Chapter 25

Bishop

My mom and I arrive at the restaurant about ten minutes early. Brooke had insisted on meeting us here so I didn’t have to drive the extra twenty-five minutes out of our way to pick her up. I don’t necessarily like that, but this is probably better, because having them meet for the first time in a car is not conducive to good conversation. Plus, it gives me a chance to get settled in and relax as much as I can. Let’s face it…this is a big deal. Ruse or no ruse, this is the first time I’m introducing a girl to my mom.

“You seem nervous,” my mother says.

I don’t even bother asking her how she knows. She’s my mom. She just knows.

I shrug. “I’ve never done this before. Fear of the unknown and all.”

“If it’s any consolation, I’m sure I’ll like her.”

I can’t help but grin at my mom. She always knows how to make me feel safe even in the midst of something incredibly stupid that I have done.

“Oh, before I forget, let me give you this.” She turns and bends to reach into her purse, pulling out a light gray velvet box. She hands it across the table to me.

I open it and stare at the engagement ring that my father had given my mom so very long ago. He’s been dead now almost two decades and the ring has been sitting in the drawer of her bedside table all these years. My mom dated someone seriously a few years after my dad died, and of course, she’d removed her wedding rings. That relationship didn’t go the distance, but my mom never felt compelled to put the rings back on. She dated other men over time, but never anyone who made her want to get married again. She’s actually in the “on” part of an on-again, off-again relationship with a wealth management advisor, and as long as she’s happy, I’m happy.

When I had told my mom about us perpetrating the fake engagement to get Coach Perron off my back, she apparently mulled that over for a few days. She called me just yesterday morning to tell me that she was going to bring the engagement ring with her and that Brooke could wear it as part of the charade.

Not going to lie…it didn’t sit well with me at first. I’d told her it wasn’t a good idea.

She didn’t agree and assured me that it was not only fine, but that maybe it was actually appropriate. Her way of thinking was that if the ring—a symbol of her and my father’s commitment to each other—could be used to help out their son and a woman he cared about, then that was the reason she had kept it all these years beyond sentimentality. She believed the ring had a higher purpose: to help her son out.

It’s a simple ring and something a newly graduated engineer would be able to afford: a thin yellow gold band with a simple, unadorned marquise diamond that’s not quite a full carat.

My mom reaches over and points to the side of the diamond. “There’s a flaw in there. It’s visible if you look really hard. Your poor father fretted over that stupid flaw. It was the reason he could get me a diamond that big on his meager wages early in his career. I’d have never noticed it, but your father felt so guilty about it he had to show me a few days after he proposed. He was such a thoughtful man.”

Chuckling, I turn the diamond and hold it up, trying to see what she’s talking about. I finally locate a very tiny cloudy area and examine it a moment. I think it lends the ring character.

When my eyes come back to my mom, she says, “You’re so much like him. Not just in looks, but in personality and character traits.”

I nod, not because I know this for a fact. I don’t remember a great deal about my dad, but merely because my mom has told me that so many times over the years, I believe it. “Brooke’s a lot like you…isn’t the type of woman who would care about the size of a diamond or whether or not it had a cloud in it. In fact, I’m not sure she really would care if she got a diamond or not. I think the ring more than anything is the type of symbolism she would gravitate to.”

A corner of my mom’s mouth quirks up in amusement.

“What?” I ask her.

“Do you realize how well you actually must know this woman to make an observation like that?”

I shrug. “I could be wrong about her.”

“We’ll see,” she says vaguely. She then folds her hands and places them on the table. “Besides, using this ring is going to save you money. I hated the thought of you spending money on a ring.”

“It wasn’t about the money for me.” I close the box, lift my hips slightly to reach my front jeans pocket, and stow it away. “This whole situation is all kinds of fucked up—pardon my language—that we even perpetrated this farce in the first place. The fact that we’re continuing it shows you just how moronic your son can be. If I had to buy a ring, so be it. I could have returned it.”

“Well, now you don’t have to worry about that.”

“I suppose,” I say, letting the words hang in the air.

“What?” she pushes at me, encouraging me to finish my thoughts. To never hide something from her, because she won’t judge but only try to help.

“It’s just…I feel like I might be marring or tainting the actual day that I would ask a woman to marry me.”

