Jaime blinked. “When’s he moving in?”
“Never. Because my mother showed up as we were looking at tile samples for the floor, and he freaked the fuck out.”
“Why?” they both asked at once.
I shrugged helplessly. “Could have been anything. He seemed really nervous the whole time she was there, which was all of five minutes. I introduced him, and you know how my mother is, she was so excited to meet him and started fawning all over him. She scolded me for hiding him and asked how long we’d been dating and I made something up—I think I said a month. He didn’t like that, apparently.”
“Didn’t like what?” Jaime asked.
“That I let her assume we were dating. He doesn’t like that word.”
She rolled her eyes. “What the hell were you supposed to say?”
“That’s what I said. But he was all spooked by it. And by the fact that my dad is a judge.”
“Why would that matter?” Margot wondered.
“I have no idea. I asked him why he’d even come back, why he’d said he needed me.”
“What did he say?” Jaime asked.
“He said it was a mistake. He doesn’t need anything or anybody. Two seconds later, he was out the door.”
My friends were stunned silent. But what could they say?
“What’s wrong with me, you guys?” Out of nowhere, tears threatened, and I propped my head up at the temples. “Why did I get my hopes up after two stupid days? Why didn’t he feel what I did?”
Jaime rubbed my back. “I don’t know, hon. But I don’t think he would have come back if he didn’t feel something. Let alone spend an entire day working on your kitchen. It doesn’t make sense.”
“You know,” Margot said slowly. “Maybe it wasn’t so much the word dating that freaked him out as the fact that he realized he likes you as more than a fuck buddy.”
“Or he has a wife,” Jaime added. “I’m still not convinced he doesn’t.”
“I’m not convinced of anything at this point.” I picked up my latte again. “I don’t think he has a wife, but he definitely makes it tough to get close to him.”
“Jack was like that too,” Margot said. “It took him a while to open up, and even after he did, he tried to push me away. As soon as he realized he had feelings for me, he shut down.”
I nodded glumly. “I remember that.”
“I tried to push Quinn away too,” Jaime said through gritted teeth. “As soon as I realized I was in love with him.”
“Theo’s not in love with me,” I said wryly. “Not even close.”
“Maybe not,” she admitted, “but even the first little inkling of feeling might be enough to spook a guy like him.”
“Maybe.”
“I think he’s just scared.” Margot’s voice was confident. “I’ll bet you a hundred bucks he comes back and apologizes within a week. By New Year’s.”
“I’ll take that bet,” I said, thinking of the hundred bucks Theo had given back to me at breakfast yesterday.
I’d gladly give it to Margot if she was right, but I had a feeling I’d be a hundred bucks richer come January 1st.
* * *
Christmas Eve at my parents’ house had all the usual sparkle, but I wasn’t feeling it.
I ate all the traditional foods she served every year, the glazed ham and the potatoes au gratin, the caramelized onion tarts, the roasted brussels sprouts with balsamic, the freshly baked bread. But it was oddly tasteless this year. Even Grandma Flossie’s chocolate pudding lacked the usual flavor, and I hadn’t gotten the texture quite right.
“Sorry,” I mumbled when my sister commented on it. Then I said what I was really thinking—a first. “You know, you could always offer to make it if you think you can do better.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she said, pushing the dish away from her. “I shouldn’t eat it, anyway. I need to lose some weight for a part I just got.”
“That’s wonderful, honey,” said my mom. “And Claire, don’t worry about the pudding. Your mind was probably elsewhere when you were making it.” Her eyes twinkled.
“Like where?” Giselle wondered, dipping her finger into the pudding she’d just rejected and sucking it clean.
“Like on her handsome new boyfriend.”
Giselle’s mouth dropped open. Even my dad looked up from his pudding, and there wasn’t much that could distract my father from desserts.
“Boyfriend?” my sister echoed.
“Yes. She’s been hiding a hunk from us.” My mother giggled, her cheeks rosy from the wine.
Speaking of wine, I reached for mine and took a big drink.
“You have?” Giselle asked, clearly shocked. “Who is he?”
“His name is Theo,” my mother bubbled, “and he’s just adorable. I went over there Sunday and he was at her house helping her redo the kitchen cabinets. Although I do think you should have gone with white, dear.”
“I like them dark,” I said, trying to think of a way out of this without having to say there was no Theo anymore.
“So what does he look like?” my sister asked.
“So handsome,” my mother gushed. “He owns his own business, he’s from Connecticut, and he might have even gone to Yale.”
“Really?” My father perked up. After football and birds, Yale was his favorite thing to talk about.