Page 70 of Tempted To Be Mine

I tried to distract myself with the usual stuff. Worked out. Answered some emails. Scrolled through social media and immediately regretted it when I saw another Blackwell Couture ad featuring my face staring back at me. The campaign was everywhere. I should have been thrilled. This was the kind of exposure most models would kill for.

Instead, I kept thinking about Lucy and that sadness I heard in her voice.

By late afternoon, I gave up trying to focus on anything else and drove over to my parents’ house, the sprawling estate that my mother had decorated with her signature blend of elegance and warmth. Wealth and privilege oozed from every corner, but it never felt like we couldn’t just be normal kids. Growing up here had been pretty great, even if I hadn’t fully appreciated it at the time.

Mom was in the kitchen when I walked in, which wasn’t surprising. She spent most of November in the kitchen, testing recipes and planning the menu for Thanksgiving. Her cooking skills were impressive, but her preparing a feast alone was somewhat terrifying.

“Jeremy!” She looked up from the cutting board where she was chopping something green and leafy. “I wasn’t expecting you today.”

“Figured I’d stop by.” I kissed her cheek and snagged a piece of cheese from the platter she had sitting out. “What are you making?”

“Kale salad. Your father’s doctor wants him eating more greens.”

“Dad’s going to love that.”

“Your father will eat what I put in front of him and be grateful.” She smiled, but there was a sharpness underneath it. Dad’s health had been a concern lately. Nothing serious, but enough to make Mom vigilant about his diet.

I settled onto one of the barstools at the kitchen island and watched her work. There was something calming about being in this kitchen, surrounded by the smells of whatever she was cooking. Mom was one of the most famous actresses in the industry and most people only knew Tiana Blackwell the superstar. Her children got to see Tiana Blackwell, Mother Extraordinaire.

“You seem distracted,” Mom said without looking up. “Something on your mind?”

“Just thinking about a friend.”

“Lucy?”

I blinked. “How did you know?”

“You don’t have a lot of friends.” She set down her knife and turned to face me. “Also, you’ve mentioned her every time I’ve spoken to you. I may have noticed a pattern.”

Had I talked about her that much? I replayed recent conversations in my head and realized she was probably right. Lucy had been on my mind constantly since Alaska, and apparently that had translated into me bringing her up every chance I got.

“She’s going through something,” I said. “Her grandmother usually spends Thanksgiving with her. They have all these traditions, the same meal, the same routine, the same everything. But this year, Gram’s in Florida with her new boyfriend.”

Mom’s expression softened. “That must be hard for her.”

“She said she’s happy for her grandmother. And I believe her. But I could hear how sad she was about it. She’s spent every Thanksgiving with this woman since her parents died. And now it’s not happening this year.”

“Poor thing.” Mom wiped her hands on a towel.