My mom reaches her hand across to pat mine sympathetically. “Honey…Yes, you’re pretty stupid to have done this. But it is absolutely too late to moan about it. Your intentions were solid…The both of you. Brooke started this whole thing because she was trying to protect you and her father. You’re keeping this going because you’re trying to do the same for them. I would say you are stuck in the middle of this because both of you are good people. If you have to see this through to keep everyone’s feelings from being bruised, then at least do it with your head held high. Because your hearts are in the right place—a very, very good place—there’s no way this could ever taint any true proposal down the road.”

I blink at my mom in surprise. I know she supports me in anything I do. But she actually just legitimately validated my stupidity in a way that doesn’t make me feel quite as…stupid. She made it about the type of people Brooke and I are at our core, and it’s about the nicest thing she could have ever said to me about this.

“Besides,” my mom adds mischievously. “Who knows? This would be a great story to tell your kids one day.”

I actually jolt in my seat and look at her with astonishment. “Why would you even say that?”

Why would she even think to imply that Brooke and I would get married and have kids one day?

She lifts her shoulder casually, but her green eyes sparkle with wickedness. “Because I might be the only one who really sees what’s going on here.”

“What do you see that’s going on?” I ask her urgently, as if she’s bent over a crystal ball and about to lay my future out. She doesn’t answer me, though, as something catches her attention.

She smiles and I turn to look over my shoulder. There’s Brooke walking toward both of us like a vision, stylishly dressed with those fucking glasses that I most definitely made her wear last night while I fucked her with her legs over my shoulders.

Brooke gives me a slight smile but then turns her gaze to my mom. We both stand and my mom walks around her chair, holding her arms out to Brooke. I’d expect no different.

Brooke hugs my mother tightly, and I see a world of relief in her eyes. Thankful my mom is so cool about all of this. “Hi, Marianne. It’s so nice to meet you.”

Last night, Brooke had asked me before we fell asleep how she should address my mom. Her first name or Mrs. Scott. She was actually fretting about it and I was charmed. I assured her my mom was a first-name type of woman.

When they pull apart, my mom takes Brooke by the shoulders and lets her eyes roam all over her face. “Oh my…Bishop said you were beautiful, but I had no clue my son could land someone as gorgeous as you.”

That produces a belly laugh from Brooke, who waves off the compliment, turning one back on my mom. “Your son is the one who’s gorgeous, and you and he look just alike.”

That’s true and endearing Brooke thinks so. My mom thinks I look like my dad, and I definitely inherited his blond hair and green eyes. Those are the obvious similarities. But I got everything else from my mom. The shape of my nose, the fullness of my lips, and the way the left side of my mouth raises just a bit higher than the right when I smile. We also have the same eyebrows, and they quirk the same way when we’re skeptical or surprised. My mom and I even have the same exact laugh.

The fact that Brooke just called me gorgeous is a bonus.

“Okay,” I say gruffly as I pull Brooke away from my mom. “Got a hug for me?”

Surprise flashes in Brooke’s eyes, but she easily walks into my embrace. Her arms come tight around my neck and I press my face into her hair for a brief second, before blatantly squeezing her ass with the palm of one hand. She gives an indignant growl and leaps away from me, face burning bright red. My mom just shakes her head, but her smile tells me she enjoys that her son can be playful.

We take our seats with Brooke between my mom and me.

“I’d ask you to tell me all about yourself,” my mom says to Brooke. “But Bishop has told me so much already.”

“Oh really,” Brooke drawls teasingly, cutting me a sidelong glance before her eyes go back to my mom. “What exactly has he said?”

Leaning back in my chair, I get comfortable to listen. I have indeed told my mom a lot about Brooke, and this happened just yesterday morning. My mom actually grilled me, I think just overexcited that I’m interested in and have feelings for someone.

“Let’s see,” my mom says with a smile. “He said you were intelligent and had a dry sense of humor, which he adores.”

“Not exactly what I said,” I interrupt, wanting to be a part of this conversation to keep my mom on the straight and narrow. “I think I said you were intelligent and witty, and that you were a smartass at times.”

Brooke rolls her eyes at me and turns back to my mom. “Bishop brings the smartass out in me, I’m afraid.”

“I can totally understand that,” my mom returns as she leans toward Brooke in a conspiratorial way. Her voice lowers and she says, “One time…”

And that’s it.

I’m out of the conversation.

My mom launches into a story about me that’s slightly embarrassing but has Brooke laughing, so that’s okay. And the two of them don’t stop talking for two hours while we have a leisurely lunch.

Two freaking, solid hours and I’m practically ignored the entire time.

I fucking love it.