Page 64 of Lace 'em Up

Because I don’t know what to say to that.

“Add in hanging with your fiancé’s mom all morning, learning her son’s favorite recipe, and fighting over doing the dishes?” She smiles, squeezes my arm. “Thank God one of my boys finally picked right.”

Guilt slices through me, and I have no clue how to respond.

King didn’t choose me.

He’s not my fiancé…even though I kind of wish he was.

Because that would mean that Phillip had never been and?—

Her phone rings again, and she glances down at the screen with a sigh. “I guess I’d better get that.” She narrows her eyes at me. “No dishes, missy, and I mean it.” She points a finger at me then scoops up her phone and walks out of the room, her voice echoing back to me.

I smile.

But I do the dishes anyway.

Because they’re dirty and need to be washed, and it’s not like I’m going to disappear into King’s office without a word, expecting Stella to serve me my pie.

Something I’m glad of when she comes back into the room, her brows furrowed with concern.

“Is everything all right?” I ask.

“It was my friend, Cathy,” she says and I push down the shiver that name induces. Just because my stepmom Cathy was the worst doesn’t mean there aren’t perfectly nice other Cathys in the world.

Stella sighs, and I set the sponge in the holder, turn to fully face her.

“We’re supposed to meet later,” she says, “but Cathy wants to get together now, apparently.”

I draw my brows together, confused as to why she sounds a bit put out, especially when it comes to meeting her friend.

But she goes on, clarifying. “Unfortunately, she has to want that when I have a pie in the oven.”

“Oh,” I say, the pieces sliding into place. “I can watch the pie,” I tell her.

“What about your call?”

I have several work meetings today, but nothing critical—hence me hanging in the kitchen and peeling apples with my fake future mother-in-law.

I shrug. “I’ll grab my laptop and take it from here.” I nod to the island. “Plus,” I add with a smile when the furrows between her brows don’t ease, “that means I get first crack at that slice.”

She softens, palm coming up to touch my cheek again. “Sweet,” she murmurs before dropping it away, gaze gliding over the sink.

I wince.

Because, yeah, I did those dishes.

She sighs softly, but her lips are turned up as she walks over to the oven and peeks inside. She fiddles with the timer then turns back to me. “When that goes off, let it sit for thirty minutes if you can wait that long. Then enjoy.”

I nod. “Got it.”

“Thank you, honey.” A beat as she pockets her phone. “You’ll tell King I’ll see him tonight?”

“Of course.”

Another smile and pat of my cheek, and then she’s disappearing upstairs, coming back down a few moments later in a nice blouse, her jacket folded over her arm.

We exchange goodbyes.

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