“Sounds fabulous.”

“It’s true. It’s what happens to all us moms. Time keeps chugging by and you all keep changing but the love never does. You’ll always be my little angel and she’ll always be yours. And all mothers just want their angels to find men worthy of them. Even more than that, someone that will look at them like they’re magic.” She looks at me, plopping her legs on the couch. “If you find a man who looks at you like you’re magic, you hold on to them. I had that with your father and I never should have let him go.”

I swallow hard. “But you have to think the man is magic, too. It goes both ways.”

She nods. “Yes you do. It has to be both ways and when you find it, it’s alchemy in its purest form. Don’t cast it aside for anything else.”

I don’t know what else to say. I tell my mom to call if there are any troubles and I leave.

I don’t see Bram in the halls. I don’t know what I’d say if I did. I’d probably ask for a ride and would end up getting more than I bargained for.

***

Unfortunately I don’t end up working the shift that night for very long. The night is slow and at around eight, James tells me I can go home. It’s great I still get the tips and a few more hours of my paycheck, even if I’m not there – he can be a really good boss sometimes. But the hassle of public transportation doesn’t help and also, I guess I just really wanted to be out of the apartment for a long time. It’s easy to forget about Bram when I’m so far removed.

I walk down the hall to my apartment, shrugging off my leather jacket and am about to stick the key in the door when I hear laughter.

My mom’s laughter.

Ava’s laughter.

Bram’s laughter.

Oh, hell no. I silently whip out the powder compact and give my face the once over. Hair is disheveled a bit but I look okay otherwise. I take a deep breath and open the door.

Inside my apartment are Bram, my mom and Ava. They are all sitting on the same couch.

Only it’s not my old couch and it’s obviously not the yellow shit piece. The yellow shit piece and the other box are stacked up by the door, right beside where I’m standing. All three of them are on this sleek, dark grey sofa that I’ve never seen before.

Actually, as I shut the door behind me and peer at it closer, it looks like the same futon Bram had his eye on in the store.

Oh my God, did he buy me a new fucking couch?

My eyes fly to his and from the way he’s grinning at me, the tip of his tongue held devilishly between his teeth, I know that’s exactly what happened.

“You’re home early,” my mom says and she looks bashful, as if I caught her doing something she shouldn’t be doing. She adds quickly, “Bram came by with this couch for you, isn’t that so nice of him?”

“It’s very nice of him,” I say, walking over the couch and kneading the top of it between my hands. It’s soft but sturdy. I like it a lot, but God how his charity is starting to make me uncomfortable at times. I think that’s why he does it. Screw the Richard Branson aspirations. I think Project Nicola Price aka Eliza Doolittle is more because he enjoys how much it bothers me. He’s becoming a regular old sugar daddy when I sure as hell never asked for one.

I look over at Ava who is smiling at Bram like he’s her damn hero. “How do you like the couch, angel?”

“I like it very much,” she says emphatically.

All right, so I guess that settles it. “Where’s the old couch?” I ask him, oddly sad I never got to say goodbye.

“A charity organization came to take it away, going to a half-way house,” he says. “So don’t worry, it’s going to a good cause. And tomorrow we’ll just return the other couches to IKEA.”

Oh, so we have plans for tomorrow now? I do my best to keep a stupid smile from showing on my lips.

“Well, now that you’re home, I better be going,” my mother says, easing herself off the couch. She gives Bram a flirty look. “Nice talking with you, Bram.”

“Always a pleasure,” he replies, his brogue extra thick. Extra hot. Damn, he needs to stop showing off his accent.

My mom gives me a quick hug, says bye to Ava and just as she’s out the door, she winks at me.

I totally pretend not to see it.

But once the door closes, it feels like I’m being locked in a tomb with Bram and suddenly I want my mother back because I am afraid like nothing else at what could happen tonight.

Because he’s here. He’s sitting on my couch – my new couch – and he’s staring at me so intently that my bones feel like melting away. That look can only mean one thing.

“Mommy,” Ava says, snapping me back to attention. “Can I stay up with you guys and watch Dora?”

“No, sweetie,” I quickly tell her, grateful for the opportunity. “You have to go to bed now. How about you go brush your teeth. Did your grandma use the spindle and give you the ouchie?”

She nods and then runs off to the bathroom.

“You know what’s going to be nice?” I say to Bram. “Her starting kindergarten in the fall. She’ll be so tuckered out, there’s no way she can stay up late.”

“That will be nice,” he says. “And easier on you, especially if you start working days. You think you’ll still be with the Lion?”

I shrug, glad that we’re talking about other things and ignoring the throbbing elephant in the room. “I’m just taking each day as it comes, to be honest. But yeah, I guess I should keep looking shouldn’t I?”

He purses his lips and drums his fingers along the back of the couch. “Since bartending wasn’t your career choice, you can always start incorporating your dream job back in. You know. Your passion.”

I nod. “I’ll try.” Actually one of things I’ve been wanting to do lately is start sewing again like I used to do as a teenager, but I’ll have to save enough money to get a sewing machine. It’s funny how much I feel like a teen again with Bram around. I want to sew, I want to listen to 90’s trip hop, I want to just let my hair down and be a bit wild and free.

For the first time in a long time, I wouldn’t mind losing my heart. Just as long as I can get it back. When you’re a teenager and you fall in love, you think you’ll never move on once it’s been lost. But you always gain it back, you always fall for someone else. No boy holds it for too long. Your young heart is a wild, elastic thing. Now, I fear that age and time and experience stretches it too hard, too far, and it will never snap back.

But why am I even thinking about love. My mind should be in the gutter, if anything.

“Do you hate the couch?” Bram asks as I go into the kitchen to put on some decaf.

“Not at all!” I tell him. I shoot him a sheepish glance over my shoulder. “Sorry, I’m just surprised. Like, really.”

I look back at the coffee grounds I’m trying to measure and I can hear him get off the couch. I can feel him come toward me. The man carries his own force field and maybe it’s just my hormones or my deprived imagination, but I swear I can feel every hair on my body standing to attention as he approaches.

“It’s a really nice couch,” I say meekly, talking for the sake of talking. Oh man, when I get nervous, I can talk anyone’s ear off. “I think we saw it in IKEA, right? I guess you could have returned the yellow couch earlier.”

“Aye,” he says and now his voice is like a growl. He stops right behind me and I can feel his breath on my neck. “I could have. But I wanted your approval. I told the half-way house that you may change your mind, so they’re holding it somewhere.”

I swallow. “Okay. Um, well, no. It’s for a good cause as you said and I guess we can return to the store tomorrow or some other day for the rest and…”

I trail off because his lips are on the bare spot between my neck and my shoulder and his kiss, so soft, so slow, is literally stealing my breath and my thoughts. I am pure silk in his hands and I have to brace myself on the counter so that I don’t slither to the ground.