Page 45 of Drilled

Was that disappointment I felt? Offense maybe?

Or maybe it was the sharp, dizzying friction between frustration and heat that I’d offered him the opportunity to lay things out, and he’d declined in the most gentlemanly way possible. But he was still here, and the fact he didn’t leave altogether was the most damning piece of evidence that he wanted me.

And God, I wanted him too.

I wanted him so badly that I immediately shoved that desire away, scared of its implications. He was clearly holding himself back, and I certainly was not going to push past his boundaries.

“All done,” I announced, moving to the full-length mirror to fix up my hair.

The air in the room still felt charged, and I deliberately avoided Sy’s gaze in the mirror even though my skin prickled underneath it.

“You’re nervous about meeting your mom, aren’t you?” he asked softly.

My fingers fumbled in my hair, but I recovered quickly. “Yeah. It’s…it’s going to be the first time I’ve seen her since the reading of my uncle’s will. I haven’t been nervous about a meeting in much longer than that.”

Now our eyes did catch in the mirror. He watched me silently, and heat began building in the back of my neck. I’d shared more than I intended to. But instead of harping on about it, Sy simply stood up and held out a hand.

“I think I know something that’ll help with the nerves,” he said with a gentle smile that pulled the knots in my stomach even more taut. “Trust me?”

I didn’t think about it for as long as I thought I would. “I do.”

And it was true. I trusted Sy with more than I could acknowledge right now, but when he led me out the backdoor and into my yard, I began to seriously reconsider that choice.

“Sy?” I asked, my voice rising with a warning as a familiar-looking little tabby hobbled into view. “That better not be who I think it is.”

Silas gave me a guilty grin. “Okay, I know, I know, but just let me explain, please. I promise, I haven’t been keeping him in your yard. I set up an insulated shelter box just outside the property line in the alleyway. He just comes in here when he hears my voice and I only wanted to bring him over because I know he can make you feel better.”

I looked uncertainly at the little pitiful creature. He looked a little better than the last time I made his acquaintance. He still had half an ear missing, but his limp was noticeably improving and his coat looked undoubtedly cleaner and well-groomed.

“You’ve been taking care of him, haven’t you?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at Sy.

He shrugged those massive shoulders. “Guilty as charged, Counselor. And just for your peace of mind, he’s officially bathed and flea-free.”

A sorry little meow dragged my attention back to the little squatter and even though I wanted to be mad, I just couldn’t muster the anger. How could I be upset that this giant, muscled guy who could haul cinder blocks and mortar-bags like they weighed nothing, was a gooey, soft mess for cats.

And as though trying to play up his own charm, the tabby rubbed himself against my ankle, purring like a tiny vibrating engine. I leaned with a sigh.

“Okay, Van Gogh,” I said in defeat as I scratched his head. “You’re kind of cute, I guess.”

Sy’s goofy smile was contagious. But he wasn’t wrong. My anxiety actually started to go down a notch or two as Van Gogh brushed up against my hand, still purring affectionately. And despite myself, I was actually glad he came back after all.

*

The fog blanket outside of the coffee shop was bone-chilling and I tugged my coat around my body as tightly as I could before heading inside. Past the fogged up windows and hiss of an espresso machine, the little quaint place was relatively busy. I looked around the occupied tables until I spotted my mother’s gray-streaked red hair in a corner booth, her face listlessly turned to the window.

I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. I could do this.

“Mom,” I said by way of greeting, sliding into the booth opposite her.

She looked at me, inclining her head but her eyes were sharp with appraisal. Rose looked me up and down slowly, then said my name in return but in a way that let me know I already failed a test.

“Lane. It’s lovely to see you again, dear.”

A lie. I knew exactly how to spot one.

We ordered drinks I knew I wasn’t going to touch. Low acoustic music in the background did little to mask the heavy tension between us until I finally decided to take the plunge.

“So. What was it that you wanted to see me about?” I asked formally.