Page 73 of Lace 'em Up

Beautiful. Perfect.

And then…shit again.

But I don’t tell my mom any of that. Fuck no, I don’t.

I just kiss the top of her head and squeeze her lightly. “Great,” I say, nodding to the pie on the counter. “Especially because I have pie.”

She steps back and glances over at the pastry delight, mouth curving. “Of course,” she says.

“Of course what?”

Her eyes meet mine. “Of course Rory pulled it out at the perfect time.”

I frown.

She grins. “That golden-brown crust.” One shoulder lifts and drops in a shrug. “I couldn’t have done it better myself.”

My brows drag together further.

Thankfully, she takes pity on me and explains.

“Cathy”—a friend she’d made on one of her earlier visits to town—“wanted to meet early. Your pie was in the oven, but Rory offered to watch it.” A nod to said pie. “And of course, she pulled it out at the perfect time. I couldn’t have done it any better—and I don’t just mean the baking or the prep work she helped me with before that. I mean”—she takes my hand, squeezes—“all of it. Rory is a lovely person and…you did good, King. I’m proud of you.”

Guilt slices through me so quickly that it takes everything in me to not flinch back.

Proud of me.

For faking a relationship.

For pining after a woman I shouldn’t want.

Shouldn’t because Rory’s just out of a relationship, and because…Rory deserves a man who isn’t gone half the year, isn’t potentially dragging her from city to city when her life, her work, her friends, her animals are here.

Because she deserves that fairy tale.

Because I know I’m not the man to give her that.

Not. Your. Father.

I grind my back teeth together, exhale silently through my nose. “Thanks, Mom,” I say softly, scooping up Zeus and starting to back into the hall. “Not to rush off”—lie—“but I’ve got to pack for the flight in the morning.” I hitch my head toward the stairs. “I’ll tell you goodbye tomorrow before I go.”

She’s quiet for a moment, those eyes on me, studying me, Mom Radar apparently pinged, even though my voice is natural.

Even though I have lots of experience lying like this.

Lying through my heart pounding in my chest and my fingertips tingling and my throat so tight it seems like a miracle that I’m able to get any words out at all.

But even if that Mom Radar is triggered, she doesn’t call me on the lie.

She just moves close and touches my cheek, her eyes sad. “My sweet boy with the big, vulnerable heart.” She drops her hand, sadness drifting away when Zeus squirms in my arms, wriggling his long, hot dog shaped body in order to kiss her on the chin. She laughs, stealing my pooch and cuddling him close. “Zeus and I will make you some treats to share on the plane before I head home to see your dad.”

“You’re leaving already?”

She kisses Zeus on the top of his head, gaze drifting up to mine. “You’re good, baby,” she says. “And you and Rory need your space.”

“I—”

“I’ll be back for Thanksgiving.” A smile. “And I’ll be here long enough that you’ll have time to get sick of me.”

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