“AW, SHE LOOKS LIKE a porcelain doll sleeping there, with her pearl necklace,” Ma half whispers. “You gonna keep her?”

I shrug. “I’m thinking about it.”

“Don’t think too hard or she might stay married.” Ma gives me a meaningful look. “We need to talk.”

I rearrange Layton so she’s laying down in the enormous chair that I like to sit in to play Madden Football, then cover her up with one of the blankets the decorator draped over every fucking piece of furniture in the place. Never knew how handy they were until now.

“Where do you want to talk?”

“In my office.”

I follow her to the kitchen, sitting down to let her fuss over me and make breakfast, until she’s ready to get down to business.

She orders Dom and Father Sheehan to the theater room, and they meekly obey. I grin. Even as much as I respect Father Sheehan, nothing gives me more pleasure than a man of the cloth fearing my mother.

“How serious is this?”

“I don’t know.”

She grabs a cigarette and holds it in her mouth without lighting it. I gave up smoking years ago, so she doesn’t smoke in my house or any of my vehicles.

“Is she pregnant?” Her brows lift. “Is that why you’re being so concerned about her?”

“Fuck no.” I shake my head. “I’ve always been smart about that shit.”

“Good. I’m worried, though. She’s married, but sleeping over here and losing her shit, very politely I might add, when Father said something to her.” She points in Layton’s general direction. “That’s not a woman who casually sleeps around. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” she adds. “To each their own, I say.”

“If you’ll give me five seconds, I’ll explain everything.” I nudge the chair out from under the table with my foot and she sits, taking the cigarette out and holding it between her fingers. I give it one last, long look before eating my final bite of scrambled eggs.

“Go on.”

“Her husband left her on their honeymoon, for the wedding planner. Some chick named Tiffany.”

My ma nods. “Sounds like a real winner, that one.”

“Layton or the wedding planner?” There’s no way my ma would take the wedding planner’s side in this, but...

“Tiffany. Ooh la-la. She sounds like some tart your father would have dated.”

I grin. “Layton would probably agree with you, but she’d add ‘bless your heart’ at the end.”

“Why would she do that?”

“It’s their way of being politely catty. Sometimes, though, it can actually be meant in a nice way.” I try to remember all the ways my first serious girlfriend, Finley, described it to me. “Basically, it’s an art the women down here have mastered.”

“Who knew?” She gets up from the table and fills two cups of coffee, adding sugar and milk to hers. “Anyway, before I so rudely interrupted, you were saying?”

“Long story short. She moved in with her brother, decided she was done crying over her ex, and decided I’m the right man to help her move on with her life. I told her I wanted more.”

Ma sits down again, handing a mug to me. I know she’ll get up at least four more times while we talk because she was never on to be off her feet long. I’m usually just like her, but I’m too fucking sore to be jumping up and down like a jack-in-the-box.

“Yet, she spent the night.”

“Thought I was too hasty and was selling myself short.”

“And now?”

“Now, she’s freaking out, and it’s up to me to convince her to go long.”

“Is she worth it?”

“Absolutely.”

“I never thought you and Finley would work out. Too much alike. Both clawing your way to the top. She always reminded me of me, ya know, and that’s not the kind of girl—well, that’s not what’s in your chair in there.”

I go to my ma. I fucking hate how low her self-esteem can be. “You’re my girl. My always and forever, the first one. No one can take that from you.”

She smiles. “I know that. It’s just... I can see why a girl like Layton would appeal to you. She’s soft and sweet. Life hasn’t done a number on her yet. She’s still got stars in her eyes.”

“I don’t know... Pretty sure I saw some stars in your eyes when you and Dom were mooning over each other.” Most guys probably wouldn’t talk with their mothers like this, but my ma and I grew up together. She’s only sixteen years older than me, and when she had no one, she had me. I was her child and her confidant.

“Ya think so?”

I nod. “He’s the one.”

She blushes, full on, and the sight of it makes me happy for her. “Yeah, he is.”

Layton stumbles into the kitchen. “What was in that drink? I feel like I’ve been rode hard and put up wet.”

“And you look like it, too... bless your heart.” My ma winks at me.

I drop my head into my hands, groaning. “That’s not what you should say right now.”

“What? I was being encouraging.”

Layton moves to my ma, looking contrite and embarrassed. “I’m so sorry for carrying on like I did. I’m not usually—I’m sorry, and there’s simply no excuse for my behavior.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Ma jumps up from the table and hugs her, mouthing ‘so fucking cute’ over Layton’s shoulder. “You have nothing to apologize for. Sure, your eternal soul will be in purgatory until you make your confession, but that’s nothing Father Sheehan can’t fix.”

“I’m Baptist.”

“Fine, he can sprinkle holy water on ya, and you can do a couple of rosaries.”

Layton turns to me, panic in her eyes because we both know she doesn’t own a rosary.

“Leave her alone, Ma.” Taking pity on Layton, I pry her away from Ma and sit her at the table. “Would mind fixing Layton breakfast?”

Layton shoots out of her seat. “Oh, no. I couldn’t possibly put you out like that.”

My ma gives her the look.

“Yes, ma’am. I look forward to your cooking. I don’t like cheese in my eggs, thank you.” Layton drops into her chair.

“She likes to cook.”

“Like Kingston likes to cook?” she asks, her voice low.

“Exactly.”

“Stay out of her way. Got it.”

“Thanks for staying.” Reaching under the table, I grab her hand. “I knew you weren’t a coward.”

She rubs the diamond clasp of her necklace. “At least one of us did.”

Yeah, this isn’t going to be easy, but I never liked easy, anyway.