Hired Hottie - Kelsie Rae Page 0,10
follow it to see her lounging on the couch with her knitting needles and a ball of yarn in her lap.
“What are you doing here so late?” she asks. The soft glow of the TV bounces off her pale skin.
“Just wanted to check in.”
“You checked in yesterday.”
“Yeah. And that was yesterday. What? Is there a problem with your only son wanting to come see you?” I razz before plopping down onto the couch next to her while resting the Get Baked box from Charlie on my lap.
She smiles. “I guess not. There are some leftovers in the fridge if you want to heat them up.”
“Alright, I’ll grab some in a minute. But first, I wanted to see how you’re doing?”
“I’m doing good. Charlie stopped by earlier—”
“Which reminds me,” I cut her off before I can forget and give her the pink box from Get Baked. “She wanted me to give you this.”
“She mentioned I’d be getting a treat tonight.” Bouncing her brows up and down, she takes the box from me, lifts the lid, and grins. “My favorite. One of these days, you’ll have to ask her how to make these.”
I cover my amusement with a closed fist to my lips and a fake cough. “Charlie doesn’t know how to do anything but ring up the orders and frost the cookies, Mom. But I’ll let her know you have a hell of a lot more faith in her than I do.”
The sound of her light laughter makes my chest ache. The question of how much longer I’ll be able to hear it forces its way to the front of my mind, but I shove it aside.
“How’d your appointment go?” I ask, nearly choking on the words.
Her dainty little hand sets down her knitting needle before she cups my cheek. The warmth from her touch seems to spread through me, melting a bit of the ice around my heart.
“It was fine. They scheduled an MRI for next week. Then we’ll figure out a plan and move forward from there. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
She could be right. But she could also be very wrong. Statistically speaking, twenty percent of breast lumps are cancerous, and the doctors are worried this one has been there for a decent amount of time, which raises the chances, though I know she’ll never admit that to me.
I pat her knee then head to the kitchen in an attempt to mask my emotions under the pretense of leftovers. My chest tightens when I see my options in the fridge. Not because I expect a five-course dinner anytime I come over, but because I know how much my mom loves to cook, yet her fridge is nearly empty. She says she isn’t feeling any different since she found the lump. In fact, she insists she feels fine, which means she’s too anxious to cook and, therefore, too anxious to eat.
Grabbing the first Tupperware I see, I shove it into the microwave then hit start. My ass rests against the Formica countertops as I take in my childhood home. The small kitchen has a dining table tucked into a corner, laminate floors that have seen better days but are mopped religiously, and a bin for mail, which is usually kept in order. Not today, though. It looks fuller than ever. Releasing a sigh, I thumb through its contents. None of the white envelopes have the angry red past due stamp on them, but the papers are still worn as if my mom has used her fragile little hands to worry over them more often than once. Bills. Five of them, and I’m afraid it’s just the start. A weight bears down on my shoulders before the microwave dings, snapping me out of my funk.
I drop the mail back into the organizer on the counter. Grabbing a fork and my lukewarm dinner, I head back into the family room then sit down to watch old reruns of Law and Order with my mom, who’s always been more of a superhero than anything else.
Chapter Five
Charlie
I’ve only been at Get Baked for a few minutes when the bell dings above the front door. A grin spreads across my face when Rhett and his dog, Harry, mosey in.
“Hey, guys!” I greet them.
“Hey, Charlie. How’s work going?”
“Meh. I just walked in. What are you guys doing up so early?”
Bending down, Rhett rubs Harry’s head affectionately as he replies, “Indie’s a brat and always wakes up Harry. Sometimes I can get him to go back to