If We Were Perfect - Ana Huang Page 0,27
her hands in the air. “Do you know how much money software engineers make?”
“I don’t need her money, Mom. I make enough on my own.”
“Well, of course you don’t. But if she has her own money, it means she won’t leech off yours. You have to be careful. Don’t want to attract gold-diggers.” Amy heaved a sign laden with the thousand burdens that came from having a son who wouldn’t see reason. “I figured since you didn’t click with any of the new women I set you up with, you might have better luck with an ex. Who knows? If she hadn’t moved to Colorado, you two might be married right now!”
“I doubt it.” Sammy glared at Kevin, who was loitering to the side, eavesdropping and chuckling to himself.
His mother narrowed her eyes. “Is this because of Olivia?”
What? Why the hell was she bringing up Olivia?
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Are you lying?”
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed further, and he could practically see the gears turning in her head.
Unease prickled the back of Sammy’s neck. Nothing good ever came of the look his mother was giving him now.
Abruptly, her frown disappeared, and she smiled.
Oh, fuck. His unease intensified.
“All right.” Amy patted his arm. “I understand about Lucy.”
“You do?” Kevin asked from the sidelines. Lydia hushed him, and Sammy and Amy ignored him. Richard had wisely ducked into the Chinese market next to Wah Sing for that day’s newspaper while his wife and son argued over said son’s love life.
“Sorry I invited her without asking you first,” Amy continued. “Have a wonderful rest of your day. I’ll see you soon.”
She waved goodbye and swanned into the market, yelling “Richard!”
“You’re in deep shit,” Kevin said.
Sammy had to agree. Red flags had popped up left and right the second his mother apologized. She would never apologize for matchmaking unless she had something more nefarious up her sleeve.
Too bad he had no clue what that something was.
Chapter Eight
In hindsight, Olivia acknowledged that she might have been in the wrong when she’d rearranged Sammy’s beloved kitchen without asking for his input first. She really had thought she’d been doing him a favor—what kind of monster left dozens of spices unorganized like that?—but she supposed any baker or chef would chafe at having their culinary sanctuary upended.
Since she couldn’t put everything back the way it was—she didn’t remember all the original placements—she settled for an apology dinner. Sammy had said some hurtful things during their argument, but he’d sucked it up and apologized. It was time for her to do the same.
Plus, she needed to stop hiding from him. She’d locked herself in her room since she accidentally flashed him and his mother yesterday, so mortified it took a good half hour before the crimson faded from her face. She’d even waited until she heard Sammy leave the house that morning before she chanced sneaking into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face—and he hadn’t left until eleven.
Olivia couldn’t hide from him forever, though, so she might as well get their first post-accidental-nudity encounter out of the way.
“It’s not that big a deal,” she said out loud, touching one of the takeout boxes to ensure it was still warm. “He’s seen you naked before.”
The reminder didn’t help as much as she thought it would.
She glanced at the clock and drummed her fingers on the table. It was almost seven. From what she’d observed over the past week, this was when Sammy usually ate dinner, but if he didn’t come home soon, the food was going to get cold. Olivia would’ve worried he was dining out, but she’d heard him on the phone that morning saying he would be home all night working on bakery stuff.
Ten more minutes, and then I’m digging in. She could save the leftovers for lunch tomorrow.
Disappointment niggled at her, which was ridiculous. It wasn’t like she’d been looking forward to dinner with Sammy. This was an apology meal. It was an obligation, not desire.
To keep herself preoccupied, Olivia opened the Community app on her phone and scrolled through the local listings, looking for anything that sounded interesting. She was feeling lonely, and she could use some new female friends in her life. Farrah was only a phone call or FaceTime away, but she lived in New York and was married now. Plus, her interior design business was booming, and she was always busy. Ditto for Kris, who lived in L.A. and was juggling her job at MentHer—a nonprofit for girls who’d lost their mothers—with