Page 60 of Entwined Hearts

“Go through your underwear drawer.”

“What?” I say, eyes going wide.

He grins and leans down to kiss me, taking my face in his hands.

“Wait, were you planning to climb with Kabir today?” I ask when he pulls back.

He raises an eyebrow. “That was plan B.”

I give him a scrutinizing look. “What was plan A?”

He leans in to kiss me again. “You.”

Seventeen

Colby

We’re loading boxes into the back of my truck when a shiny red Volkswagen Bug glides up to the curb. A woman with dyed blonde hair and bright red lips steps onto the street. She spins, her face lighting up when she sees Anya.

“Sweetheart!” the woman says. She hurries up the driveway, her high-heeled sandals unaffecting her pace.

Anya sets the box on the tailgate. She embraces her mother, who is stick thin with birdlike arms and long, shiny fingernails. Spotting me through her oversized sunglasses, she suddenly steps back.

“Where’s Josh?” she asks.

I frown.

“You mean Jake?” Anya asks.

But Anya’s mom seems to have forgotten the question because she appraises me from head to toe before she extends her delicate hand. “I’m Patricia,” she says with a million-dollar smile.

“This is Colby,” Anya says.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

She tucks her chin to peer over her sunglasses. “Ma’am?” she replies in distaste. “You’re going to make me feel old if you call me that.”

“Mom, I didn’t hear from you, so—” Anya interrupts.

“Yes, well, I’m here now.” Patricia steps steps back while she looks between Anya and me. “I brought takeout because I’m going to have to scoot for an afternoon appointment.”

Anya eyes me. “We, um, packed up the kitchen already,” she says. “So, there aren’t any plates.”

Patricia waves her hand. “Then, we’ll pretend we’re Mongolians.”

“Maybe I’ll run this to the storage building,” I say. “Give you time to catch up.”

“Nonsense,” Patricia says. “I want to hear all about you, Cory.”

“It’s Colby, Mom.”

“Right,” she says, completely unfazed.

Once we’re inside, we set everything on the counter. Anya digs up a set of bowls from her camping gear that we’ve set aside for her move to the Valley. Because the house came furnished, at least we have chairs.

“How long have you been together?” Patricia asks.

Anya has just taken a drink of water. She chokes, making a spluttering sound. I look at her with concern, but she waves me off.

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