Page 32 of The Cupcake Cottage

Domestic.

A second date wasn’t supposed to be domestic.

It was supposed to be as sexy as her outfit—tight jeans and an oversized Dragons jersey with his name and number printed on the back. That outfit had given him feelings. But not a single one of them could be described as domestic.

“Your mom?” Daisy-Mae whispered. “You haven’t told her, have you?”

“She knows we’re dating.”

Daisy-Mae gave him a look. Why couldn’t they just say they were dating? Why did they have to keep reminding each otherthat they had started seeing each other for a reason other than romance?

He gave a small shake of his head. He hadn’t told his mom that a game was afoot. Because if Daisy-Mae fell in love with him, it wouldn’t matter what had motivated them to go on their first few dates.

Daisy-Mae frowned. “Well, let’s make sure she doesn’t find out we’re sort of lying to her. She looks really happy.”

She did, too. She’d practically been floating through the stores, laughing, cheerful and full of energy.

“Maverick!” His mom beckoned to them from near the checkout counter along the left wall.

“I think she found something else for you,” Daisy-Mae teased.

He rolled his eyes. The shopping trip for Daisy-Mae had been more fruitful for him with his mom collecting items for his house in nearly every store.

Maybe that was the real reason she was so happy. He’d let her decorate, and today he was present, weighing in on her ideas and decisions.

Why hadn’t he made time to do this sooner? His mom had sacrificed a lot to ensure he got all the same hockey opportunities the other kids got, even though it was just the two of them. She’d taken extra shifts to get the right days off in order to take him to tournaments, driving late into the night or starting the day unreasonably early to save on hotel costs. His mom had been caffeine fueled most of his childhood, and how she’d pulled it all off, he still didn’t know. She had lots of little tricks, like if she was baking muffins, she tripled the recipe and froze the extras. And she’d kept her hair super short in what he thought of as hockey mom hair so she could roll out of bed, quickly style her damp hair with her fingers on her way out the door at some ungodly hour, ensuring they made it to his team’sscheduled ice time. His mom was his greatest supporter and always had been.

It had taken a lot of subterfuge and clandestine phone calls to pay off her mortgage for her as well as to get a plumber and electrician in to update her pipes and wiring—without her blocking him and refusing his help.

But his time and presence? That was what she really wanted. And it was the one thing he had in short supply but should never deny her.

“What did you find?” he asked, giving his mom’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze as he came up alongside her.

She was beaming at a large dining room table. Wood. Old. Heavy. Stained sort of orangish-red. It looked almost as ancient as the state of Texas. He liked it.

“Would this fit in your truck?” she asked.

“I thought we weren’t going to buy stuff for the living room and dining room until the floors are done.”

She waved a hand. “The floor guy had a cancelation. He’s sanding and refinishing it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“You’ll need this for Friday.” She flipped over the price tag, reading the item’s history even though Maverick was certain she’d already committed it to memory. “We can put this in the barn until the floor is done.”

“Why Friday?”

“Thanksgiving.”

“Thanksgiving’s on Thursday.”

“How much to have it delivered?” she asked the salesman who was hovering, sensing a sale was about to be made.

“There’s room in the truck.”

“Then we’ll take it,” she said. “And the eight chairs, if they’re included.”

“They are.”

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