I smirk at him and grab his hand. “Let’s go inside before your ego gets too big to fit through the door.”

We step in the house and my mother insists on giving Lachlan the grand tour. She takes him by the hand and he follows her, ever gracious, hanging on to her every word, smiling when she smiles. It brings actual tears to my eyes, tears I have to quickly blink away. Even Kyle hadn’t been that way, so attentive, so involved, and he was about to marry me.

While they go explore the rest of the house, I take in a deep breath, trying to steady the race in my chest, and head into the kitchen to see what I can make for dinner. I can hear them walking upstairs. Their footsteps, Lachlan’s heavy, long strides and my mother’s short, quick ones, go down the hall, to my brothers’ rooms, then to my bedroom, where I’m sure my mother is filling Lachlan in about all sorts of embarrassing anecdotes about me.

Then they go into my parents’ bedroom, and I don’t know what my mother is saying to him, but it must be about my dad and suddenly it hurts. It hurts. Sharp pains stab my chest, enough that I have to lean against the fridge and try to breathe for a few minutes.

“Kayla?” I hear Lachlan say, and then he’s at my side, fingers running down the sides of my face, hands curling around my forearms. “What happened?”

I shake my head, keeping my eyes shut. “It’s fine,” I say.

“Kayla,” my mother cries out, and I can hear the terror. This is the last thing I want, for her to worry about me when there’s nothing wrong, just my own damn worry, my own damn demons creeping up on me.

“I’m fine,” I say again, sharper now, taking in another breath through my teeth. “Really. It’s just a cramp. A stitch in my side.”

“Maybe you should let me cook,” my mother says. I open my eyes to see both her and Lachlan peering at me, and it’s only this sight, borderline comical, that gives me the strength to push past it all.

“No, no, no,” Lachlan says, straightening up but not letting go of my arm. “Mrs. Moore, you go sit down. Kayla, you sit down with your mum. I’ll cook.”

I stare at him dumbly. “You’d do that?”

“Of course, love,” he says, kissing me quickly on the forehead. When he pulls away though, his eyes are sharp and delivering a message. “Go be with your mum,” he tells me quietly.

I nod, stupefied by him. “What are you going to make?” I ask him feebly as my mom heads into the living room, looking at me over her shoulder.

“Go and be with your mum,” he repeats, and I sense some weird urgency in his voice that makes my heart do a couple more somersaults in the wrong direction. “I’ve got this, aye?”

I turn and head out into the living room, sitting on the couch as my mom settles down in her armchair, reaching for her knitting needles. She’s in good spirits though, stealing glances at me as I flip on the television and scroll through the channels to find something she might like. The Big Bang Theory it is.

But she’s not paying attention. She’s watching me fully. “Are you okay?” she asks me.

“Yes, yes.” I wave her away. “Are you okay?”

She sighs lightly, looking down at her needles and seeming to be lost in her own little world for a moment. Finally she says, “I was…not feeling well today. Tired. Dizzy.”

I swallow a lump in my throat. “Mom. When you feel like that, you know you need to call your doctor.”

She shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. It’s called getting old, Kayla.” She looks up at me with knowing eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me he was coming?”

Though her voice is low, the kitchen is right there, and I know Lachlan can hear us. Nothing seems to escape him. “It was a last minute decision,” I tell her, trying to play it off lightly. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay, Kayla, sweetheart,” she says, grinning from ear to ear, bouncing lightly in her seat. “It’s okay because I’ve never seen you look so happy before.”

At that, my eyes flit over to the kitchen. Lachlan is staring at me while he takes pots out of the cupboards. I can’t read his expression, but I at least know he heard that I look happy.

I am happy.

I feel my cheeks flush with heat because I can’t ignore the truth. I am happy. Deliriously.

Tragically.

I break our gaze and try to concentrate on Penny and Sheldon on the TV. God, I loathe this show.

“So where did you find him?” my mom asks.

“He’s cousins with Bram and Linden. You know Stephanie’s husband? His cousin.”

She nods. “I’ve always liked Stephanie.”

“Yes, Mom, I know. The daughter you never had.”

“Oh, I only say that because I know how much she means to you. I was very happy to see her finally settle down. Now that can happen for you.”

Oh god. Oh god, no.

I look up, hoping that Lachlan is preoccupied, that he can’t hear us at all. But no. That would be asking too much. He’s standing right there, mixing something in a bowl, and those gorgeous, inquisitive eyes are peering into mine.

I tear myself away from him. “That’s not going to happen,” I tell my mom, maybe more harshly than I meant to. “Lachlan is leaving on Sunday.”

She frowns, her needles pausing mid clickety-clack. “Leaving where?”

“Back to Scotland. If you couldn’t tell, he’s from there.”

“Oh,” she says, blinking hard. “Oh dear. That’s terrible. Are you going with him?”

I let out a sharp, caustic laugh. Mainly from shock. “Yeah right!” I cry out. “No. No, he’s actually a very successful rugby player in Edinburgh. He’s got everything waiting for him. And I have, well, I have everything that I have here.”

Which was what? Nothing?

No. Not nothing. My mom. My brothers. My floundering career and my happily-coupled friends.

It was something.

But it wasn’t the something I wanted.

That something was a future filled with hope.

That something was in the kitchen.

That something was unattainable.

That something was burning a hole into me with his eyes. I didn’t even have to look to know. I could feel it. I was so good at feeling his eyes on my skin, always wanting more from me than flesh.

“That’s a shame,” she says. She goes back to her knitting, but her posture loses that verve she had before. Is it possible that my mother would rather me go chasing some beautiful man across the Atlantic Ocean than stay in San Francisco and keep on keeping on? I try not to think about it. In the end, what she wants, hell, what I want, doesn’t really have any bearing on the reality: Lachlan is going back.

And I barely know him.

Thankfully she doesn’t bring him up anymore, and by the time the show is over, he announces with that deep voice of his that dinner is ready.

My mom and I exchange a curious look and head into the kitchen.

Damn.

Just, damn it.

Lachlan has not only put placemats with place settings out, but there’s a nice bottle of red wine in the middle and flickering candles. He moves around like he grew up in this kitchen as I had.

“Sit, please,” he says, gesturing to the chairs. He goes beyond gesturing when it comes to my mom and holds out the chair for her before pushing it in. Then he heads for the kitchen counter, and when he comes back, he places a bowl of mashed potatoes and a dish of chicken parmigiana on the table. Not exactly two things that would go together, but it looks absolutely delicious and smells even better.

“How did you learn to do this?” I ask him. It’s not that he shouldn’t be able to throw a few things together, but it looks so freaking good.

He nods at the plate. “Just try it first and then ask me. I can’t make any promises,” he says, sitting down between us.

I take a bite of the mashed potatoes. They’re better than the ones at Thanksgiving, with just a kick of pepper or some kind of spice. As for the chicken, it melts in your goddamn mouth.