Page 78 of The Hearts We Fumble
I nearly choke on air. “Wait—youknow?”
She snickers. “Of course, I know. I caught that boy climbing in your bedroom window years ago.”
My mouth drops open. “What?”
Her grin turns smug. “Told him if I found out he was messing around with my daughter, he’d have to explain to his dad and Coach why he had a broken hand.”
“Oh my God.” I bury my face in my hands, groaning.
Down the bar, Brad—one of her regulars—chokes on his beer, barely containing his laughter. “I wouldn’t put nothin’ past her, girl. I’ve seen her scare off grown men twice my size a few times.”
Mom rolls her eyes and points a warning finger at him. “Mind your business, Brad.”
“Youseriouslycaught him?” I ask, still in shock.
She nods, tossing her bar towel over her shoulder. “Years ago. You two were still in high school, and you werewaytoo young to be sneaking boys into your room, Wyatt Lynn.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“That’s whathesaid,” she counters. “Swore up and down you were just friends.Best friends. And maybe that was true back then, but you wanna know something?”
I lift a brow. “What?”
She leans in slightly, dropping her voice. “Even if you twobelievedyou were just friends, I saw the way you looked at each other. That boy never looked at you like you were just his buddy.”
Her words send a warm shiver through me. They remind me of what Zane told me last week—how he’d been watching and wanting me for years.
A slow smile spreads across my face.
And that’s all the confirmation my mother needs.
“Thatright there,” she says, pointing at me. “That’s why I know it’s more now.”
I duck my head, picking at the corner of my nail, searching for the right words.
“This thing between us…” I pause, exhaling slowly. “It’s new. Uncharted territory. And I think part of me is still holding back, scared that if I let myself have it completely, the rug will be pulled out from under me.”
Her expression softens. She doesn’t press, doesn’t rush me to say more. She just waits.
Because she knows—better than anyone—that sometimes, love isn’t about falling.
It’s about trusting the ground will still be there when you do.
“What’s he say about all of this?”
“Zane?”
She nods. “Have you talked to him about how you feel?”
I shift on my stool, my fingers absently tracing the condensation on my water glass. “Yeah, we’ve talked about it. He assured me that while we’re keeping things private, he doesn’t want me to think of it as some dirty little secret.”
Mom hums, her knowing gaze settling on me as she leans a hip against the bar. She knows the history of Zane’s parents all too well. I remember overhearing my parents talking about it once, back when my dad dropped us off after a weekend at his place. It was right after the news broke about Zane’s dad cheating on his mom. Things had been tense for a long time, and I noticed the way Zane and his brother, Miles, started spending more time at our house, shooting hoops in the driveway or tossing a football in the yard. My mom had told my dad she'd overheard an argument between Zane’s parents, something about another woman.
“There’s a big difference between privacy and secrecy, sweetheart,” Mom says, wiping down the bar. “Any man who dares to keep you hidden isn’t the one for you.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Something tells me it’s Zane, probably asking where I am. I told him I’d come over after stopping by to see Mom, but I lost track of time.
“If this is about your brother,” she continues, glancing up at me, “you know he’ll come around. It might take him a minute to wrap his head around it, but deep down, I think he already knows. I don’t see how he couldn’t. Everyone else did.”
