Wrapped Up in You - Jill Shalvis Page 0,35
answering the question with another question. In fact, she—unlike anyone else in his life—never let him get away with much. “Obviously, there’s a problem between you two,” she said.
“The problem is that when I needed a mom, I didn’t have one.”
“And now you, what, don’t need a mom?”
“No.”
She nodded, accepting this easily, more easily than anyone he’d ever told. “She seems really sweet,” she said.
Kel let out a low, mirthless laugh just as his mom reappeared with hot chocolate, which she set in front of him.
He looked down at the steaming mug, his chest pinching at all the memories that slammed into him. This had been a tradition. On cold days when he’d come home from school, she’d make him hot chocolate. Up until the day he’d come home from school to no hot chocolate because she’d been in bed with another man. He pushed the mug away. “I didn’t order this.”
She clasped her hands together. “It used to be your favorite.”
“Yes,” he said. “When I was ten.”
His mom’s face flushed with embarrassment. Across the table Ivy slid the mug toward herself. “Well, I’m not ten, but my mom never once made me hot chocolate. No sense in this going to waste, right?” She took a sip. “Wow.”
His mom beamed at her. “You like it?”
“It’s the most amazing hot chocolate I’ve ever had,” Ivy said.
Kel rolled his eyes and Ivy kicked him beneath the table. Hard.
“I added my special secret ingredient,” his mom said. “A pinch of cinnamon.”
“It’s delicious. Thank you.”
“You’re so welcome.” His mom turned to him and shyly pulled something from one of her apron pockets.
Her phone. Which she opened to her photos.
Perfect. “Mom, this isn’t really a great time—”
“Aw,” Ivy said, eyes on the picture of Remy and the new baby. “So cute! Who is this?”
“That’s Kel’s sister,” his mom said. “And her new baby, Harper. This was taken right in the birth room. Harper was two minutes old.”
“Precious,” Ivy said softly, looking and sounding very sincere.
Kel had seen the picture. Remy had sent it, and he’d thought the same thing then that he thought now. The baby was red, mottled, and covered in . . . well, he wasn’t sure exactly what. Some sort of goop. Precious wasn’t exactly the word he’d use.
“And this was yesterday,” his mom said, thumbing to the next pic. “In her daddy’s arms.”
And okay, the baby was pretty cute now. She had Remy’s eyes and Ethan’s smile. And just looking at her made Kel smile, which was a real feat at the moment.
Then his mom slid her finger across the screen to the next pic, which was of her and Henry wearing Best Grandma Ever and Best Grandpa Ever T-shirts, holding Harper.
“Love the shirts,” Ivy said.
They were smiling down at the baby like real doting grandparents. The only person in the family missing from the photos was Kel.
His own doing.
His mom gently touched his arm, making him realize he’d frozen in place, staring at the phone. “My break’s in thirty minutes,” she said. “I could come and sit down, maybe catch up a little.”
“Can’t,” he said. “I’ve got to get Ivy home.”
His mom’s smile faded a little bit, and for the first time he didn’t feel the usual resentment and anger. He felt . . . guilt.
This time when she headed back to the kitchen, silence reigned at the table. He looked over at Ivy. “Sorry about that.”
She stood. “Excuse me a minute?” She headed to the restroom.
He eyed the hot chocolate on her side of the table. Fighting—and losing—the battle, he pulled the mug in close and took a sip. He didn’t know what he expected it to taste like—broken hearts and destroyed dreams? But it tasted like hot chocolate. Delicious hot chocolate.
Five minutes later, Ivy still hadn’t returned, but their food arrived. His was a huge stack of pancakes that he’d wanted only a few minutes ago, but his appetite was gone.
A few minutes later, his mom slid into the booth where Ivy had been sitting. She pulled Ivy’s plate toward herself, much as he’d done the hot chocolate.
“What are you doing?” he asked. “Ivy’ll be back any minute.”
“Will she?”
“What does that mean?”
She gave him a slightly pitying look. “Son, she climbed out the bathroom window about ten minutes ago.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Yeah, I think she thought we’d communicate better without an audience.”
“That’s . . . oddly specific.” He narrowed his gaze. “You talked to her.”
“No.” She took another bite. “She talked to me. She called a Lyft.”
Kel couldn’t believe