Instead of answering, he laughed quietly and breathily, his expression softening into something fond. “You are rather eccentric. I fear I enjoy it a little too much.”
That sounded suspiciously like a polite way of calling me insane.
“A-Aren’t you supposed to be leaving?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, the word drawing out slightly. “It is best not to keep you out here in the cold. I shall see you tomorrow, little lamb. Until then… have a wonderful night.”
The engine roared to life, echoing through the space he left behind. I didn’t move right away, standing there long after his taillight disappeared into the evening. When the rain finally began to fall, soft and cold against my skin, it nudged me into motion.
I hurried toward the door, arms wrapped tightly around myself, but even once I was inside, warm and dry, his presence lingered stubbornly in my senses, refusing to leave.
6