Page 14 of Stick Work

“No, but I’m a fast learner. Good with instructions, too.”

For a split second, the air between us shifts. Her lips part like she’s about to say something, but she doesn’t. My brain starts overanalyzing everything.

Wait—are we still talking about ponies? Why does it feel like there’s more to this?

Because I’m in a bedroom with the girl I’ve wanted forever, and my brain is officially malfunctioning.

“Okay, let’s get this over with.”

“Wait.” She runs back and grabs something from her bag.

“What’s that?”

She grins. “A little something for your mom.”

I narrow my eyes. “You brought her a gift.”

“I didn’t have time to go out to get her anything, so I borrowed this from big brother’s cupboard.” She holds up a small bottle of New England maple syrup.

I arch a brow. “Borrowed? You’re bringing it back.”

She huffs at me. “It was the right thing to do, Elias. When meeting my ‘boyfriend’s’ mother for the first time, I should have a little something for her.”

I laugh at Taylor's antics as we head into the hall, but my stomach twists as we approach the kitchen. Mom and Grandma are sitting close, their voices low, heads inclined. Whatever they’re discussing, it’s not for me to hear.

Mom’s head lifts at the sound of our footsteps. “Elias! I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived.” She strides across the room, her arms wrapping around me in a tight hug full of love. I hug her back, the familiar warmth of her embrace stirring guilt inside me—for numerous reasons.

I realize she can be hard on me, scrutinizing my actions, and after what happened last year, maybe she has the right to be. Deep down, she only wants what’s best for her only son and I can’t blame her for being cautious, for wanting to protect me from making the same mistake.

Sometimes though, the weight of her expectations feels like a mountain I’m not sure I can keep climbing, which is why I stepped away from women, and Taylor is here pretending to be my girlfriend to stop her from meddling and trying to marry me off to a woman of her choice.

Her smile slides into place, warm and a touch rehearsed as she turns to Taylor. “Taylor, right? Taylor Turner?” Her tone is smooth, but her gaze is cautious, calculating. Taylor nods politely. “I’m Mrs. Ariti.” Mom’s eyes flicker over Taylor, the way she might inspect a questionable press release. “Elias tells me you’re an actress.” Grandma clears her throat—soft but intentional. Mom’s shoulders stiffen, but she doesn’t miss a beat. “Any relation to Tina Turner?”

Taylor smiles, her voice calm and composed. “No relation, and I’m an aspiring actress. I’m studying at Boston College and performing at a local community theater. If you’re ever in Boston, I’d love for you to come.”

Before Mom can respond, I jump in, trying to steer the conversation. “I should probably do a formal introduction. Mom, this is Taylor, as you know. Taylor, this is my mom, Cheryl. She works in communications for the governor’s office.”

“Press assistant,” Mom clarifies, her gaze sliding over Taylor again, as if weighing her against an invisible standard. “Image is everything.” I cringe internally as she probes Taylor, trying to assess if she’ll be another liability. But Taylor, to her credit, doesn’t flinch. She stands her ground, unwavering and somehow, she rises to the challenge in a way I didn’t expect, but probably should have. “As an aspiring actress, I’m sure you understand the importance of perception and how quickly one single act can change public opinion,” Mom adds, her tone light but pointed.

“I do understand,” Taylor replies, her chin high, her voice steady and confident. “And I’m careful in my actions. I would never do anything to jeopardize anyone’s image.”

I stare at her, my chest tightening, wondering if she fully understands what she’s saying. Does she know how much weight those words carry in this room? How fragile everything can be? She wasn’t in Boston when things went south—when everything crumbled and we learned just how quickly a single choice can change everything. Her brother and I never told her the details. But somehow she knows all the right things to say, and this isn’t about acting. This is about truth.

“And I must say,” she continues, nothing but kindness and honesty in her words. “I’m so happy to meet you. Elias has told me so much about you.”

“Has he now?” Mom arches a perfectly manicured brow, intrigued but wary.

“All good things, of course. He’s a great guy, Mrs. Ariti.” Then, to my shock, Taylor takes Mom’s hand in hers, her expression warm and open. “You did a fabulous job raising him.”

Mom blinks, visibly thrown. Her glance flickers to mine, and for the first time, I see a crack in her armor.

“He’s kind and caring,” Taylor continues, her sincerity cutting through the tension in the room. “His teammates love him, and he’s a powerhouse on the ice. We all know he wouldn’t be where he is today without a strong, supportive family.” She leans in, her voice lowered. “And we all know it’s the mother behind every strong family.”

From the corner of my eye, I catch Grandma’s proud grin and, in this moment, I realize something. The ease with which she speaks, the way she handles my mother’s judgment like it’s nothing. This is who Taylor is. It’s not an act. It’s real. Roman knew it all along. Maybe the rookie isn’t such an ass. Maybe we don’t give him enough credit, and maybe I ignored these endearing traits because it would just make me want what I can’t have that much more.

“I… oh… thank you,” Mom stammers, her usual poise slipping.

“And I brought you this.” Taylor reaches into her bag, pulling out the bottle of maple syrup and holding it out to Mom.

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