"I dunno, Mom. I think I am stupid." We were sitting on my parents' patio eating ice cream at ten in the morning the day after the funeral, because that was how I dealt with things. It was a good thing my job kept me on my feet, or I’d be a whale.

"Lewellyn William King, if you even think about giving him another chance, I'll.. I'll..." Mom sputtered to a halt—she obviously couldn't come up with a sufficiently horrible punishment for me.

"Too late," I admitted. Even though I was half of the same mind as Mom, there was a part of me that hoped. A part of me that remembered, that was convinced that the Mike I'd seen at the funeral was the real Mike. And there was also Mrs. Costner, who had told me when I got back from the funeral that sometimes it took an alpha’s brain a few extra years to catch up to his other bits and that I wouldn’t know until I gave him a test drive.

Talk about mixing your metaphors.

"I know you loved Maddie," Mom said. "But you know that not long after she got married and started having kids, she gave up on Hollywood. Actors have flexible personalities—they have to, if they're any good. And emotions are very intense while filming—she knew that. You've seen all the divorces in Hollywood over affairs with co-stars. Why do you think he's going to be any different when he gets back into that environment?"

Truth was, I wasn't sure. Maybe he'd changed? Maybe not. He'd been reliable here, loving, attentive—everything a devoted alpha was supposed to be. How was I supposed to know that it wasn't an act? That he wasn't acting?

And the other truth was, there was no way I could tell.

I stuffed another spoonful of Chocolate Chunk Choco Explosion into my mouth, because you can't talk with your mouth full, right? Or be forced to talk.

I forgot that it wouldn't stop my mother from talking.

"I was speaking to your aunt this morning," she said in a voice so casual it set all my alarms ringing.

I force-swallowed my mouthful of ice cream. "Why were you talking to Nance?" I asked when I was done choking.

"Well, you know that her kids have all moved out now and she's just rattling around in that big house all by herself. I think she's lonely. And you're a young man, you might enjoy living in a larger city."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "This one is fine."

"How do you know? You've never tried it," she said, far too reasonably. "You could go for a visit, just a couple of weeks to see how you like it."

Ah. "You wouldn't be trying to get me out of town until Mike goes back to L.A., would you?"

"I just think," she said firmly, "that you've never spread your wings. You're old enough you don't need someone watching out for you all the time, and there'll probably be better jobs for you in Portland. Do you want to be working in a senior's home all your life?"

"I like my job. I like my patients. They tell good stories." Old stories, for sure, and often the same ones over and over again, but I didn't mind. It made them happy.

The doorbell rang.

"Are you expecting someone?" Mom asked.

I shook my head. "You?"

"No."

We stared at each other for a moment, then the bell went again. "I'd better get it," Mom said and put her bowl down. "Don't let anything gross land in my ice cream, okay?"

"I'll guard it with my life," I promised and peered after her as she went back inside.

Who could it be? Maybe a delivery of some sort—had I ordered anything online recently? I didn't remember anything, but I did sometimes pre-order games or movies. Well, if it was something like that, it would be a good way to make the day pass.

"Lew," Mom called from inside. "Could you come here?"

"What's up?" I grabbed both our ice creams and used the toe of my sneaker to push the screen open.

She walked back down the hall toward me, holding a vase full of flowers. "These are for you."

Uh oh. I put the ice cream on the kitchen table and reached for the vase. "Who are they from?" I asked. Like I didn't know.

She gave me that Mom look and sat down, pulling her ice cream toward her.

I dug around inside the bouquet until I found the little envelope. Inside, the card—written by Mike—read, "I'm sorry. Can I try this again if I promise to not fuck up this time?" Followed by a phone number with a California area code.

Try what, though? Us? Or just to have a civil conversation. I stared at the card, then up at the flowers, a spray of pale yellow sunflowers with some sort of greenery around them.

So he remembered.

Not that remembering my favorite flowers should have been that hard.

"What are you going to do?" Mom asked me.

"I don't know." I reached out to gently run my fingers over the petals of the flower closest to me.

"I don't want to see you hurt again like last time."

"I'm not going to set anything on fire, I promise. Even if it was really satisfying at the time." I grinned at her around the vase then sobered. "I don't know. I just really don't know what to do here." Now, more than ever, I wished I had Maddie to talk to. She'd have had good advice. It was ironic that it was her funeral that had left me with this question that I really needed her help to answer.

"Take some time to think about it," Mom suggested. "You don't owe him an immediate answer and he owes you some time to decide if you want to take a risk on him again."

"You're being awfully supportive about this."

She shook her head. "I'm not at all. If it were down to me, I'd be over on his parents' doorstep telling them to keep their boy away from mine. But you're an adult," she said, her voice softening. "Except for that incident with the fire department, you've always been sensible. I can't make this decision for you, all I can do is hope that the one you make will be the one that won't hurt you."

"Thank you." Not just for the support. I knew a lot of omegas whose parents would have just made this decision for them. "I promise I'll keep you in the loop."

"And make sure you have your phone on you. In case you need to report a fire."

I rolled my eyes and reached for my ice cream. "You're really not going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Probably not," she admitted. “If you’re going to do the crime, you need to be prepared to do the time. Especially if you’re contemplating a relationship with the guy who made you do the crime in the first place.”

I shoved a spoonful of ice cream into my mouth and settled back in the chair to stare at the flowers. "They are pretty."

She nodded. "He always did have good taste."

He did. And he'd never hooked up with anyone long-term in L.A., not long-term like we'd been.

Figuring out what that meant was a little too much for me today, with yesterday's letter still hanging over me and today's flowers staring me in the face. "I'll be seeing him tomorrow at the lawyer’s office," I said finally. "He can wait."

Mom nodded in approval and offered me a spoonful of her caramel mocha. "Good. I'm proud of you."

I accepted the peace offering.