Page 41 of P.S. It’s Always Been You
“Good. So you’re moving back here to frequent my coffee shop. I knew I could pull this off.” As she takes a drink, her dark eyes twinkle with mischief over the top of the mug, perhaps imagining the day I show up at her fictional shop.
I laugh. “Anyone ever tell you that you have a one-track mind?”
She reaches forward and pats my cheek affectionately. “Never underestimate the power of a mother on a mission.” She makes a rolling gesture with her hand. “So, last night? You were up late? Working?”
“Sort of. We found some fascinating items in the home, but mostly I was up late thinking.”
“What’s on your mind? Anything you want to talk about?”
I sigh, rubbing a hand across the back of my neck. Where to start? What to say? Do I tell her I was completely caught up in getting to know a woman again? That I felt swept up in the fascinating swirl of Presley once more? That I’ve reconnected with the person who captivated me with her brains and her beauty a decade ago? Not to mention her wickedly dry sense of humor and the fact that she’s 100 percent unafraid to poke fun at me?
Presley’s easy ability to knock me down a peg makes me smile. She had a no-holds-barred attitude, and she would keep me in my place. Yet at the same time, she was one of the most supportive people I’ve ever known. That’s one of the things that made it nearly impossible to leave her. And that made it necessary to slice the strings of our love affair with the sharp edge of a knife.
She was too right for me. She fit me perfectly.
Other women I’ve dated only a few times pleaded with me to just retire. To take a year off and lie in the sun.
Never Presley. Her wants were different. She wanted us to still be together even if I was halfway around the world, risking my life every day.
But I made the other choice, and that’s why I’m here, living my best life, a life that includes visiting my mom for a few days and giving her everything she and my dad didn’t have when we were growing up.
I survey the kitchen she loves to cook in, the house she loves to relax in, the grounds she keeps her horses in. I took the chance I needed to take, and it made all this possible. This wonderful reality for my family.
I glance back down at the coffee, trying to center myself to my reality. To my temporary return home before I leave again. Cammi sent my schedule for the next month, and it’s packed with shoots, scouting trips for specials, and appearances. She reminded me, too, that I’ll need to plan the next wild journey I embark on that hopefully will become fodder for another book.
Why, then, knowing that I have one foot out of town, am I unable to stop thinking about Presley, talking to Presley, and wanting to get to know Presley again?
As my mom waits eagerly to learn what deep thoughts kept me up, I know I can’t tell her it was because of a girl. That would only get her hopes up. I won’t do that to her, because I’m not staying.
I’m leaving, because that’s what I do.
I go.
I give her a smile instead. “Work stuff. Just some prep for my next shoot. Utah desert. Scaling cliffs. I’m kind of ridiculously excited, even though I’ve gone there before. But I can’t wait to return.”
She sighs, and it’s sad, but understanding too. “You really do love what you do.”
“I love it as much as I loved Satchel.”
“He was a good dog. Speaking of dogs we love madly,” she says, then turns to the back door that leads out onto the porch. “Franklin!”
A few seconds later, a tan-and-white corgi/border collie mix charges in, panting and wagging his tail. Franklin’s the rescue mutt she adopted recently from Best Friends, an organization in the city.
After he sits at her feet, she pats his head and tells him he’s a good boy. “I’m going to take this rascal for a walk. Maybe visit the horses too. He loves horses.”
“You and that dog are one and the same.”
“We are.” She steps closer to me, rubbing my arm. “Hunter, I want you to live a long and happy life. I worry about you every day. I want you to be safe and in one piece, and I won’t stop trying to get you close to home.” She takes a breath and offers a small smile. “But I also know you’re your father’s son, and I’m probably fighting a losing battle.”
I drop a kiss onto her forehead. “I love you, Mom.”
I’m turning down the hall to take a shower when she calls out, “Oh, one more thing. There’s a gala this weekend in the city, at Sorvino’s on the Upper East Side. Vikas is receiving an award for his charitable contributions, and his wife invited Jesse and me to attend. They have some extra tickets. It’s a fundraising event for the children’s hospital. Would you want to come along? You’ll still be here for the project, so it would be a nice chance to see everyone.”
