Uh, fuck yeah. Whoa, slow your roll. Don’t sound too eager. “I have my dog,” I say, hooking my thumb back at Sadie. She barks to confirm her presence.
Amelia laughs. “She can come too.”
“Oh well, then yeah, I’d love to have dinner with you guys. Are you sure I’m not imposing?”
“Not at all. We’d love the company. I’m sure Amelia is sick of me by now.”
Amelia nods. “I am. Come on, Chandler. Mom made lasagna.”
Our eyes lock, and a slow smile moves across my lips. “Well, if you insist.”
She rolls her eyes as she turns and heads inside. As I watch her, I can’t help but think my parents are always right.
How annoying.
Chapter Eight
Amelia
Mom has been here for four days, and it’s everything I’ve been missing. After we got off the phone, she arrived within three hours. When she stepped off the plane, I lost it. I wrapped my arms around my mom and cried. It seemed like we stood there for hours, but it was really only a few minutes. She whispered in my ear that she loved me, and I swear it’s like we’ve been talking every day for the last four years. We may fight, and we may disagree on a lot of things, but at the end of the day, she’s my mom, and I was stupid to think she had abandoned me. She would never do that. Just like my dad would never abandon her. Or Ryan and me. Not by choice, at least.
Stupid cancer.
Mom’s voice fills the living room as I try to assemble another place setting for Chandler. I can’t believe he’s here. If I were honest, I would admit I’ve missed seeing him these past few days. I thought maybe I should have texted him and told him I wouldn’t be at the coffee shop, but then I thought, why would he care? Apparently, he had, and that shouldn’t leave me breathless, but it does. When Sadie comes barreling into the kitchen, almost knocking the empty wineglass out of my hand, I giggle.
“Hello, Sadie girl, how are you?”
She gives me a happy bark, and I grin. I set the glass down, grabbing a hunk of garlic bread before feeding it to her.
“Always feeding my dog.”
Sadie takes off like a bat out of hell. “Wow. Way to hang me out to dry,” I scold her, but she doesn’t care. She has a piece of bread. I look up guiltily, my eyes wide as I hold back my grin. “She asked for it?”
He doesn’t look mad or even annoyed. He just looks gorgeous. His Under Armour tee is tight over his shoulders and chest, but it flows seamlessly down his torso. His athletic shorts hang low on his hips, and I’m drooling at the little piece of skin that’s showing since he’s folded his arms across that thick chest of his. His hair is wild, like he’s been running his fingers through it over and over again. I wonder what that would feel like. Drew never liked for me to touch his hair, mostly because he loaded it up with gel. Chandler doesn’t do that, though; his hair looks natural and free. He still hasn’t shaved. That usually isn’t my jam. Drew was always so clean-shaven and neat. His hair was never out of place, but Chandler looks as if he has just rolled out of bed. And I like it. A lot.
Va-va-voom.
I clear my throat, tearing my gaze from his alluring topaz eyes. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. She loves you.”
The way he says loves is downright sinful. To be on the receiving end of that word could destroy a woman. A good woman. One who would love him just as much as he loved them. I inhale deeply. “Would you like some wine?”
“Yes, please.”
“I have red and white.”
“Red.”
His voice is so deep, so sexy, and I honestly don’t remember it being that rich in school. It had to be, though; he was well past puberty when I was crushing on him. He just seems different, more manly, now.
I try to ignore his overwhelming presence as I get out another wineglass for him.
“Can I help with anything?”
“Nope, I’m pretty much done. You can grab your plate, though,” I say, nodding toward his yellow plate that already has silverware and a napkin on top of it.
He picks it up. “It’s great to see your mom here.”
I glance up at him for only a moment before I start pouring the second glass. A smile pulls at my lips as I nod. “Yeah, you were right. I needed to speak to her, clear the air. It’s been great.”
“That’s awesome. I’m really happy for you.”
Neither of us says anything else as I finish pouring the second glass. When I start the third, I ask, “What have you been up to the last couple days?”