Page 145 of Crazy for this Girl

“Didn’t you go to California once, Laynee?”

I. Am. Going. To. Kill. My. Own. Mother.

The table falls silent for my answer, and I’d excuse myself from the table, but that would hint—no, it’d exclaim loudly—that I had after I didn’t see him again.

So, I either lie about it and have Mom make me look like even more of a pathetic deadbeat who couldn’t get over her childhood crush, or I admit to it.

Or I change the subject.

“Where’s the waitress at?” I ask, picking up my thick menu again. “I’m starving.”

Mom chuckles, clearly not missing my embarrassment. Cal, unfortunately, hasn’t either. I can feel the massive thud of his weighty gaze on me, and I’m about to take him up on the offer he gave me on our way inside the restaurant on not working for the rest of the day if this ends badly.

We’re off to a great start.

“How’s your family, Cal?” Mom’s voice is starting to sound like a warzone siren that blares loudly and receptively through the air, crashing into your eardrums in warning that something you don’t want is coming.

“Fine,” he deadpans, still keeping those mossy greens latched onto my face.

I refuse to look at him.

You couldn’t pay me enough.

“Are they proud of you for such a wonderful job you’ve done on upkeeping the company?” She has no idea what he did, where he was, or who he had become prior to an hour ago. She has zero clue how successful he is unless she Googled him on the way over here in the company car. She’s become a damn pro at that over the years.

“They better,” Cal says with some grit to his words. “They only fucked me over and had me give up my entire future for it.”

I focus on the word cocktails printed on my menu as a grounding force, but my mind wanders off with a million questions.

Who fucked him over and why?

What did he have to go through?

Is that why he sent me those dire and hopeless messages?

“Nonsense,” Mom scoffs as if she can relate to being successful in anything but burning food and trying to sneak into my bedroom as a teen to read Cal’s and my letters. “What more could parents want for their kids but to have a great job and something to show for themselves?”

“Happiness.” That was not the response I was expecting, and my traitorous eyes slice up to meet Cal’s greens still pinned onto me. “And not wanting to drop said company every single day that passed because you’re not with the one person you wanted to be with since day one.”

A severe frown graces his handsome features, and I want him to elaborate more on so many things, but he doesn’t.

I wouldn’t either in front of my mother.

“Did your family ever sell your cabin?” I glare at Mom who won’t stop her ongoing boisterous behavior and can’t help but blame myself for how bad of an idea this was.

“No,” Cal professes. “I own it.”

“You do?” I blurt out, now mocking my mother’s ivading on his personal life. Not only did we agree to stay out of mine and not his, but what the fuck? I’ve been to the cabin twice since he pulled a Houdini. Never saw him or anyone for that matter stay inside.

“I do.” Cal sips his bourbon again. “It holds sentimental value that can’t be sold.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Mom vouches. “Lakefront property is on-demand and hard to come by these days.”

“Mom, there’s more to life than money.”

You’d know that if you earned it.

“Is there?” She lifts a brow at me like I’ve never worked for it. “You dated Henry whose family had old money and a gas company that made millions every minute.”

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