Love Me Forever - Juliana Stone Page 0,53

guys sucked as a married couple,” he said roughly. “And Dad didn’t win any awards for Father of the Year, that’s for sure.” Boone sighed. “Look, I don’t want to dig into the past. We both lived it and dealt with it the best we could.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice catching. God, his mom looked so defeated. Suddenly, the resentment at her questions fled. In what world could he ever be mad at his mother?

“Don’t be. He’s gone, and you’re free.” His words might sound harsh to most folks, but they hadn’t lived in the hell hole he had. He hugged his mother fiercely, kissed the top of her head, and pulled away. “I’ve got to run. You want to come with Benji and me to the art show downtown?”

Her eyes slid from his, and she cleared her throat. “That sounds lovely, but I can’t. I’m heading out of town for a couple of days.”

Surprised, he frowned. “Yeah? Everything okay?”

“Oh, yes.” She smiled brightly. “I had planned this trip to go antiquing with Maude Adams up north. I’m looking for a few new pieces to work on and refinish, and she was more than happy to come along.”

She was acting weird, speaking too fast, color too high, but Boone wasn’t about to poke into his mother’s secrets. At least not yet. “Have a good time.” He turned to his son. “Okay, bud, you ready to go?”

“Can we keep her, Daddy?”

He looked down at Mabel, but it wasn’t the dog he saw. Instead, it was luminous eyes, creamy skin, and a smile that made his heart speed up. He blinked away the image. Was he really headed down that path?

“Can we?” Benji asked again, impatient for an answer.

“She’s not mine. She belongs to Poppy.”

“Oh.” Clearly disappointed, Benji gave Mabel a hug, and Boone followed them outside. As he walked to his car, he realized something. While his kid might have a thing for Mabel, what Boone felt for the dog’s owner was a hell of a lot more than a thing. He was treading into new territory here.

And, surprisingly for Boone Avery, he was okay with that.

Chapter Eighteen

Poppy spent the morning helping various vendors set up their booths. She ran for coffee and water and did whatever she could to make things run smoothly. Clarence Fitzsimmons needed a tea with milk? She was there for him. Dorothy Ayers’s display table only had three working legs? Poppy found her another one. Georgiana Smith couldn’t locate her boxes of hand-painted frames? Poppy searched until she did. Through all of it, she was very aware of the questioning looks from her mother, who was at the park as well. The woman was like a bloodhound, and she’d obviously caught scent of something.

Because of that, Poppy tried her best to keep away from Serena Fairbanks. She wasn’t ready to share yet, especially with a woman who made a habit of poking her nose where it wasn’t wanted. Besides, not only was her mother a control freak, she’d never liked Boone and had made no effort to hide it. What point was there in discussing him now, when Poppy wasn’t even sure what it was she and Boone were doing?

“What’s going on with you?”

Poppy grimaced and swore to herself. God, she’d been so close to getting through this setup without a conversation. Because conversations with her mother generally led to confrontations and arguments.

Poppy hauled another box off the truck before turning to find her mother right behind her, waiting to take it. Dressed in pink-and-purple overalls and an oversized straw hat with a nest of fake daisies along the rim, her mother appeared as eccentric as the town believed her to be.

“Nothing’s going on with me,” Poppy replied, tearing into the box. “Why would you think there is?” As soon as the words fell from her lips, she winced inwardly. Why in hell had she just opened herself up to more conversation?

Her mother started on the pottery items, placing them on the table as Poppy handed them to her. This was the last table to be set up, filled with items made by residents of the local senior center where her mother volunteered twice a week.

“You look different,” Serena Fairbanks said lightly. But Poppy wasn’t fooled. Her mother was fishing and wouldn’t stop until she caught what it was she was after.

“Pretty sure I don’t,” she answered.

“You do. Like you’ve got a secret you’re not willing to share.”

They were in it now. Poppy decided the