After lunch, Devon takes me up to his office and gives me a tour, introducing me to his colleagues. His office is impressive. Furnished with modern pieces from his large desk to the sitting area, I’m in awe of his space. Nothing in his office astonishes me more than the view.

Twenty-second floor, overlooking Lake Michigan.

When his secretary knocks on the door, I realize our visit is over. He has a meeting, and I need to find something nice to wear to meet his mother tonight. Devon tries to hand me his credit card, insisting he wants to pay for whatever I decide to buy, but I politely decline.

Not because he offends me, but because I don’t want to be in that situation again. The last time I let someone buy me things, I felt in debt to them. I also burned every single thing his money purchased after we split, including the little black dress he asked me about.

Why am I thinking about him right now?

He’s nothing like Devon. Not even close.

Devon is caring with an enormous heart. He’s giving and kind.

JP is a taker. He’ll give a little and expect things in return tenfold.

As I browse through the first few stores, nothing catches my eye. My mind is focused on other things making shopping less enjoyable.

When my phone chimes in my purse, providing me with the distraction I need, I pause and take a seat on the bench outside my next store.

Seriously? I thought I was perfectly clear with him yesterday. Does he not understand that I want nothing to do with him?

Suck on that, JP. This is not my fault. He pushed me past my breaking point after I gave him multiple opportunities to take a step back.

Should I warn him that Tyler saw everything? That there’s no way he’s talking his way out of this and that his contract is binding?

Nah, I’ll let him figure that out for himself.

He doesn’t bother to reply. I’m sure he’s attempting to get in contact with Tyler in hopes of finding a way to get me there tomorrow. He can try all he wants, but Tyler won’t fall for his shit. Not after what he saw the other day. Not after the conversation we had.

Had I been honest with Tyler from the beginning, things may not have gone this far. Tyler would have ripped up the contract and kicked JP out. I wish I had been, but at the time, when he asked if I could work with him, I wanted to be the bigger person. My hope was that I was stronger than the woman he destroyed.

Turns out, I’m not.

Someday I will be, but that day has not come yet.

Noticing the time, I rush into the store I’m sitting in front of and grab the first thing that catches my eye. A long, black dress that dips low in the back but sits high in the front. Moving quickly, I find a pair of shoes to match as well as a shawl. When I reach the counter, the woman quickly rings and bags my items.

“Thank you, have a nice day, Justine,” she says, handing me my bag.

“Thanks,” I reply, drawing out the single word, my confusion evident.

I’ve been attempting to hand her my card, but she hasn’t reached for it. How in the hell did she know my name?

“It’s been taken care of,” she remarks, pushing my outstretched hand away.

Damn it, Devon. We’re going to have to talk about this. It’s a kind gesture, but he needs to know that as much as I appreciate it, if I say no to something, he needs to respect my wishes.

Waiting in the lobby of Devon’s building, I stare out at the rush of people on the sidewalk. Ten minutes ago, they were almost empty and now it looks like a concert was just let out.

Hands slide around my waist and pull me back. Letting out a sigh, I close my eyes and welcome his embrace.

“Did you find something nice to wear tonight?”

“I did, thank you. We need to talk about that.”

“About what?” I hear him ask, his voice laced with confusion.

“About you buying me clothes. I appreciate the gesture, but I prefer to take care of myself.”

“I know, that’s one of the things I love most about you.”

Love. Most.

All thoughts of shopping, dresses, and everything else leave my mind. All I can focus on are those two words.

As if in a daze, Devon shows me to a place I can change for dinner. We’re meeting his mother at a restaurant down the block in thirty minutes.

Freshening up my makeup, I stare at myself in the mirror and think about the last few weeks I’ve spent with Devon. Focusing on the way he makes me feel when I’m with him, I realize I’ve never felt this way about another man. I enjoy being with him. I look forward to it. Seeing him is the highlight of my week.

Mandatory vacation… no problem. I’ll go to Chicago and see Devon.

Asshole ex-boyfriend in the picture… who cares. I have someone new in my life who actually gives a shit about me.

No matter what happens tonight, tomorrow, or next week, I’m excited for what the future holds as long as Devon is a part of it. Admitting that to myself is the first step in moving forward. Confessing to him how I feel is the next step. I may not be ready for that yet, but I’m getting there.

Those three little words are perched on the tip of my tongue for when the perfect moment arrives.

Devon’s mother is running late, giving us a few minutes alone. This also gives him some time to prepare me for what I’m about to embark on.

“Just a heads-up, I’ve never introduced someone to my mother, so she’s excited and will probably talk non-stop.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I lie to him. My hands are shaking in my lap, my nerves on edge. My fear that his mother will hate me is all consuming.

“A few topics to avoid,” he begins, looking around before continuing. “Please don’t ask about my father, it’s still a tough subject for her to handle. I’ll explain about that later. Also, try not to stare. She hates it when people stare at her. Eye contact is fine but look away often. Down at your plate or at me. Lastly—”

“Devon!” a woman exclaims, her arms outstretched as she approaches the table.

Devon stands and I follow his lead. Walking into his mother’s arms, he wraps her in a hug and gently kisses her on the cheek. Introducing me, I extend my hand, but she pulls me in for a hug, her gentle tug catching me off guard as I topple toward her. Thankfully Devon catches both of us before we hit the floor.

If that’s not a memorable first impression, I don’t know what is.

