Into You Series: The Complete Collection

42. Grace

CHAPTER 42

GRACE

T he events of my day feel like a dream, and I’m still trying to piece them together into something more palatable.

Cameron saying exactly what I wanted to hear, his borderline desperation to accept termination, and his sexy exit through the front doors … None of it makes sense. Well, him being sexy does, but that’s beside the point.

I don’t regret my decision to end things with him. At least, not entirely. I know I want to be a designer. And I’ve learned before that giving up your dreams for someone else is a slippery slope into self-loathing. I’m here to further myself. Cameron isn’t going to be around forever. I know that now. But my passion for art will always burn like a fire in my soul. And that’s a trade-off I’ll have to learn to deal with.

I can’t take back the words I said to him. I can’t do anything to give him back his job.

I know that he quit because of our fight. He couldn’t stand to spend one more day in the same office as me and his eagerness to leave only buried the stake deeper in my cold, dead heart.

I’m sorry, Holmes.

God, that still hurts.

To add insult to injury, I get the first text from Joe in months.

Joe: I’m sorry. I’m marrying her. It’s your last chance.

I block him. Once and for all.

My thumb hovers over Cameron’s number as well, but I can’t bring myself to do it.

He was never like Joe. He cared for me. He encouraged me.

But then again, Cameron did get back in touch with his ex-girlfriend, and I can’t reconcile what that means.

I instead sit in my mom’s kitchen just like I used to do after elementary school, shoving down her new discovery of avocado fries and coming to terms with the fact that I may never see Cameron Kaufman ever again.

It’s comforting, and it takes my mind off of … well, all of it.

“These aren’t half bad,” I say, dipping an avocado fry in the yogurt sauce she also whipped together. “I think you’ve really got a thing going on here.” My tone is as light as I can make it. I don’t want to talk about what’s going on, so I’m trying not to wear my emotions on my sleeve.

My mom, still donning her apron, beams at me as she removes more treats from the oven. “Now, these are avocado brownies. I figure they’re just as good as the real stuff, right?”

“I’m sure they’re perfect,” I say.

“Okay, next is …” Mom rushes from the fridge to the cabinets, wiping her hands over her apron and spinning through her new spice rack. “How about guacamole?”

I laugh. “I mean, I can never say no to guacamole, but did you somehow raid the store of all its avocados? What’s with all the green?”

I dip another fry, locking my eyes at the brownies and wondering when I can devour them without burning my tongue.

As a kid, I always sat exactly where I am now, with my coloring book and crayons scattered in front of me, eyeing the exact same stovetop I’m looking at now. Back then my mom didn’t make fancy things like avocado brownies. We got the normal double chocolate mix right out of the box and spent half the time licking batter from the spoon than making the brownies themselves. Dad was the real chef.

“Nick had a deal,” she says, pacing to the fridge and pulling out cilantro and tomatoes.

My ears perk up. “Nick?” I ask. “Who is Nick?”

“Just a local seller at the farmer’s market.” She is placing the ingredients on the island and notably not making eye contact with me.

Interesting.

“Is he a farmer?” A better question would be, is Mom dating? I suddenly feel like the parent in this situation. “Who is this Nick and what are his intentions?”

She laughs, smiling to herself. “Oh, hush, you.”

She cuts into the avocado and it’s definitely a bit darker on the inside than it should be.

“How many weeks have you been going to see him?” I ask. “Because that looks old.”

Her eyes meet mine, and I can see her crow’s feet crinkling as a smile spreads across her face. My mom is a hard woman. Even as her hair started to gray, she insisted on dying it back to a semi-natural looking red to maintain her feisty ginger. But a genuine smile? One that radiates from her eyes to her ears?

Curious. Very curious.

A small flush covers her freckles and it tells me all I need to know.

“Awhile,” she admits. “I may have found an excuse to talk to him by buying from him.”

“By buying all of his avocados?”

“No,” she protests. “But sure, a few. There’s a lot of avocado recipes, you know.”

“Uh-huh. And how many weeks have you been sleeping with him?”

“Oh, that is inappropriate, Grace!” She waves her hand at me and goes back to slicing the avocado, but her face gets redder by the second. “Three.”

I squeal, but she covers her face.

“I’m so sorry,” she bemoans.

I let out a breathy laugh. “What do you have to be sorry about?”

“We had a pact and I broke it.”

Oh, right. The pact. The pact that should have stopped me from sleeping with Cameron. The pact that I’m sure has been worrying my mother sick for months. I had been so focused on my boss that I hadn’t even considered my mom’s love life. Not only am I a cruddy employee, but I guess I’m not the best daughter right now, either.

