Page 22 of Mixed Motives

“Yes. Oh. Because you’re my son, and I wouldn’t do that to you.” Now for the harder part. “But I was attracted to him. And I was so lonely that I signed up for a date on an app.”

“Don’t tell me Henry was your date.”

“He was. The computer thought we were compatible. And guess what? It was right. He and I are incredibly compatible. We can talk about everything.” I’ll spare Kerrigan the details of our sex life, but I tell him, “It feels like he’s my other half.”

I can see when the truth of my words sinks in. “You’re not just saying that.”

“Nope.”

“And you and he are for real?”

“Yes.”

“This is so weird.”

I chuckle. “I know. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry you found out the way you did. I meant to sit you down and tell you. I was just waiting until Henry and I had been together for a month. I wanted to make sure we were solid.” I shrug. “We’re solid.”

Kerrigan stands and nods. “Okay,” he says.

And while he doesn’t say anything else before he leaves, I feel like I told him what I needed to.

CHAPTER 9

HENRY

My phone rings, and it’s Keane. I get a huge thrill whenever he texts or calls or contacts me in any way—which is often, because it seems he’s always thinking of me.

“Kerrigan and I had a little chat this morning,” he says. “While I don’t think we resolved everything, I think it’s going to be okay eventually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And I’m proud of you for standing up to him. You know that?”

I smile, his praise filling me with warmth. “Thanks.”

“I was talking with my friend Wolfe last night, and he mentioned that people’s motivations are rarely pure. There can be a mix of reasons we do things, some good and some bad.”

“So you’re saying you want me for good reasons?”

His voice lowers. “And some very bad ones.”

“I like the sound of that.”

We’re staying at the B and B tonight, and dinner for two is almost ready when Keane arrives, right on time. Whenever he shows up at my door with his eyes sparkling, dark hair tousled and swept back, I … swoon. He’s so handsome, and he makes me feel cared for.

“Hi,” he says, leaning down to kiss me chastely.

I’m having none of that. I grab him by the back of the neck and kiss him hard. He grunts, smiles against my lips, and attacks.

I love this. I love bringing out his wilder side. The one he hides underneath the dress shirts and the slacks. He’s trained himself to be polite—at least mostly. I consider it my job to unleash him.

“Hi,” I say, breathless. “Come on in. I made green curry.”

“It smells wonderful.” He wraps an arm around my waist, and I love that, too. I love how he can’t seem to stop touching me.

We go into the kitchen, I wash my hands (again), and he pours wine. I love having him here.

As we eat, after we talk about our day, he looks at me somewhat warily. “I think we need to talk about Kerrigan. Because if this thing between us is going to last—and I really want it to—your coming to some kind of peace with him is essential. Otherwise, I’m always going to remind you of how he hurt you.”

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