Page 14 of One Night Flame

I shrugged and took a sip of coffee. “Not what I meant. I just want to make a good impression.”

The ribbing moved on, but I could feel them all filing that away.

Not because I was smitten. Just because I wasn’t brushing it off. And that alone made it something they’d remember.

While the others cracked jokes and batted ideas around like a volleyball, Diego Rivera stayed off to the side, kneeling next to the rig with a hose fitting in his lap and a wrench in one hand. He hadn’t said a word since we got back. Just worked in that steady, meditative way of his that had earned him the nicknamePaladin. As if the conversation wasn’t happening. Like he didn’t have opinions, or maybe just didn’t feel the need to say them out loud.

But then, without even glancing up, he said, “Sometimes the ones who don’t say much are the ones worth hearing.”

The room went still for a breath and a half.

Then Meatball clapped a hand over his heart. “Damn, Rivera. That got me right in the feels.”

Twitch raised both arms. “That was like… movie trailer wisdom. Someone write that down.”

Peach chuckled, and Donkey muttered something about embroidering it on a throw pillow.

The moment broke.

But I stayed quiet.

Because that one line—that soft, offhand truth—lodged itself deep.

And I didn’t know if he was talking about Lucy. Or me.

SIX

LUCY

I stood in front of the mirror, twisting a strand of hair around my finger like a nervous teenager before prom. The dress was fine. Simple, flattering, not too mom, not too “I’m trying.” But it suddenly felt too short and too tight and too everything. Not as bad as the dress I’d worn to the auction, but still.

“You keep staring at yourself like that, the mirror’s gonna start charging rent.” Grandma’s voice floated in from the doorway, casual and amused.

I met her gaze in the reflection. She was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest with a “This is gonna be good” grin.

“I just don’t want to look like I’ve forgotten how dating works,” I muttered, smoothing the front of my dress for the fifth time. Considering I’d gotten pregnant with Liam when I was eighteen, it couldn’t precisely be said that I had any idea whatsoever what dating after high school was like, but I didn’t want tolooklike I didn’t know.

“Oh, honey.” Grandma walked into the room and plopped herself down on the edge of the bed like she had all the time in the world. “Here’s your checklist: No mom jeans. No minivanstories. And for God’s sake, don’t ask about his 401K until at least date three.”

I rolled my eyes, but it tugged a reluctant smile out of me. “You think this is funny?”

“I think it’s overdue.” She tilted her head. “You’ve been playing solo defense since Liam could crawl. Tonight, you get to pass the ball and let someone else play offense for a change.”

“That’s a terrible sports metaphor.”

“I was raised on Larry Bird and questionable cable reception. You’ll live.”

I turned back to the mirror, trying to pin down what felt off. My hair wasn’t cooperating, and my eyeliner looked slightly unhinged. Maybe I was too old for winged liner. Maybe I was too old for any of this. An old maid at twenty-five.

“I feel ridiculous.”

“You look like a woman,” Grandma said softly, no sarcasm now. “And not just a mom. That’s important.”

I swallowed, throat tight.

She stood and gave my shoulders a squeeze. “Now breathe, don’t overthink it, and remember—he’s the one lucky to have your time, not the other way around.”

She started toward the door, then paused, tossing a glance over her shoulder like she’d just remembered something casually. “Oh, and Liam’s packed. He and I are going to do pancakes and a movie marathon tonight, then we’ll hit the park in the morning. I promised I’d take him down to Birmingham to see that new Disney movie at Imax. I figured we’d make a weekend of it.”

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