Page 31 of Love, Second Chances and Other Nonsense
I look at him directly. “Why, your mom seems to measure me against some invisible standard. I’m not Millie.”
Adam makes a frustrated noise. “There’s no invisible standard. And you’re right; you’re not Millie, and that’s a good thing. Millie and I didn’t work as a couple. We’re friends, that’s it.”
“Does she know that?” I ask, unable to keep a slight edge from my voice.
“Of course she does. It’s been over a decade.” Adam reaches for my hand. “Caitlin, you have nothing to worry about where Millie is concerned. She’s an old friend, nothing more.”
I nod, wanting to believe him. “So when your mom made that comment…?”
“She was just being nostalgic, I guess.” Adam squeezes my hand. “Mom has a hard time letting go of her plans. She had this whole vision of how all our lives would play out, and she doesn’t adjust easily when reality doesn’t match up.”
“So she’s disappointed,” I say flatly.
“No,” Adam says quickly. “Not in you. Maybe in the general situation. But she’ll come around. Once she sees how happy we are together, once she gets to know you better, she’ll forget all about those old plans.”
I want to believe him. I really do. But there’s a nagging feeling in my gut that I can’t quite shake, a sense that there’s more to the story.
“Will I meet her? Millie?” I ask.
Adam nods. “Eventually, I guess. If we ever visit Mount Pella, she’d probably be at some family function or other. Her family is like an extension of ours.”
“And you’re sure there’s nothing I need to worry about? Nothing still there between you two?” I hate how insecure I sound, but I need to hear him say it.
Adam’s expression softens. He cups my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing gently over my cheeks. “I promise you, there is nothing between me and Millie except friendship. You’re the one I want to spend my life with.”
“I love you,” he says, his dark eyes sincere. “Only you. I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. You’re my future.”
I lean into him, letting his words wash over me. He presses his lips to mine, soft at first, then deeper, as if trying to convince me with more than words.
When we break apart, I smile, no longer worried about Millie. “I love you too.”
9
Chapter 9
Adam
I pull into my parents’ driveway and let the engine idle for a minute, just staring at the house where I grew up. Colorful gourds adorn the porch, and a cheerful scarecrow stands sentinel. The porch light flicks on; she’s been watching for me. With a sigh, I kill the engine.
I should have gone straight home to Caitlin, but Mom’s text had that urgent undertone she’s perfected over thirty-some years of motherhood. The one that says, “This is optional, but we both know it’s not.” I grab my phone and send Caitlin a quick message: “At my parents. Home soon.” At least, I hope I’ll be home soon. Nothing with my mother is ever quick.
Getting out of my truck, I make my way to the front door. Before I can knock, it swings open, and there’s Mom, every hair perfectly in place, lipstick perfectly applied despite it being almost seven in the evening.
“Adam,” she says, like I’m a long-lost traveler rather than someone who lives fifteen minutes away. “I was starting to worry.”
“I texted I was on my way.” I bend down to kiss her cheek, smelling the familiar scent of Chanel No. 5 that’s been her signature since before I was born. “The Hendersons had a plumbing emergency at one of their rentals. A pipe burst in the basement.”
She ushers me inside, hand pressing against my back. “Well, you’re here now. Have you eaten? I can heat something up.”
“I’m fine, Mom. Caitlin’s off work and she’s cooking tonight.” I try to keep my tone light, but Mom’s slight grimace at Caitlin’s name doesn’t escape me. “What’s up? Your text sounded important.”
“Oh, it can wait until you’ve had something to drink. Come sit down.” She leads me to the living room, where everything is in its place, as always. The couch pillows arranged at precise angles, family photos in matching frames, not a speck of dust anywhere.
I sit on the edge of the couch, hoping that whatever this is won’t take long. Dad’s conspicuously absent, which means Mom wants to talk to me alone first, never a good sign.
“Coffee? Or maybe some of that herbal tea Millie brought over? She says it’s great for stress.” Mom hovers, not quite sitting down herself.
“Just water is fine, Mom. I can’t stay long.” I try to sound firm, but my voice has a slight give to it that Mom always detects, like a predator sensing weakness.
