That Second Chance (Getting Lucky #1)(32)

“Oh, honey, what happened to your forehead?” FaceTime is my mom’s favorite thing ever. I’ve been avoiding it for as long as possible, but she finally caught me, and I knew the minute she did, she would comment on my stitches.

Telling her the truth is still not an option, not with her constant worrying. Would it be nice to be able to be open and honest with my parents about my new life in Port Snow? Of course, but the car accident in LA is still too fresh in their minds, and I would only cause more unnecessary worry. I’m thriving, I’m making a home of my own, and I’m living with no fear. Maybe a year or two from now I can tell her the real story, but right now, I give her my best lie.

“You’re never going to believe how clumsy I am. I bought a new rug without getting the mat to go underneath, slipped, and hit my head on the counter. It was a few stitches and a quick visit to the emergency room but nothing to worry about.”

It’s the best story I can come up with that can explain stitches and bruising on my forehead.

“What? And you’re all alone? See, this is exactly why I didn’t want you to move this far away: you have no one to take care of you. Were you passed out on the floor? How much blood did you lose?”

Hear that whomping sound? That’s the helicopter mom coming in to hover.

“Mom, I’m fine. It was the corner of the counter, so that’s why it looks so bad. There wasn’t even a lot of blood”—just a ruined shirt—“and I was in and out of the emergency room. I only went because I felt like the cut was a little deeper than expected.” Not going to mention an ambulance took me in. “And everyone in town here is so nice. They’ve been keeping an eye on me.” Not a lie: the Knightly brothers check in on me, and so does Ruth. She asks me how I am every time I come into Snow Roast. That counts.

A worried expression mars her face. “I really don’t like this, Ren. I should be there with you.”

I sigh and stop stacking the plates in the cupboard next to the dishwasher as I focus on the screen propped against the counter and wall. “Mom, you know I love you, right?”

“Well, of course.”

“Okay, so what I’m about to say is out of pure love.” I take a deep breath. “You need to let me live my life. I’m a twenty-eight-year-old woman, and I can fend for myself. You need to let me do that.”

Her bottom lip quivers, and her eyes start to water. Oh boy, here we go; I can feel another wave of guilt about to hit me dead in the chest, and it’s the last thing I want when I’m on an unpacking high. Then again, if I put myself in her shoes . . .

“I just love you so much, and I don’t want anything bad to ever happen to you.”

“I know, Mom, and I love you, too, but you need to realize you can’t keep me in a bubble forever. This is good for me; being out here is good for me. I love it. It’s quaint and friendly, and there’s this guy . . .”

Her eyes widen, her interest piqued as the whomping of the helicopter fades and she settles into friend territory. A sly smirk crosses her face as she leans more into the phone. I knew that would change the subject.

“There’s a guy? Already?”

I fold my kitchen towels—white-and-teal plaid, super cute. “Well, we’re just friends, but he lives three houses down. He’s a volunteer firefighter and helps run his parents’ souvenir shop here. It’s called the Lobster Landing.”

“Oh, sounds enchanting. Tell me more about him.”

I can feel my cheeks start to flame. It’s not very often a man captures my attention, let alone makes me feel all kinds of butterflies in my stomach when he’s around. But Griffin does just that, with the little dimple that appears whenever he smiles wholeheartedly and with his sweet gestures that seem to hit me square in the chest.

This isn’t my first rundown on a guy with my mom. She’s been my go-to gal ever since my first crush. She has the natural ability to set aside her mom pants for a hot second whenever I want to talk about the opposite sex, which is one of the reasons why I love her so much and why it’s so easy to talk to her about Griffin.

“Well, he’s tall, has brown hair. It’s short but kind of messy. He has these amazing blue eyes that almost look like he plucked them straight from the Caribbean Sea.”

“Oh, so really blue.”

I nod. “Yes, so blue. You can see them from fifty feet away—they’re that blue—and they’re hard to look away from. And he’s so sweet, Mom. He helped me move some of my stuff into the house and bought me dinner the other night.”

“He bought you dinner? Did he take you out on a date?”

“No, my car—” I catch myself and swallow hard. “He drove me to Walmart in the next town up because I wasn’t sure where I was going. We stopped for dinner after that. It was a friendly dinner, nothing romantic.”

“But you would possibly want something romantic?”

I shrug. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no if that’s what he wanted.”

“Do you know what he might want? Has he given you any cues?”

I think back to my interactions with Griffin, replaying them in my head. He’s always kept his hands to himself, kept the conversation friendly, never really pushed it to anything romantic at all. I’ve caught him giving me a once-over a few times, but those moments were too small to be anything other than a curious eye.