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“It must be hard to make enough money as a dancer, right?” Mom asks Sky.
“It is, but financially, I could stop.” Sky offers more than is necessary.
My dad stands behind my mom and massages her shoulders. She shudders as if to let go of her tension.
“We are here to support you, both of you.” Mom straightens her spine. “If you don’t want me to talk to anyone, I won’t.”
I exhale. Her one-eighty is a shock in the best way. I’m hesitant to trust her, but Sky speaks again.
“We trust you. It’s up to you.” He grips my arm for support or to calm me; I’m not sure.
“What would they ask me?” We spend the next few minutes talking, then I call Finn.
Finn asks her rapid-fire questions, and she gets flustered. “Actually, that’s what we want, Mrs. Maher. We don’t want a seasoned professional. You’re Maverick’s mom, and those questions are highly inappropriate.”
“I’m stealing that line,” Mom quips.
We coordinate our exit with their willingness to stop and answer questions, then we’re finally alone.
“Another truth bomb,” Sky says.
“We need sleep first.” I kiss his lips lightly.
“I told the police not to hurt Paul, but to help him.” His voice gets higher with his stress.
“I was outside the open door, Angel.” I snake my arm under his body to hold him. “Think I’d be mad?”
“I felt sorry for him. He created this entire relationship that doesn’t exist. He thinks we’re meant for each other because from the first video, I called him buddy.”
“I called him buddy at the gala.” My head’s fuzzy and I need a nap.
“Well, you weren’t the duck he imprinted on,” he jokes.
“The things I love most are your heart and your compassion. I’ll never be mad at you for that. I might try to rearrange a guy’s face if he touches you, but you can show empathy.” Our lips meet in a smile, and we kiss until someone clears their throat.
Chapter 36
Skylar Engelhardt/ Lark Angel
I’ve been tracking Mav’s location so I could have a home-cooked meal ready for him, but I failed. The kitchen resembles a comedy set where toddlers went wild throwing things around. My idea seems ridiculous. I’m not a cook and can’t fool Mav.
“Angel? I’m home,” Mav calls from the front hall.
“In here,” I yell back, and stuff the bigger bowls in the dishwasher to clean up.
He stops in the doorway, his grin fading as he takes in the disaster. “What’s going on?” he asks in a light voice.
“Your mom sent me another recipe. She thinks you’ll starve if I don’t learn to cook.” As if proving her right, the smoke alarm blares, but Mav’s tall enough to take it down and put it on the open windowsill.
“Give me a hug.” Mav picks me off my feet and wraps me up tight. “You’re exhausted; I got this,” he says, and my inadequacy pops up imitating a ballerina after a standing ovation.
Tears sting my eyes. “Sorry about your dinner.” I’m incapable of doing the smallest thing to make his life better.
“If you were making meatloaf surprise, I’m glad it’s ruined. It’s terrible, and you’re saving me from faking enjoying it.” He cups my head and swings me gently. “Sit.”
He plops me onto an island chair and throws the meatloaf, still in the pan, into the garbage. “Don’t listen to my mom. She has good intentions, but she’s an awful cook. Besides, we have Maria, who cooks to win contests.”
I bury my head in my arms. “What if something happens to her? We’ll never eat healthy again,” I wail. Keeping my mouth shut is smart, but I’ve never been that.
