Austin didn’t ring the doorbell, which reminded her of the fact that this was home. To him, anyway. They walked into a bright and airy front hall, where the only artwork on the off-white walls happened to be Austin’s photographs—she recognized some of the shots from the online portfolio Austin had shown her during their road trip.
Seeing them again only cemented her opinion that he was unbelievably talented. His style was an odd combination of stark and elegant, and he’d told her he didn’t do any digital touch-ups after the fact, which she appreciated. She loved Photoshop as much as the next person, but she disliked the way some artists relied too heavily on the tool.
“You’re here!”
The overjoyed exclamation came from the doorway to their left. Mari turned her head in time to see a petite older woman bounding toward Austin. From sheer joy shining on her face, Mari instantly knew that this was Austin’s mother.
Like Charlotte, Della was petite but carried herself in a way that made her seem taller. She vaguely resembled her son in terms of features, but while Austin’s hair was dark, Della’s was dark blond and threaded with silver, and her eyes were brown rather than green.
The joy in those eyes dimmed slightly once Della reached them. “Nate said you wouldn’t be able to make it,” she told her youngest son, sounding nervous.
“I wrapped up the job early.” He hesitated, then spoke in a gruff tone. “Happy birthday.”
Della smiled. “Thank you, sweetie.”
After a beat, Austin stepped forward and gave his mother a hug.
From where she stood, Mari could see the shock that flooded Della’s face, followed by pure delight as she sank into her son’s embrace. But Austin didn’t maintain the hug for long—a brief moment later, he released Della, took a backward step and shifted in discomfort.
“Ah, shit—I mean, shoot,” he corrected guiltily. “I forgot your gift in the car.”
“That’s all right,” his mother said hastily. “You can get it later.”
“No, I should get it now.”
He backed toward the door as if dying to escape, but Mari cleared her throat before he could leave.
As if he suddenly remembered her presence, Austin glanced over sheepishly. “Oh. Right. Mom, this is Mari Smith. She’s an artist from Chicago, and a good friend of mine. Mari, this is my mother, Della.” He blurted out the introduction, then said, “I’ll be back in a sec.”
And then he hurried out the door like his ass was on fire.
The second they were alone, Austin’s mother turned to Mari and began appraising her like she was an item up for auction.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Bishop,” Mari said awkwardly. “And happy birthday.”
“Thank you, Mari, and please, call me Della.” The visual examination continued. “How long have you known my son?”
She was tempted to lie and say “oh, ages and ages!” but something about Della Bishop stopped her from lying. There was wisdom in those brown eyes, and Mari got the strangest sense that the woman could read her mind.
“A couple of weeks,” she confessed. “We met when my car broke down on the side of the road. Austin stopped to help me out, and we ended up hitting it off.”
Della pursed her lips, but whatever her opinion on the matter, she didn’t get a chance to voice it because Austin had returned.
He clumsily held out a rectangular-shaped package wrapped in brown Kraft paper and secured with twine. “This is for you,” he told his mom.
Mari eyed the gift in surprise, wondering when the heck he’d had time to buy it. He’d barely left her sight these past two weeks, which meant he must have had the present in his bag the entire time. Which meant he’d given prior thought to it. Which meant he still cared about his mother, no matter how upset he was with her.
Emotion squeezed Mari’s heart, but it was nothing compared to the look on Della’s face. She was clearly touched by the gesture, and Mari noticed her fingers were shaking as she delicately undid the twine and opened the wrapping.
When Austin’s mother saw the framed photograph inside, tears filled her eyes. “Oh, Austin.”
Mari snuck a peek at the picture and experienced another rush of warmth. The photo showed Austin, Nate and a pair of identical dark-haired twins, all wearing black tuxes and smiling at the camera.
Austin shifted his feet. “This was taken at Owen’s wedding, remember? You said you liked the shot because it’s so rare to get all four of us to smile, so I had it framed.”
There was a second of silence, and then Della threw her arms around her son in a warm embrace that lacked the awkwardness of the first.
But when then they pulled back, weariness lined Austin’s chiseled features. “Mom… We need to talk.” He paused ruefully. “It’s time we tried to actually make some headway here.”
Della nodded, her chin trembling as if she were close to tears again. She gently set the frame down on the little table in the hall.
“But not tonight,” he said roughly. “Tonight we’re celebrating.”
She gave another shaky nod.