“Don’t be sorry,” I say. “If I would have stopped by more often, I would have known.”

“No!” she says, dropping the knife and wiping her avocado-stained hands on her apron. She walks over and throws her arms around me in a giant bear hug. I settle into it. She may smell like a hint of coconut flour, but her natural mom-scent overpowers it—the one that smells like raspberries and lavender. I never know I need a mom hug until I get one, and the need for her comfort tightens my muscles as I hold back a sob.

The past few months come crashing down on me. Cameron. The job. All my efforts and stress rebound between my muscles and through my skin.

“You didn’t do a thing wrong,” she says. “You’ve got your own life to worry about—not mine, dear.”

She pulls away with a smile and pats my hands. I feel tears well up behind my eyes for a moment, but then shake my head.

“So, tell me about this man,” I choke out. I place my chin in my hands as if ready to gossip.

My mom sighs, and it’s the sigh of someone way too enamored to hide it. I wonder just how long she’d been dying to tell me, and I was too busy at work dreaming about my own forbidden romance. She needs my undivided attention far more than I need her as a distraction.

“He’s a farmer,” she says, walking back to her side of the island. “An avocado farmer.”

“You’ve always liked the outdoorsy type.”

Dad went hunting regularly, as well as fishing. Basically, all the hobbies where he could disappear and speak to nobody. He was quiet, but honest and good.

“Yes, and he’s a good Christian man.”

“Church, good, good. What else?”

“Redheaded.”

“Well, haven’t you just met your match.” I laugh and she tosses part of an avocado peel at me.

“He takes my shit and sends it right on back,” she says, throwing her hands to her mouth with a blush. “Oh, look at me. I’m just as bad as Ramona now. Bad, Lynette.” She slaps her own wrist and places both hands on the counter to steady herself leaning forward. “He fills me with life that I can’t really explain. It’s been a while. And he’s not your father, know that, but he’s just the type of man I could see living the rest of my years with.”

“Wow,” I say. “How serious is this?”

She sighs. “More serious than I could have hoped for.”

She turns on her heel and runs water over the cilantro, washing it probably too thoroughly. I can tell she’s embarrassed, and it’s sweet to see her like this. When Dad passed, she adopted this strong exterior—more so than she already had. It’s nice that she’s letting down the barriers she spent years building.

I think I may like this Nick guy.

“And what about you?” she calls over the sink. “I know by now you must have broken our pact.”

I inhale, hoping the sound of the running water covers up the guilt that comes with it. If only she knew just how bad I broke our pact. I promised her no funny business with men, and then I made sure to double promise nothing with my boss. I guess I’m two for two on this one. Maybe I should have just gone to the farmer’s market. Seems like there’s some eligible bachelors there.

“No,” I lie. My voice comes out a bit higher than usual. I sit up straight and swirl my finger into the yogurt dipping sauce, putting it my mouth. Damn it’s good even without the fries.

“No?” she says, cutting off the water and circling back to the island to chop up the cilantro.

“I’ve just been focusing on work,” I say. “You know me, staying late and all.”

“Not staying late with your boss, are you?” Mom arches an eyebrow.

Got me there.

What do I even say to that? Yes, Mom, I got pounded by my ridiculously good-looking boss. Yes, I’ve never felt more pleasure in screaming a man’s name before. Yes, I ended it all. And for what? For a promotion?

“Nope,” I say.

She narrows her eyes at me as if trying to read my mind and then seems weirdly satisfied with my answer. Whether she believes me or if she’s just giving me the benefit of the doubt, I’m not sure. Maybe she spoke to Ramona. She knows more than she’s letting on.

“Is he still working there?”

“You’re not as sneaky as you think you are.”

“And neither are you.”

I gasp. “When did Ramona tell you?”

“Not Ramona, dear. Ian.”

“You talk to Ian?”

“Darling, I talk to everyone.” She totally does . “I know you’ve been focusing on your work, but I understand temptation. I was your age once.”

“Kinda seems like you still understand it. How’s Nick the farmer again?”

She raises the knife to me. “You’re on thin ice, missy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I mumble.

“So, did you love him?” she asks. “Your boss?”

I curl my bottom lip in. I’ve considered this over and over. I’ve tried to imagine that maybe it was a fling. But I know better than that.

“Yes,” I wrestle out. “But it wouldn’t have worked out, anyway.”

Her lips twist to the side.

“Sometimes life has a way of working itself out,” she says. “You’d be surprised.”

I wonder if she knows something I don’t. But then she reaches for the browned avocado, and I whip out my hand across the island to stop her.

“Seriously, we cannot eat that avocado.”

We fall into a fit of laughter.