Nick squirmed under Ryan’s calm stare. “It’s just...weird. I thought my mom would pay what’s left, but she said I had to keep working it off.”
“Good for her. You’re not seven, Nick, and it’s not weird. What it is, is none of your business. What is your business is this—I like your mother. I respect your mother. I like you. And, up until this afternoon, I respected you.”
“You did?”
“You screwed up, which happens, but you came here every day you said you would to work it off. Now today, you’re here ready to throw your mother under the financial bus because seeing me might be a little weird?”
“I’m sorry.”
Lauren hoped Ryan could see that was about as huge a concession as he’d get from her son. It was incredibly hard to watch silently and not mediate, but Nick was sixteen now. He needed to learn how to deal with other men as a man.
“Apology accepted. So what are you going to do?”
“I’ll work if you let me. Starting tomorrow, if that’s okay.”
“As long as you understand my relationship with your mom and my relationship with you are connected, but still separate.”
The word relationship echoed around in Lauren’s mind. She knew what he meant—or she was pretty sure she did—but the word still stuck.
Nick stuck out his hand and Ryan shook it. “I’ll be here tomorrow.”
“Good. Now go in and apologize to Rose for worrying her. And tell her I said you could have some of those oatmeal raisin cookies she baked this morning.”
Nick was through the front door in an instant. Lauren laughed, stepping closer to Ryan. “You handled that perfectly. Thank you. Although, he probably doesn’t deserve any cookies.”
“I was on the receiving end of that kind of talking-to more often than I can even count.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her close. “I missed you.”
She didn’t get a chance to respond before he kissed her. He slid his hands over her shoulders and up the sides of her neck so he was cradling her head. His mouth tasted like oatmeal raisin cookies and she smiled against his lips.
“Hey, boss?” The shout from around the side of the lodge made him end the kiss with a sigh.
“Let me take you to dinner on Saturday,” he said.
“Ryan!” The voice—she thought it was Dill—was getting closer.
She stood on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss. “I’d like that.”
Nick exited the house at the same time Dill turned the corner. Though her son’s expression closed off a little when he saw her standing so close to Ryan, he just said, “See you tomorrow,” and walked to the car.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Dill said, “but we want you to take a look at the flashing on the big chimney.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow when I pick up Nick,” Lauren said, moving toward the stairs.
“If I’m not around, I’ll give you a call. Five o’clock Saturday?”
She nodded and lifted her hand in a wave before going to the car. Once they were on the main road, Nick took a folded-up napkin out of his pocket and unwrapped an oatmeal raisin cookie.
“I stole a cookie for you.”
It was an apology and a peace offering and an I-love-you all wrapped up in one small cookie theft. She grinned and took a bite.
*
The next day, when Nick got off the bus at the lodge, he still seemed a little off, so Rose broke out the secret weapon. Fresh-from-the-oven apple pie with French-vanilla ice cream melting into the nooks and crannies. She set it in front of him, then poured him a glass of milk.
“Your after-school snacks are awesome, Mrs. D. Thanks.”
She took the cup of hot tea she’d just brewed and sat down across the table from him. “So how are things going, Nick?”
“Good. I got a B on my ELA quiz.”
“ELA?”
“English Language Arts.”
“Oh.” She scowled, making him laugh. “Back in the olden days, we called it English class. I’m very proud of you for getting a B. And how are things going at home?”
His face closed off immediately and he gave her the one-shoulder shrug. “Fine. Whatever.”
“Whatever usually means a person doesn’t want to talk about something that needs talking about.”
He moved some pie around on his plate, watching the ice cream melt into streams running through apple chunk boulders. “It’s not like it matters.”
“If something’s bothering you, it matters. And unless I think you’re into something dangerous or bad for you, what you say to me stays with me. You can ask my daughter or almost anybody in this town. I’m not a rat.” He still hesitated and she guessed at what was holding him back. “Even if the person you’re having a problem with is family to me.”
When the tips of his ears got pink, she knew she’d nailed it. It didn’t take a math genius—assuming it was still called math nowadays—to see that, even though he’d shown up, he was still having some kind of problem with Ryan.