Page 85 of The One I Left Behind

“Your mom passed the bar exam!” I shout.

“Really?” He rushes over, and I release Gillian so he can hug her.

She clings to him.

“Congratulations, Mom,” he says.

“Thank you.” She steps back and wipes away her tears.

“I guess I’ll be using all my breath to blow up balloons now.” I grin.

Gillian laughs, and Clayton looks at me as though I’m the stupidest person to ever walk the planet.

I’m so happy, you’d think I just passed the bar. Actually, you’d think I was just inducted into the Hall of Fame.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Ben

I walk into The Knotted Barn to check things out before the festivities begin. Romy’s done an amazing job decorating for the party I’m throwing for Gillian.

“I hope when Laurel brings her here, she’s not thinking this is some surprise proposal.”

Romy glances over her shoulder, spreading congratulations confetti on the high tables around the dance floor. “Laurel is telling her that it’s girls’ night out. She probably has some plan to sneak out and find you.”

“You’re funny. We haven’t been that attached.”

Romy stops, dramatically dropping the confetti around the vases of flowers. “You have, but everyone understands. Well… everyone but Clayton, I’ve heard. Not that you can blame him.”

“Yeah, yeah, I left her…”

She stares at me with raised eyebrows. “I was going to say, it’s his mom. Aren’t all boys protective of their moms?”

I shrug, frowning. “Not sure I would know.”

She nods and gives me an apologetic look because she still has both of her parents. “He’ll come around.”

“That’s what everyone says.”

She walks by, running her hand down my arm. “I know patience isn’t always your thing, but in this case, you have to be.”

I clap my hands, done with the conversation.

“Whoa.” Brooks walks in. “Romy, this is great.” He’s dressed in jeans, cowboy boots, a plaid shirt, and a cowboy hat. “Pulling out all the stops, huh?”

I shake my head at Brooks. “It’s a big day. She was always a supporter of my dreams. I want to show her that it’s her turn and I’m happy to stand by her side while she crushes them.”

His eyes crinkle. “Are you reading romance books?”

My forehead furrows. “Why?”

“Those sound like lines from one.”

“How would you know?” I ask, tilting my head.

His cheeks turn red. “Hey, it’s boring sometimes at the station. And Aimee, the dispatcher, reads them. Occasionally, she leaves one behind. It’s not like?—”

I put up my hand. “You can stop now.”

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