Page 115 of Catching Sparks

She pulls her stare from the view of the house and smiles reassuringly. “Yes. So ready. I already have a dozen questions I want to ask your mom about baby Garrison. She probably has a million stories about you.”

“I’m sure she’s been preparing far more than a dozen questions to ask you too. I’ve never brought a woman home to meet her before. I apologize in advance if she oversteps.”

“Never? How did I not know this?” she asks, mouth gaping.

“You never asked.”

“Okay, that’s fair, but still!”

“Did you really think that I’ve had the time or desire to date casually?”

“Well, not recently. But ever? Not even when you were a teenager? Before the company came to be?”

I slip my other hand to her cheek and lean across the gap between our seats. She follows my lead and ghosts her lips across mine.

“No, Poppy. You’re the first one. Nobody has ever compared to you. Now, come with me and put my poor mother out of her misery.” You can hear the smile in my words, and I’m growing less flustered by it as it becomes a more common occurrence.

“Kiss me first.”

With a light press of my lips, I do. It’s a test of my self-restraint to keep from deepening it, but if I do, we’ll never make it inside.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Poppy squeaks before pulling back, unbuckling her seat belt, and hopping out of the SUV.

I follow suit and meet her at the trunk. Taking her hand in mine, I stroke my thumb along her knuckles as we each grab a suitcase. The front door opens the moment we begin the walk up the driveway, and suddenly, I’m forgotten.

Mom takes the front steps too quickly for my peace of mind but doesn’t falter as she rushes toward Poppy. My hand is dropped like a hot potato, her suitcase abandoned on the pavement.

Poppy meets Mom halfway and swoops her into a cautious yet excited hug. Mom is a couple of inches shorter than Poppy, but you’d hardly tell when my girlfriend crouches enough to put them on an even playing field and laughs into her hair.

“Look at you!” Mom cries, rubbing a steady hand up and down Poppy’s back. “You’re beautiful. So, so beautiful.”

I swallow, ignoring the sudden urge to rub at the erratic thumping sensation in my chest as I watch them together. Poppy holds my mom in her arms with no sign of letting go anytime soon. Like she’s content in this moment. So am I.

“I’ve been hoping that I’d get the chance to meet you, Mrs. Beckett. Your son sings your praises,” she says.

“Cynthia. Please, call me Cynthia. You’re family now.”

My knees go weak. I shift on my feet, trying to gain back my balance before I fall face first.

“It’s amazing to meet you, Cynthia. Your home is . . . wow. It’s stunning.”

“You’ve seen nothing yet. I suppose I should let you go so we can give you a proper tour.” Mom tuts her tongue but doesn’t pull back from Poppy’s embrace.

“I think we can wait a minute longer,” Poppy tells her.

Mom looks at me over Poppy’s shoulder. Her expression says all I need to know, but the unshed tears gleaming in her eyes are the nail in the coffin. They only make it harder to stand back and give them their time together without begging them to let me join.

“I’m so happy you got to make the trip here. I’m probably a bit too excited, if I’m honest,” Mom admits when they break apart. She takes Poppy’s hands in hers and brings them to her chest for a second before releasing them.

Poppy grins. “I wouldn’t have missed the chance for the world.”

“Come here, Garrison. Join the conversation,” Mom calls.

I arch a sarcastic brow. “Are you sure you’re ready for me to interrupt?”

“Don’t feel left out, babe. We both love you,” Poppy teases, not seeming to realize what it is she’s just said.

I don’t miss it, and neither does Mom. She does a better job of hiding her surprise than I do because I choke on my own spit while she smiles wide enough that she could rip her cheeks.

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