Page 76 of Fated Shot

Her usually lighthearted tone grows a touch more serious as she reaches over to rest her hand on my arm, her eyes pleadingly searching mine.

“Promise me, hun. No more keeping things to yourself. Your Dad and I, we want to know the good, the bad, the ugly. Nomatter how old you get, we’re—we’re always going to want to take care of you.” The way her voice cracks toward the end crushes me.

Even if we don’t discuss the Seb situation anymore, I know there are feelings of distress lingering. It was clear how much it hurt her when she found out about everything. The guilt of keeping it hidden from them still hits me sometimes. Not opening up, trying to be brave by myself, heck, for the level of shame I felt over the entire situation, it wasn’t warranted, and I should have known that.

“I promise, Mom,” I say, walking over to wrap my arms around her in a hug.

She clears her throat, clearly deciding to focus on the positives as per usual.

“Soo… tell me more about the boy.”

Her eyebrows raise in excitement. She wants details, obviously, and it’s hard not to gush about every little amazing thing he says and does. I’m about to spill the beans when there are two firm knocks at my door, a pattern I recognize immediately. My stomach tingles as I wander over and swing it open. There he is, the phone-addiction himself, Jack Brody, looking as handsome as ever, standing at my front door.

“I—” Words are failing me again, which isn’t great, considering the man in front of me is my boyfriend, and, ya know, communication is kind of the foundation of relationships.

“God, I missed you.” His hands fly up around my face as his lips meet mine immediately. My body leans into his touch as I feel myself being backed a few steps. My stomach flutters and my brain quiets, basking in the bliss that is being kissed so passionately by him.

I regain my sense of presence after a few breathless moments as my eyes whip open. “Jack, my—”

He’s staring into me, clearly trying to make sense of my attempts to convey a message with only my eyes, as I stay struggling to communicate my thoughts verbally. My brain just can’t compute when he’s looking at me like that.

A throat clears in the corner, and his head turns toward the sound, eyes wide as he drops my face.

“M-Mrs. Cameron—” He takes a large step back, clearing his own throat and standing up a little straighter. He takes a breath before walking purposefully over.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says in a tone more formal than I’ve ever heard from him, stretching out his hand.

“Jack, we’ve met. Multiple times.” My mom’s warm voice replies with a slight laugh, a smile breaking out on her face.

“Y-yes, ma’am.” He pulls his hand back, smoothing down the hair at the base of his neck. “It’s very nice to see you again… ma’am.” He has a sheepish grin, blue eyes shining down at my mom, who clearly notices his nerves and decides to take pity on him.

“Just Beverly is fine,” she says, gently patting his arm as they both turn to me.

It’s a funny thing seeing him so intimidated. It’s also weird seeing my worlds collide like this. He clears his throat again, his normally composed voice coming out a little less controlled.

“I’m sorry for interrupting, I was just coming to say a quick hello.”

“No interruption, hun,” my mom says, making her way over to me. “We were just chatting, right Amelia?”

“Yeup,” I say, albeit a little awkwardly.

“Great,” Jack’s voice pipes up a lot stronger now. “How about lunch?”

My head whips in his direction toward his gorgeous smile, no sense of joking in his expression. Jack freaking Brody wants to go to eat with my mom? I send him a puzzled expression, but it’s my mom who takes the lead.

“Sounds lovely, Jack,” she replies with a chipper smile.

Her eyes widen at me, pleasantly surprised as she grabs her purse and makes her way to the front. And just like that, we head out the door. I may have just signed up for the most awkward lunch of my life. What’s the worst that can happen?

Do it for the plot.

***

“So, Jack,” my mom says, gazing up from her menu beside me. “Tell me about yourself.”

“Mom,” I whisper, trying to give her the side eye not to start any grilling before we’ve even ordered our food. Her eyebrows lift as she mouths ‘what’ innocently at me. Jack looks amused at the little non-verbal interaction we exchange.

“Not sure there’s much to tell actually…” The way he says it tugs on my heart. He really doesn’t think he’s anything special; I don’t know why.

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