Page 54 of Catching Sparks

Missing nothing, Pauline Huntsly arches a thinly plucked brow. “Tell me what that look is all about while we scramble these eggs up.”

I grab a big bowl from the cupboard and start cracking the eggs, keeping my eyes cast down. “What look?”

“What look?” she repeats with a scoff. “You forget sometimes how well I know you. That blush is suspicious.”

“It’s as hot as the devil’s ass in this kitchen.”

Mom chuckles. “You’re not wrong, but that’s not it, and we both know it.”

“A normal mother would be asking her daughter how her week was or what plans she has coming up instead of all this.”

“My apologies. How was your week, and what plans do you have coming up?”

I finish cracking the twelfth egg and hand her the shell-filled carton. While she carries it to the garbage, I answer her sarcastic questions and start whisking the eggs with a fork.

“My week was fine besides your son being a terrible plumber and my hot water still not working. I don’t have any upcoming plans besides finding where my landlord lives and then showing up with a weapon and threatening him to fix it.”

“What weapon are you planning to bring?”

“I was going to search Dad’s tool box for something.”

“Well, I wouldn’t tell him about that. I don’t think he’d want anything traced back to us.”

I pour the eggs into the buttered pan and listen to them sizzle. “It’ll be our secret.”

“You know what else could be our secret?”

“Don’t even say it.”

“What it is that has you blushing like a schoolgirl.”

“And you said it,” I groan.

She hands me a rubber spatula, and I start breaking apart the eggs as they solidify. “I’m not going to let it go.”

“You’re going to have to. I’m not going to tell you anything this time.”

I’ve always been an open book with my mom when it comes to my personal life. Bryce and Anna are my girls forever, but my mom is my mom. She’ll always be my first call. So, I know this is probably a bit hard for her to comprehend. It’s hard for even me to understand. I’ve never had a friends-with-benefits situation before. If that’s even what we are. Is it?

This is exactly why I’m not going to speak a word of it to her yet. Or ever.

“That’s cruel, Poppy. Downright cruel.” She huffs and leaves me to man the eggs alone.

I turn to watch her plug in her electric griddle and begin mixing the pancake batter resting in the bowl beside it. She works quickly, waiting until the griddle heats before spreading butter along its surface and ladling scoops of the running mixture over it.

The workout clothes she’s wearing beneath her apron are similar to mine but a handful of sizes smaller. I’ve long since grown out of the jealousy I used to have for her slim figure, and she’s more to thank for that than I am. I’ve never been made to feel like the odd one out in a family of small bodies, and it’s done wonders to boost my confidence. A heavier body weight does not take a single fucking thing away from our beauty. Inside or out.

“If it turns out to matter, I’ll tell you. I promise,” I say in an attempt to placate her.

“Is it about a boy?”

“I don’t date boys at my age, Mom.”

She waves the flipper in her hand at me and then slides it under one of the six pancakes. “So you are dating again?”

I take the waiting bowl of shredded cheese from the counter and begin sprinkling it over the eggs, doing anything to stall having to tell my mom to drop this once and for all. She’s a dog with a bone, and apparently, I’ve been single for too long to avoid this interrogation.

“I’m not dating anyone,” I say.

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