Page 75 of Mom Com

And that’s all it takes, one smile and my heart starts pounding like a lovestruck teen. In self-defense, I shrink an inch in my chair.

“That’s my cue,” Liv says just as Wilder approaches. She stands, giving me a fast kiss on the cheek and then pats her brother’s arm. “Take care of our girl.”

Wilder looks at me and then back at his sister. “You weren’t kidding about being in a rush,” he says. “What’s this emergency?”

Liv gathers up her coat and purse. “Ask me tomorrow when I get back from the city. And wish me luck!”

Wilder’s expression turns knowing like he can sense something important must be happening with Claudette, but Liv doesn’t see it because she’s already carving a path through the crowd.

Wilder’s gaze returns to me. “Maddi,” he says with a hint of a smile, making my name sound important.

“Wilder,” I manage, now deeply regretting finishing my cocktail.

He notes my empty glass. “Can I get you anything from the bar?”

I’m about to say “yes and please” to the liquid confidence, but then think better of it, considering I drove here. But the idea of sitting in this cheery seashelled room staring into his well-constructed face and baring my soul with no alcohol also sounds impossible. “Not sure I should,” I say with deep regret.

“Dare I ask what you and my sister are up to this time?” Wilder takes the seat across from mine, focusing in a way that assures me I have his full attention. He doesn’t scan the room to see who he knows, or glance at the menu. He just stares directly into my eyes, his scent drifting toward me like a fishhook.

I shake my head, searching for the wits I once possessed. “Believe me, I wish I knew. I think Liv and I have lost our minds.”

A smile turns up the corners of his mouth. “I seem to remember that was a common occurrence growing up, you two concocting some absolutely terrible idea that was sure to give one or all of our parents a stroke.”

“Remind me again,” I say, elongating the words, happy for the diversion into easier subjects. “Who it was that decided to borrow his dad’s boat without asking and without checking the fuel tank before we left, marooning us on White Sands Island for eight hours before your parents realized what happened and sent out the National Guard?”

He chuckles. “Liv?”

Now I laugh, too, the sound catching me off guard.

A guy with a black waiter’s apron stops at our table. I instantly recognize him—Benny, one of Jake’s old football buddies. I guess I’d been so consumed with my conversation with Liv that I hadn’t noticed him earlier.

“Hey man,” Benny says, clapping Wilder on the shoulder, and as his eyes drift to me, they widen. “No way! Maddi DeLuca? I heard you were home.”

“I’m here all right,” I say, not sure if that’s a good thing.

“It’s been what? Like a decade? That’s wild,” he says, but before I can respond, he continues. “Hey, how did everything work out? I mean with your kid and everything? Last time I saw you, you were close to popping.”

I take a breath. It’s not that I’m surprised by the idiocy of this question or the enthusiasm with which he asked it, but it’s just been a long day. And while I feel like I have a better tolerance for this type of thing than I did two weeks ago, it exhausts me just the same.

Wilder’s face goes stone-cold. “Hey, Benny?” he asks before I get a chance to formulate a response. “How did everything work out with your divorce? The last time I saw you, you were moving out.”

I steal a very surprised look at Wilder. He didn’t just say that, did he?

Benny’s face falls. “Shit, sorry man,” he says, giving Wilder a defeated look. “I get your point, but way harsh.”

“I’m not the one you should apologize to,” Wilder replies, and my shock deepens.

Benny looks at me. “Sorry, Maddi. No offense meant.”

“No offense taken,” I say, actually feeling a little bad for him. I haven’t seen Wilder lash out like that since seventh grade when Max Westman told me I’d be prettier if I had bigger boobs. “And to answer your question, my son is wonderful. The best, really.”

Benny perks up, fully on board with rerouting the conversation. “You should bring him down to the beach this summer. I’ll give him a surfing lesson,” he offers, and something about it gets me. Yes, Benny started in an off-putting way, but in retrospect, I think it was more out of curiosity than malice. And it gives me pause, making me wonder how many other interactions I may have misinterpreted for judgment since I’ve been back.

“I think he would love that,” I say.

Benny grins. “Then it’s a plan.” He pulls a pen from behind his ear. “So, what can I get you guys?”

Wilder gestures to me.