Page 88 of The Charm of You

Mama stands by the breakfast table, wearing a smile as she claps, and I shake my head.

Although people in town and the kids at my school loved my talent show performances, I never truly believed I was a beautiful singer. I just know I’ve always enjoyed it, although it’s been quite some time since I freely enjoyed country songs while cooking breakfast like this.

“You’ve always been my biggest fan, no matter how misguided and biased you are,” I joke and practically toss a biscuit onto each plate, the outsides hot against my fingertips.

“I’ll forever be your biggest fan, and my reasoning is as sound as a flower blooming toward the sun.”

My skin pricks with discomfort as I turn off the oven, my back to my mom. It’s not because I don’t believe her. It’s because I’ve never given her a reason not to be my biggest fan.

As far as I know, I’ve never disappointed her.

I did well in school. I kept my room tidy, and I always helped with dinner and washed the dishes afterward. When I was old enough, I moved to the big city to chase the magical dreams she and I often talked about.

I might not have ended up on Broadway, an idea we sometimes entertained, but I still made her proud with a job I loved in a city that, according to her, set my wings free.

I’ve always loved that she’s so proud of me.

What will she think about me losing my job? She didn’t seem upset about me losing Edward, which gives me hope that she wouldn’t bat an eye over my career woes.

Of course, my bigger hope is that I secure a new job before she learns what happened, and I can play the whole thing off as moving to a new company for bigger and better things. This would be a much easier sell than telling her I was fired and have no prospects.

“I didn’t have to make you sing this morning,” Mama says as she pours herself a coffee. Once she’s finished, she peeks over her shoulder at me and quirks a brow. “You didn’t go out for breakfast before I’d even woken up, either.”

I’ve been getting my morning energy boosts from Bready or Knot or Cream and Sugar, but still, I say, “I like making breakfast.”

“Since when?” she teases.

“Since I have a full-size kitchen at my disposal, for a change.” I deliver both plates to the breakfast table for us, and my mom follows with our two mugs. “The kitchen in Beverly’s and my apartment is more suited for a dollhouse. I can barely boil a pot of water for noodles in there, let alone whip up a whole hearty meal.”

“It is much different up there,” she muses.

What I read between the lines is—it’s much better up there, small kitchen or not.

She and Daddy were both from Sapphire Creek, and they never left. My father always raved over that piece of their story and how their romance was rooted among the mossy oaks and cobblestone alleys around here.

He loved this town, and Mama does too, but she’s previously shared her feelings about exploring more of the world.

It’s why she frequently visits me in New York, insisting we spend every Christmas, birthday, and any other special occasion up there. She says she enjoys living vicariously through me, which I often believe to be flattering, although I occasionally wonder if she feels trapped or something down here.

“What has you in such a good mood this morning?” She studies me over her coffee mug, much like she did with her wineglass last night.

She’s still suspicious, and part of me wishes she’d just come out and confess she knows exactly what I was up to with Austin.

But this is my mom. She will hold it in until she’s blue in the face.

I opt to finally relieve some of that pressure—it can’t be healthy for her. “I’ve been spending a lot of time with Austin,” I say with an innocent shrug, but I’m sure my cheeks give me away.

They’re burning.

And I have zero makeup on to hide under.

She hums like this piece of news doesn’t surprise her. In fact, it seems to please her, and I can’t deny the warmth in my stomach because of it. “I imagine it’s been nice catching up on old times.”

“Something like that.” I swallow my bite of eggs around a lump in my throat, which forms because of the lack of old times Austin and I share.

There’s also a mix of fuzzy tingles dancing along my skin as thoughts from the last two nights flash across my mind.

More heat floods my cheeks until I’m practically on fire.

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