Chapter Ten
1084 Words
Breakfast was pancakes.
Not fancy pancakes. Not buckwheat or gluten-free or whatever rich people ate. Just regular pancakes, slightly burned on one side, stacked on a plate with a fork stuck in the top like a flag.
"You made these?" I asked, sliding onto a stool at the kitchen island.
"The recipe said easy. It lied."
I took a bite. They were dense. A little salty. Perfect.
"These are terrible," I said.
"I know."
"I love them."
Adrian's mouth twitched. Almost a smile. Almost human. He was wearing a gray sweater with a hole in the cuff, and his hair was still wet from the shower. He looked soft. Touchable.
I wanted to climb over the island and kiss him again.
Instead, I took another bite of pancake.
---
Ms. Vane arrived at eight-thirty.
She took one look at us—me in Adrian's sweatshirt, him pouring me more coffee, both of us pretending last night didn't happen—and said nothing.
But her eyebrow said everything.
"The car is waiting," she said. "You have a meeting with the lawyers at nine."
"Cancel it," Adrian said.
"Excuse me?"
"I said cancel it."
Ms. Vane's other eyebrow went up. "Sir, the Liam situation—"
"Can wait. Ivy and I have somewhere to be."
I set down my fork. "We do?"
"We do."
"Where?"
Adrian looked at me. His expression was soft but serious. "You'll see."
---
The car took us to Brooklyn.
Not the fancy part. The real part. The part with laundry hanging between buildings and bodegas on every corner and kids playing basketball in the street.
"This is where I grew up," I said, staring out the window.
"I know."
"You've been here before."
"Once. Six months ago. After the coffee shop."
I turned to look at him. "You followed me home?"
"I wanted to see where you lived. What kind of neighborhood. Whether you were safe."
"And what did you decide?"
His jaw tightened. "That you deserved better."
The car stopped. We were in front of St. Mary's Hospital—the old one, the one where my mother had been before Adrian moved her. The building looked smaller than I remembered. Grayer.
"Why are we here?" I asked.
"Because you need to see something before we go to the new facility."
Adrian opened the door and stepped out. I followed.
---
The old room was empty.
Bed stripped. Curtains drawn. A single get-well card still taped to the wall, the edges curled and yellow.
"This is where she almost died," I said quietly.
"I know."
"The night I took the courier job. She coded twice. They didn't think she'd make it."
Adrian stood behind me. Didn't touch me. Just stood there, close enough that I could feel his warmth.
"I sat in that chair for three days," I continued. "Didn't sleep. Didn't eat. Just sat and held her hand and prayed to a God I don't believe in."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you need to understand." I turned to face him. "I didn't say yes to your deal because I wanted money. I said yes because I couldn't watch my mother die in a room with yellow curtains and a card from a neighbor who didn't even spell her name right."
Adrian's face went pale.
"Margaret," he said. "Not Margret. There's an a."
"You noticed that?"
"I notice everything about you."
We stood there in the empty room. The hospital sounds drifted in from the hallway—gurneys, murmurs, the distant beep of machines.
"I'm not a good person, Ivy."
"I know."
"But I want to be. For you."
I reached up and touched his face. His stubble was rough against my palm.
"Then start by meeting my mother. For real. Not as my fake fiancé. As the man who saved her life."
He nodded.
And for the first time, I saw Adrian Wolfe look genuinely afraid.
---
The new facility was a different world.
Sunlight. Flowers. Nurses who smiled and remembered names. My mother's room had a window that opened, and a view of a garden, and a chair that folded out into a bed for visitors.
"Someone's been sleeping here," I said.
Margaret Cole looked up from her puzzle. She was thinner than the last time I'd seen her. Paler. But her eyes were the same—sharp, knowing, impossible to fool.
"That nice assistant of his. Ms. Vane. She stayed with me the first night. Said Adrian couldn't come himself because he didn't want to overwhelm me."
"That sounds like him."
"And who is him, exactly?" My mother set down her puzzle piece. Her gaze shifted to Adrian, who was standing in the doorway like a man awaiting execution. "Are you going to introduce us, or are you going to make him sweat?"
Adrian stepped forward. Extended his hand. "Adrian Wolfe, Mrs. Cole. It's an honor to meet you."
My mother looked at his hand. Then at his face. Then at me.
"He's handsome," she said. "Is he the one paying for all this?"
"Mom—"
"Yes or no?"
"Yes," Adrian said. "I am."
My mother nodded slowly. She didn't shake his hand. Instead, she pointed to the chair beside her bed.
"Sit down, young man. We need to talk."
Adrian sat.
And for the next twenty minutes, my mother interviewed him like he was applying for the most important job in the world.
What are your intentions?
Do you love her?
Are you going to hurt her?
What's your five-year plan?
He answered every question. Didn't flinch. Didn't lie.
And when she finally reached out and took his hand, I saw tears in his eyes.
"You'll do," my mother said. "For now."
Adrian laughed—a real laugh, surprised and relieved and almost boyish.
"Thank you, Mrs. Cole."
"Call me Margaret. And take care of my daughter. Or I'll haunt you."
"Yes, ma'am."
---
On the way back to the car, Adrian was quiet.
"You okay?" I asked.
"Your mother is terrifying."
"She liked you."
"She threatened to haunt me."
"That's how she shows affection."
He stopped walking. Turned to face me. The afternoon sun was behind him, making him squint.
"I meant what I said in there."
"Said what?"
"Everything."
I didn't know what to say to that. So I took his hand. Laced my fingers through his.
We walked the rest of the way to the car in silence.
But it was a good silence.
The kind that didn't need filling.
- Writer
