Page 60 of The Valentine Inn

“What secret, Mom?” Jameson had to ask.

I looked between Jameson and Drake, knowing what I needed to say, but there were no words. Every thought I had was a jumbled mess.

Drake approached, sitting on the edge of the bed to be close to us. His presence had a calming effect on me—especially when I noted how similar the two men in my life were, right down to their straight-edged noses. I began to see visions of what could be, between not only the two of them, but all of us. Beach trips, decorating the Christmas tree together, game nights, and the like. So many possibilities lay before us, if only I was brave enough to own my mistake and my son was willing to forgive his well-meaning mom.

I sat Jameson on my lap and took a gulp of courage, trying to swallow my humongous lie down. What had I been thinking all these years? “Baby.” I ruffled his hair, hoping the power of his curls would work their magic. “Mommy has something to tell you.”

Drake leaned forward, just as anxious as I was, it seemed, to see how Jameson would react.

I wanted to say, “Get ready to call 911.” I was sure my heart shouldn’t be allowed to race the way it was. But seeing as Drake’s phone was dead, I would probably die before the paramedics arrived.

“Are we getting a dog?” Jameson lit up.

“Ye—” I so badly wanted to say yes, but did I really need a new puppy on top of all the other fun in my life right now? “No, honey. Not right now.”

“Oh man.”

Great, he was already disappointed in me. “J man, remember when I told you that fireworks made you?”

“Yeah. You said they were the best fireworks ever.”

That was technically true. Drake must have agreed, judging by his grin.

“Yes, I did. Well, the truth is, babies aren’t really made from fireworks.”

His eyes widened in disbelief.

I was a terrible mother.

“How are babies made?” he asked, so innocently.

I probably should have seen that coming and practiced that speech. But who knew I would have the media involved?

Drake pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh. Well, maybe I would let him explain conception.

I cleared my throat. “Well . . . ,” I elongated every single letter, “when a man and a woman love . . .” My eyes caught ahold of Drake’s raised brow. “I mean care for each other,” I amended, feeling so ridiculous for assuming Drake loved me.

Drake’s brow furrowed. What did that mean? I didn’t have time to ask. I would nurse my wounds later.

“They come together.” I brought my hands together in front of us. “And the man gives the woman some of his sperm, and that sperm fertilizes an egg inside of the woman.” I was trying to stay with my whole principle of teaching Jameson the correct anatomy terms. You know, other than the whole fireworks fiasco I was paying for now.

Jameson’s face scrunched. “Do you have eggs inside of you like a chicken?”

Drake chuckled, and I admit to having to suppress my laugh.

“No, honey. These eggs are so tiny, you can only see them under a microscope. But the important part is that you have a mommy and a daddy.”

“Yeah, Uncle Sam.”

Note to self: never, ever lie again. What kind of person was I, lying to my child? “Jameson,” my voice hitched. “Uncle Sam isn’t real. He’s like a cartoon character that represents America. And since you were born on America’s birthday, I just told you that he was your dad because I was afraid to tell you the truth.”

Jameson blinked and blinked. “You lied to me?”

That went straight to my heart. Tears streamed down my face. “I did. And I’m so, so sorry.”

“Why, Mommy?” He sounded as if I had just crushed all his dreams.

I pulled him to me and hugged the living daylights out of him. “Because I was scared.”

“Moms get scared?”

“Yes, we do, but it doesn’t make lying okay.”

“Like when I was scared to tell you I broke Izzy’s necklace, so I lied to you.”

“Yes, but then you did the right thing and told the truth and told Izzy you were sorry. And she forgave you,” I cried. Please, God, let my little boy forgive me.

Drake, who had been watching with wonder, reached out and rubbed my arm, alerting Jameson to his presence. Jameson, in turn, sat up out of my arms. Instinctively, Drake knelt next to us.

I had to say, I was impressed with Drake, but that was my cue.

“Jameson, the truth is, that Drake . . .”

Drake flashed me a smile of encouragement.

I took it and ran with it. “Drake is your dad,” I said in a whoosh, before I lost my courage.

Jameson narrowed his eyes. “He gave you sperm?”

I giggled before I could stop myself. “Uh . . . yes. But most importantly, we made you.”

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