Page 125 of None Of Your Business

“You wanted breakfast. They make a good one. And my mother texted this morning to say that if I didn’t bring you, she was sending Josh to my house.”

“Josh knows about us?”

“Josh knows.”

“I hate Josh.” I slap my hands over my face. “I hate Josh, I hate Beckett, I hate Madison, and I’m having doubts about you.”

Hudson laughs and pulls my hands away from my face. “Breathe.”

“I can’t breathe.”

“It’s just breakfast,” he says, his thumb pressing gently against my wrist.

“I look like a mess,” I mumble.

“You look fine.” He gets out, opens my door, and wraps an arm around my waist. “Ready?”

“No.”

He walks me up the path anyway, and the front door swings open before we even reach the step.

A woman in her sixties sits in a wheelchair right in the entryway. She has silver hair, sharp blue eyes just like Hudson’s, and a look that says she’s been waiting there all morning.

“About time,” she says, rolling forward. Her eyes take in my red hair and the way I’m gripping her son’s arm. “So, you’re the woman who calls my son Shrink Wrap?”

I let go of Hudson’s arm like it burned me. “I’m so sorry,” I blurt out. “I was stressed, and I actually respect his degree.”

Hudson lets out a quiet chuckle behind me.

His mom stares at me for a second, then throws her head back and laughs. “Oh, you poor thing,” she says, wheeling closer and holding out a hand. “I’m Eleanor. Ignore Hudson. He’s boring. And don’t trust Josh. He’s a mommy’s boy and the reason I know everything about you.”

“Mother,” Hudson sighs.

Eleanor pulls me into a gentle hug. “Come in, Rowan. I want to hear all about the gallery.”

I blink. “You know about the show?”

“Of course I do,” she says, backing her chair down the wide hallway. “I saw your reviews in the newspapers.”

I look back at Hudson, who just shrugs.

“There they are,” a man’s voice calls out from the kitchen.

“I’m Ed.” He sets a plate on the table, then pulls me in for a quick hug. “Great to meet you.”

I laugh, startled. “You too.”

When Eleanor rolls up to the head of the table, Ed steps to her side, leans down, and kisses her forehead. She pats his cheek without looking up and takes a sip of her coffee.

Ed looks at her like taking care of her isn’t work. It’s just part of loving her.

Suddenly, everything about Hudson makes sense. The quiet way he watches me, the cushion he put on the chair in the observation room, the way he holds my weight when my hip gives out without ever making a big deal of it—he learned that patience right here at this table.

I end up asking them how they met and how they made all of this work. They bicker over who made the first move and talk about the early days like they were yesterday, making years of marriage sound easy, even when it clearly wasn’t.

“So,” Eleanor says, leaning in. “There’s something I’ve been dying to ask you, Rowan.”

I swallow. “Okay?”