Holly seems genuinely nice. She compliments my dress and asks me about myself. From the way she nods every so often, it’s obvious Devon has shared details about me with her before. The conversation flows smoothly from appetizer and drinks straight through dinner. I’m able to comfortably avoid making too much eye contact, and Devon’s father isn’t brought up. It’s not until dessert that things take a turn for the worse.

“So, Justine. Tell me, when are you stealing my son from me?” Holly asks.

“Mom,” Devon growls.

“What? I have a right to know. If you love this girl like you say you do, I want to know how long I have before you leave me for her.”

“Damn it, Mom. I thought we talked about this.”

“We did. I didn’t like what little you had to say.”

Watching as they go back and forth, fighting more like brother and sister than mother and son, I get a sense that as nice as his mother’s been to me all night, she’s not thrilled I’m dating her son.

“Just go. Leave me like your father did,” she practically screams, causing a few heads to turn in our direction.

“You make it sound like he had a choice, and you know that’s not what happened. Stop playing the victim, Mom. I can’t stop living my life because you want me to stay here.”

Motioning to the waitress, Devon hands her his credit card while I sit quietly waiting for what happens next.

“Look,” he starts, taking his mom’s hand the way he’s taken mine a hundred times. “You know I love you, but I also love Justine, and I can’t stay here anymore. We’ve been talking about this for years, Mom. You knew I was going to leave eventually. It’s about time I spread my wings a little, don’t you think.”

Tears are streaming down Holly’s face, mimicking the ones streaming down mine. He loves me. He hasn’t said the words to me yet, but he’s told his mother. On more than one occasion by the sounds of it.

“I’m not ready for you to fly away,” Holly says as the waitress reappears, placing Devon’s credit card and receipts on the table next to him.

“I know, but I promise not to fly far.”

After saying goodbye to Holly, Devon walks his mother to her car while I make my way back to mine. Setting my GPS for his house, I slowly make my way out of the city. Carefully replaying their conversation over and over again in my mind, I realize why Holly was so distraught.

Devon’s planning on leaving Chicago. Something Tyler and Ryder warned me he may never do. Neither of them would tell me why, and Devon hasn’t volunteered the reason either. It’s about time we had that conversation, I think. Especially if his mother is this upset about the idea.

Curling up on Devon’s couch, he rushes through the front door twenty minutes after me. After we each have a glass of wine, we curl up on the couch and I mentally prepare for the conversation I know we need to have. Thankfully, it’s Devon who brings his father up, so I don’t have to.

“He didn’t leave her,” he says, taking a sip of his wine. “She says that because she doesn’t want to admit that he’s dead. She still feels guilty.”

Why would his mother feel guilty? Unless she killed him, but I doubt that’s what happened. She seems too reserved to take a life.

“They were fighting when he had a heart attack. My mother thought he was faking at first so when he collapsed, she froze for a minute before calling 9-1-1. They say it wouldn’t have mattered. It was what they call a ‘Widow Maker.’ I’ve tried to explain it to her and get her to stop blaming herself, but she refuses. She can’t even bring herself to tell people he’s dead. That’s why I warn everyone to avoid the topic.

“The moment someone brings him up, it’s like a switch is flicked. She turns from my mother into someone I don’t recognize. She tells everyone he left her after they fought one night. She doesn’t tell them where he went or why, just that they fought and then he was gone. It boggles my mind that people don’t ask questions or inquire. They accept my mother at her word and move on to the next topic.

“Maybe it’s the shift in her personality. It’s obvious it’s painful for her to talk about him, that she’s still angry about the situation. That doesn’t stop her from visiting his grave every year on his birthday, or their anniversary, or the day he died. She still wears her wedding ring every day and has never once been out with another man.

“I know she loved him. They were together for almost thirty-five years when he passed. My only wish is that she would accept his death and move on with her life.”

The room falls silent as Devon takes another sip of his wine. I attempt to process everything he’s told me, taking a sip of my own wine in an attempt to push back my tears.

“I know this is heavy shit, and I’m sorry to put this all on you. My mother is a lot to take sometimes. Knowing you were going to meet her, I should have prepared you better for tonight.”

“I don’t think there would have been a way for you to prepare me for any of this. Yes, it’s a lot to take in, but at the same time, I wouldn’t have been able to process it without meeting her first. She’s a strong woman, Devon. I know it’s hard for you to see, but I can see it. It may not seem like she’s moving on, but I think she’s trying.”

“I’ve stayed here for her for eight years. When I mentioned the possibility of leaving a few years ago, she freaked out on me. I was surprised she brought it up tonight.”

Is this his way of bringing it up again? Because that’s a big conversation, a long conversation. It’s already late and he has to work tomorrow.

Do I ask him about it or ignore his comment? Do I even know what I want him to do?

There’s only one thing I know right now and that is I’ve fallen in love with him. I need to be honest with him about that and tell him at least.

“Wanting to leave and leaving are two different conversations. Neither of which I think we should be having tonight. What I would like to talk about is the fact that you told your mother that you loved me.”

My back is to Devon, so he can’t see the grin on my face, so I hope that the excitement in my voice is enough. When he sets his wine down and wraps both of his arms around me, pulling me closer, I smile a little bigger.

“Justine, there’s something I need to tell you,” he whispers in my ear.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” I tease.

“I. Love. You.” Each word is punctuated with a kiss. First my neck, then my collarbone, and finally he turns my head and kisses me gently on the lips.

“I love you too.”