Page 51 of Rivals to Lovers
“I know you need space, but maybe I’ll see you when you get back?” The sound of an approaching train traveled up the staircase, muffling his words.
She glanced over her shoulder, then back to him. “Maybe. I do have to tell you what I thought of your work when I finish it.”
“I barely have enough work to be a fan of,” he said.
The smile that appeared on her perfect lips felt like aloe on a burn. She lifted a hand in farewell, and the floral dressdisappeared into the concrete and metal below the city streets. She was already out of sight by the time he remembered she hadn’t seen Estelle as a Power Ranger. He added the image to a text and sent it, hoping that by the time she came back into cell signal, she would be glad to see his name pop up on her screen.
He went back to the gallery, holding his breath, and was relieved when twenty-five minutes later he got a text back.She should buy that for The Hill.
He typed back.Make all the rooms Power Ranger themed. None of this fox and flower bullshit.
Shelol-ed, and then the phone went silent. When he glanced back up, Loris and Ajay were giving him knowing looks.
“What?”
“You really like that girl,” Ajay said.
“Well, she hates me, so thank you very much, Loris,” Wes said.
Loris held up his hands in front of him. “Hey, if telling the truth is a crime, then arrest me.”
Wes shook his head, which hurt. His heart hurt too. He didn’t know if Mo would forgive him. “Are you familiar with theIf you can’t say something nice, don’t say it at allschool of journalism?”
“I missed that day of lecture,” Loris said. He pressed a reassuring hand to Wes’s back. “Most of it was nice. You are a wonderful man, but no one is perfect. Listen, she is digesting information. Let her digest. Give her some space.”
Wes tried to scowl, but his heart was beating too fast, his brain already zooming forward to next week and maybe seeing Mo again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Mo
Anna insisted on having the bridal shower at her acreage. They could have rented out a local church basement or the family restaurant in Walnut, but Maureen was grateful Anna wanted to host. It was an excuse to let Mo see the dogs, and while Mo loved her sister, sheadoredher sister’s dogs.
By an hour before the shower, her dad and Kyle had cleared the premises. At the few showers Maureen had attended in the Bronx or Manhattan, it was a whole-couple affair. In Anna’s case, their mom and aunts had circled the wagons and kept it female. Hogs and dogs excluded, anything with a penis within ten miles was gone for the afternoon. Which, on the plus side for Mo, meant more time with her sister without Kyle. And, again, more time with the puppies.
The shower was raucous—six of Mo’s aunts, twelve cousins, every friend of her sister’s that still lived in the state, plus lots of Kyle’s family (the ones with boobs) came. There were over sixty women, and Mo was grateful for Anna’s renovatedbarn space, the same space in which she was planning to hold the wedding ceremony. The wedding service would be out on the lawn under several large tents. It was hard to picture right now with the land mines of doggy poop, but Mo didn’t doubt that her sister’s vision of a candlelit, flower-strewn, outdoor June wedding would come to pass. Anna made magic like that.
Due primarily to her sister’s good planning, the shower went fine. Their mom had made butter mints, which melted on Mo’s tongue as she made a list of the gifts. Towels, plates, forks—Mo couldn’t help but think of Ulla as she took notes, wondering which of these items had her stamp of approval. After Anna had kissed the cheek of the last great-aunt and their mother had folded the last gift bag to save for another shower down the line, Mo swept out the barn and her sister folded the chairs back into a closed-off area behind the stables, one of the hidey-holes she’d kept around during renovation.
As their mother and Anna chatted about final fittings and centerpieces, Mo wondered what it would be like to bring a guy home to Iowa. During her past visits home, she’d noticed Kyle and her dad laughing together like they were born to be family. Was Anna somehow the matchmaker in this situation, putting together the perfect father-son pair? But someone like—really, any guy Mo might have brought home—wouldn’t click with her father in the same easy way. Mo didn’t know how her parents would react, since she’d never really tried.
No, Mo didn’t miss Aaron. And she also tried hard not to miss … well, anyone in the city, especially anyone who kept secrets from her. This weekend she needed to focus on herfamily. Later, Anna and Mo would drive to Des Moines for the bachelorette party. After staying in a hotel room tonight, Mo would shovel herself back on the plane back to New York in the early afternoon Sunday. But first, the family dinner—Kyle included.
Mo’s mom had made cherry pie with cherries frozen from last summer’s crop. She had a dozen cherry trees in the front yard that, when they didn’t get attacked by birds, produced the world’s best sour cherries. Mo wasn’t biased; this was an unarguable fact. Their dad made pork ribs—of course—all day on his smoker, with cherrywood from one of the same trees that had gone into the wood chipper after getting felled by a big storm last year. The green beans were the only thing not farm fresh, but the way her dad prepared them with butter and lemon was just like Grandma used to, and the whole meal felt like home had taken up residence in her stomach.
She felt lucky. Shewaslucky. A hundred years ago, her mom’s side had been working in factories in Chicago, living in a one-room tenement. Fifty years ago, her dad’s side had lost half their land during the farm crisis. Now they had enough. More than enough, but they still remembered how hard things could be, and that was where Mo’s passion came from. Over dinner, her mom discussed the political candidates on their ninety-nine-county tour of the state. Dad talked about gutters. The normalcy washed over her. This chance to see her family reset her—plus, again, the pie wassogood.
After her mom and dad shared about the work they had been doing lately, her father turned to Mo. “Okay, city girl. What’s the good word? Doing anything interesting out there that you couldn’t tell us over the phone?”
The worddoingsent her brain to completely inappropriate places. “No, just—you know, writing and working.”
“Are you still with Andrew?”
“Oh, his name is Aaron. Was Aaron,” Mo corrected.
Her mother put down her fork with a concerned look.
“No, no—he’s not dead. He’s just not with me anymore.”
