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As he took in the decor, Drew realized how similar the pieces were to what he’d noticed in London’s house yesterday.
“If you see anything you want, just let me know,” he said. “I won’t be taking any of the furniture. It will all stay here or be donated. Except for the vanity in her bedroom. I don’t even know what I’m going to do with it, but I remember how excited she was the day she bought that thing. It was the first piece of furniture she bought from a real furniture store, and not from a thrift shop or secondhand store.”
London squeezed his fingers. “Maybe you can put it in your bathroom. I hear it has an amazing view,” she said in a teasing voice.
Drew appreciated her attempt to bring some levity into the space. She always knew exactly what he needed.
He spotted a ziplock bag with colored Post-it notes and Sharpie markers, just as Elias had told him he’d find. There was a handwritten note inside, letting him know which color meant keep, donate, or toss.
Most of this would be donated, because knowing his mother, she’d already tossed anything that was in unusable shape. Not having many possessions for much of her life had taught her to take care of the little she did have, even when her son could buy her anything she could ever want.
“Wow,” London said as she browsed the pictures on the wall above the rolltop desk. “Someone was very proud of you.”
Drew came up behind her, perusing the framed photos of him from high school, college, and grad school. He hadn’t bothered to attend the graduation ceremony when he received his MBA—he was too busy working—but his mom had made him take pictures in his cap, gown, and honors stole at one of the last remaining Sears Portrait Studios.
“You know how you said you did everything to make your dad proud?” Drew asked. “It was the same between me and my mom. Except she had no problem showing me just how proud she was. She attended every basketball game and every debate match.”
“I remember,” London said. She looked back over her shoulder at him. “Did I ever tell you about the time she tried to hook us up?”
Drew’s head snapped back. “What? When?”
“The senior awards banquet. She was right behind me in the buffet line, and she spent the entire time trying to convince me that you would be the perfect boyfriend. She said smart people like the two of us should be together because we could match wits with each other.”
He barked out a laugh. “She never told me that, but it definitely sounds like something my mom would do. What did you say?”
“That I would rather eat dirt than go on a date with her son,” she answered.
Drew slapped a hand to his chest. “The daggers, London. The way you sling them deserves a medal.”
“I’ll admit that I was harsh, but if you’ll recall, you’d just won the award for Student of the Year. Let’s just say that I was a bit salty when it came to you.”
He chuckled. “I guess Mom was lucky that’s all you said to her.”
“But that wasn’t all she said to me,” London said. “She told me that she wouldn’t be surprised if I changed my mind one day. Prophetic, don’t you think?” London grabbed his hands and brought them up to her lips. She pressed a gentle kiss to the backs of his fingers. “I can only hope that she’s smiling down on us now.”
A thick, weighty knot of emotion formed in Drew’s throat. He fought the urge to drop to one knee and propose marriage. She would laugh it off as a joke, but he was as serious about his feelings for her as he had ever been about anything in this life or the next.
He was fucking in love with London Kelley.
It wasn’t the infatuation he’d felt back in high school. This was true and bone deep, and it wasn’t going away. Drew felt it with his entire being. Even when he eventually went back to New York, the love he felt for London would remain with him. Even if she couldn’t give him everything he wanted, he hoped she was willing to give him time to nurture what was blossoming between them. That would be enough.
For now.
“I know she is,” Drew finally answered. He leaned over and pressed a kiss against her soft lips.
“Okay, it’s time to stop stalling,” London said. “Give me those sticky notes. You talk, I’ll write.”
She followed him from room to room, commenting on his mother’s style and the items he chose to keep. There wasn’t much. Mostly things he knew his mother had cherished, like the headband with a flower made out of mother-of-pearl stones—a gift from her own mother—and the afghan she’d knitted years ago in the Barbara Jordan High School colors of orange and blue.
“Wait, your mom was a yarn lover too?” London asked when they stepped into the bright yellow craft room. The right side of the room was made up of dozens of cubbies to house all her yarn. There were no less than five hundred skeins, all arranged by color.
“My mom started knitting when she found out she was pregnant with me,” Drew said. He walked over to the closet where she kept a supply of baby blankets. “Baby blankets were her specialty. She would send them to hospitals, and women’s shelters, and she always kept a few on hand for gifts.”
“The craftsmanship is breathtaking.” London ran her hand along the blankets. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to know her better.”
“She would have loved you. Despite how badly you treated her son,” he added with just enough humor in his tone to show her that he was only teasing.
But when she looked up at him, her face was void of amusement. “What type of cancer was it?” she asked in a soft voice.
