Page 97 of Make Mine Sweet
“I’m glad you could join us,” Mom says with a smile.
It’s not her relaxed smile, though. It’s her bakery smile. I’ve always admired her customer service calm, but I don’t like her directing it at Ian. As if he’s not our guest and a friend, but a stranger waiting in line for pie.
If Ian feels her friendliness is forced, he doesn’t show it. “Thanks for letting me crash your party.”
“It’s supposed to be a big production.” She does it again—she flashes the smile she uses when she tells customers about our flavors of the week. I’m not sure if admitting Ian is more than just my neighbor would have made her more friendly or less.
“I keep hearing that.”
I start laying our blankets next to theirs, and Ian moves closer to help me smooth them out. “Our friend Lila is revamping Sunshine’s holiday events,” I tell him. “We’re excited to see what she does.”
Wren sighs. “I wish I could have seen her when she put her slimy ex in his place.”
Lila accidentally got sick all over her ex this morning, and Sunshine’s grapevine has been working at light speed to share the tale. The poor thing must have the same stomach bug that August had. I doubt she’ll be happy when she recovers and finds out her spewing on the sidewalk was a bigger topic of discussion than the festival she organized.
To be fair, people raved about the Fourth Fest. But our stylish, media-savvy local influencer losing her lunch on her snide ex was way juicier.
Poor choice of words.
“She’s home sick with her Adonis, Hope’s up in the canyon watching the fireworks with Griffin.” Wren looks up at the stars. “Sure would be nice to have someone to cuddle up with, too. Wouldn’t it, Mom?”
So subtle.
“Are you asking for a hug?” Mom opens her arms wide. “I’m ready, little gal.”
Wren wrinkles her nose. “I was thinking of romantic snuggles.”
I ignore her and sit on the blankets farthest from her theatrical sighs. I’m not any happier with her obnoxious nudges than I am with Mom’s affected indifference. Maybe I just can’t be pleased.
Ian moves closer to me and, yup—Icanbe pleased.
He crosses his prosthesis’s foot in front of him and smoothly lowers to the ground next to me. It feels rude not to compliment his powerful thighs, but I manage to restrain myself. And, sadly, rip my gaze away from them.
“I’ll hug August, then.” Mom wraps him up in a quick embrace. “I don’t get enough of these anymore.”
“I hug you all the time, Nana,” he says from under her arm.
She lets him go andboopshim on the nose. “I will always take more.”
A breeze drifts over us, and shivers ripple across my skin. Sifting through the sweatshirts we brought, I set August’s aside for him, but I don’t find my lavender one I’d intended to wear. Instead, I find two I don’t recognize: a navy one and a gray one, both oversized.
“Didn’t I give you my sweatshirt to bring?” I ask Ian, rubbing the fleece between my fingers. They’re soft and perfectly worn in. “When we left the house?”
“I brought two of mine.”
I hold them out to him as if he’s going to slip them both over his head right now. Maybe I left mine in my car.
He chuckles and leans closer. “Indulge a man a fantasy and put on his clothes.”
Oh.Oh. My stomach dips, but I pull the gray one on. The sweatshirt smells like him, cucumber and soap and a hint of something spicy. I’m surrounded by my new favorite smell in a cozy fleece cocoon.
“Thank you,” he whispers low.
I’ve got so many lights glittering and twinkling around inside me, I don’t even need the fireworks.
“It’s probably a busy night for crime, huh? I bet Sunshine’s sheriff and deputies don’t get to enjoy the show.” Wren has decided to create her own fireworks by bashing Mom over the head with hints tonight.
Is it bad to say, “better Mom than me?”
