A Mother's Secrets (Parent Portal 4)

“I tried not to be too nosy, but I got a look at the den,” he said then. Sitting next to each other, they were facing the kitchen, not each other, and she found that it made conversation with him easier. She just had to be certain that, with their stools as close as they needed to be to fit, she didn’t turn and knock her knees into his thigh.

That would not be good.

“All those books...and the woodworking of the shelves, even the desk. It was like stepping back in time to an elegant drawing room...”

“The floors need to be redone,” she said, almost light-headed with relief that they’d found something to talk about. “And the rug is threadbare.” It was wool, though, and she hadn’t been able to afford another like it in that size; settling for synthetic had seemed disrespectful to her parents and grands.

“I’m actually using the money I’m making from you to finish the updates I need to make on the house,” she told him, envisioning hours of house renovation conversation. She had lots and lots to say on that topic. Research she’d done. Choices she’d already made and some she had yet to make.

People she’d interview to do the work. Some she’d chosen, some she had yet to choose.

“I’m assuming your grandparents must have passed, since you speak of them in past tense and...they aren’t here,” he said, interrupting her perusal of her house repertoire right when she’d been debating starting with floor refinishers or the roofers who’d just completed the first portion of the work that needed to be done. All with an eye to the baby’s safety, of course.

“They died, one right after the other, when I was in college.”

“I’m sorry.” Her peripheral vision told her he’d glanced her way. She glanced back before she could stop herself. Read more in his gaze than she generally shared with business associates. Clients.

Or any employer she’d ever had.

Alarm bells rang through her entire system—so loud it was a wonder he couldn’t hear them. They had nine months ahead of them, hopefully, at the very least.

No way could she afford to feel things for this man. Any things.

Not even the compassion she freely poured over her clients.

He’d already used up his allotted amount.

Chapter Eight

So the man understood grief. Considering their circumstances, that was a given. Didn’t mean they had to share a moment over it.

Turning back to her food, Christine attack

ed the next bite with a gusto she didn’t feel. Not for the chicken. “It wasn’t unexpected,” she said, finding her distance again. “They’d both been failing for a while.”

And her turning up pregnant her senior year of high school hadn’t helped matters. She’d caused them so much worry...

Not “Jamie Howe on the premises” thoughts. “I’m sure they’re both sighing in relief as they look down and see the new roof,” she said, managing a real chuckle, as she made her first house renovation conversation choice.

“What about your parents? Are they still local?”

He didn’t know her. He knew about Ryder, but he didn’t know her. As big and wide as her world in Marie Cove was, she still lived a somewhat insular life. Around people who knew about her mom, at least.

“My mom died when I was ten,” she told him. Clinic history. All of her employees knew. Some of her clients did. No reason her temporary employer shouldn’t.

Or were they business partners? Their contract put her mostly in the boss position...

“Dad was working eighty hours a week in LA and he and my grandparents thought it in my best interest to keep me with them. Eventually he gave them custody of me.” After he remarried.

“I didn’t get along with his new wife. Probably my fault as much as hers. I wasn’t open to replacing my mother. Or having another one.”

“Do you ever see them?”

“Once or twice a year. But we talk at least once a month.” She loved her dad. And Tyler, too. Even had developed some fond feelings for her stepmom, who’d been a surprising source of support to her when she’d been pregnant the first time, and again when Gram had died.

But a girl didn’t forget how easily she’d been given up. Or how easily months could pass without being missed. She knew that love didn’t always mean having someone who shared your daily life. Or cared about knowing your daily ups and downs.

“How about you?” He’d almost finished his dinner. As had she. Another awkward moment or two and she’d be escaping. She hoped his response came in time, though. She was kind of curious.