A Collection of Short Romances: Volume 1 by Eve L. Mitchell

Author:Eve L. Mitchell [Mitchell, Eve L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Eve L. Mitchell's Books
Published: 2024-02-11T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

Sitting on the sofa, watching Christmas romance movies, and eating popcorn is the best way to spend a day relaxing. Who doesn’t want a syrupy sweet romance at the holidays to remind you that there is love out there, just waiting for you, usually with heart-shaped balloons and candy canes?

Lying on the couch with a blanket thrown over my legs, I watched one movie after the other and lost myself in the feel-good holiday films. When mom came in from work, I was mildly disappointed that she wasn’t wearing an ugly sweater and didn’t come in bearing gingerbread men and steaming mugs of hot chocolate. Is this how guys felt after watching too much porn? When the bank cashier doesn’t strip to check their “assets,” were they shocked, or did they realize it was time to switch the TV off? Laughing at myself, I switched the TV off.

I had made dinner, which my mom seemed to appreciate, and I welcomed more the fact that Rhett hadn’t come with her. It seemed he took her to work in the morning, but she made her own way after work.

“So, seriously, what’s the deal with Rhett picking you up?” I asked as I got plates from the cupboard.

“I don’t have a car at the moment, and Rhett kindly offered to take me in for the early morning shifts until I get the car sorted,” she told me as she filled our glasses with milk.

I smiled at the sight. It had been over three years since I had milk to drink with my dinner. “It’s just a pasta bake,” I told her as I pulled the dish from the oven.

“It smells delicious,” she told me warmly as she took her seat at the table.

Another thing I hadn’t done in over three years was eat at a dinner table unless I was out for a meal. “Thank you,” I replied shyly as I sat down. “You want to do the honors?” I handed her the serving spatula, and she took it with a smile.

“Still burning your fingers on the dishes?” she teased me with a smile.

“I need a few more years before I have your Teflon hands,” I joked back easily. “Long day?” I asked as she served me.

“Yeah.” A small shrug. “Isn’t every day?”

“Well, that’s not good,” I muttered. Sending a quick side look, I took the plunge. “So, Jamie?”

Mom hesitated, her fork stalling in the air as she raised it to her mouth. She ate her food, and then several mouthfuls later, she put her fork down. “He married again,” she started.

“What the fuck?”

“Holly!”

“Sorry,” I mumbled into my milk.

“Tina Davenport, I don’t think you would know her?” Mom glanced at me and then picked her fork up. “They aren’t”—she paused, seemingly to gather her thoughts—“good for each other.”

“Drinking?” I asked as I remembered Mom’s comment from last night.

“Yeah.” Mom sighed as she took another bite of food.

“You see him much?” I asked as I ate my food, the cheesy pasta dish now sitting heavy in my belly.

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