She shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. It’s called getting old, Kayla.” She looks up at me with knowing eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me he was coming?”
Though her voice is low, the kitchen is right there, and I know Lachlan can hear us. Nothing seems to escape him. “It was a last minute decision,” I tell her, trying to play it off lightly. “I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course it’s okay, Kayla, sweetheart,” she says, grinning from ear to ear, bouncing lightly in her seat. “It’s okay because I’ve never seen you look so happy before.”
At that, my eyes flit over to the kitchen. Lachlan is staring at me while he takes pots out of the cupboards. I can’t read his expression, but I at least know he heard that I look happy.
I am happy.
I feel my cheeks flush with heat because I can’t ignore the truth. I am happy. Deliriously.
Tragically.
I break our gaze and try to concentrate on Penny and Sheldon on the TV. God, I loathe this show.
“So where did you find him?” my mom asks.
“He’s cousins with Bram and Linden. You know Stephanie’s husband? His cousin.”
She nods. “I’ve always liked Stephanie.”
“Yes, Mom, I know. The daughter you never had.”
“Oh, I only say that because I know how much she means to you. I was very happy to see her finally settle down. Now that can happen for you.”
Oh god. Oh god, no.
I look up, hoping that Lachlan is preoccupied, that he can’t hear us at all. But no. That would be asking too much. He’s standing right there, mixing something in a bowl, and those gorgeous, inquisitive eyes are peering into mine.
I tear myself away from him. “That’s not going to happen,” I tell my mom, maybe more harshly than I meant to. “Lachlan is leaving on Sunday.”
She frowns, her needles pausing mid clickety-clack. “Leaving where?”
“Back to Scotland. If you couldn’t tell, he’s from there.”
“Oh,” she says, blinking hard. “Oh dear. That’s terrible. Are you going with him?”
I let out a sharp, caustic laugh. Mainly from shock. “Yeah right!” I cry out. “No. No, he’s actually a very successful rugby player in Edinburgh. He’s got everything waiting for him. And I have, well, I have everything that I have here.”
Which was what? Nothing?
No. Not nothing. My mom. My brothers. My floundering career and my happily-coupled friends.
It was something.
But it wasn’t the something I wanted.
That something was a future filled with hope.
That something was in the kitchen.
That something was unattainable.
That something was burning a hole into me with his eyes. I didn’t even have to look to know. I could feel it. I was so good at feeling his eyes on my skin, always wanting more from me than flesh.
“That’s a shame,” she says. She goes back to her knitting, but her posture loses that verve she had before. Is it possible that my mother would rather me go chasing some beautiful man across the Atlantic Ocean than stay in San Francisco and keep on keeping on? I try not to think about it. In the end, what she wants, hell, what I want, doesn’t really have any bearing on the reality: Lachlan is going back.
And I barely know him.
Thankfully she doesn’t bring him up anymore, and by the time the show is over, he announces with that deep voice of his that dinner is ready.
My mom and I exchange a curious look and head into the kitchen.
Damn.
Just, damn it.
Lachlan has not only put placemats with place settings out, but there’s a nice bottle of red wine in the middle and flickering candles. He moves around like he grew up in this kitchen as I had.
“Sit, please,” he says, gesturing to the chairs. He goes beyond gesturing when it comes to my mom and holds out the chair for her before pushing it in. Then he heads for the kitchen counter, and when he comes back, he places a bowl of mashed potatoes and a dish of chicken parmigiana on the table. Not exactly two things that would go together, but it looks absolutely delicious and smells even better.