“You’re not like your dad wanted, but that doesn’t mean you’re not smart. And you don’t make as much because you’re busy helping me at the shop. I told you I don’t need you anymore. You let so many opportunities pass because of me. I don’t want that for you, Michael, and I don’t want you to lose this girl, either. She’s a good one. Keep her.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is. She likes you. You like her.”
If he had less control, he would have pointed out his mom’s relationship with his dad, but that was hitting below the belt. His dad loved his mom—in his own way. But he also loved cheating. Michael would never understand why his mom took his dad back every single time.
“Just promise to try, all right? I like this one,” his mom said.
Michael could have laughed. Of all the girls he’d ever brought home, she liked the one he couldn’t have. His client. His rich, highly educated, beautiful client, who was paying him to help her learn how to get someone better.
“You’re just saying that because she’s doing dishes.”
Michael knew the way to his mom’s heart, and it wasn’t food. It was cleaning, doing dishes. He didn’t have to do dishes because he cooked. For whatever reason, none of the women in this house cooked. He’d had to learn in order to survive.
“She doesn’t mind working,” his mom said. “That’s important.”
“Mmmmm,” Ngo?i agreed.
For a moment, the three of them watched as Stella washed bowls, rinsed them, and handed them to Sophie to dry. She’d rolled her sleeves up and worked with great attention, listening and smiling distractedly as Sophie chatted with her.
“Take her home,” Ngo?i said. “She looks tired.”
His mom nodded. “Take her home.”
He pushed away from the table and went to wrap his arms around Stella’s waist. Because he couldn’t resist, he ran his lips down her neck so she shivered. The soapy sponge paused in midscrub, and her expression was confused as she gazed at him over her shoulder. He slid a hand down her delicate forearm and hijacked the sponge from her. He finished washing the frying pan and the rest of the dishes with her in front of him, occasionally pausing to kiss her ear, her neck, or her jaw.
Sophie slanted him a go get a room look as he handed her the last colander—one of many that he’d made his mom promise never to stick in the microwave again—and he could tell she was dying to say something dry and caustic but was holding back because she didn’t want to embarrass Stella.
Stella’s eyelids had gone heavy, and her nails dug into the tile counter as she tried unsuccessfully not to respond to him.
“Ready to go home?” he whispered.
She nodded.
They said their good-byes and piled into Stella’s car, and he pressed the Tesla’s on button.
Before Stella could buckle her seat belt, he asked, “What are you seeing in terms of living arrangements and frequency of visits?”
“What do most couples do when they’re in committed relationships?”
“They live together, and they see each other every day. Is that what you want?” It was strange hearing himself say the words out loud. These were things he’d spent his entire adult life avoiding, but with Stella, he might be ready for them. If she wanted them, too.
She rubbed her cheek on her shoulder. “I want that, then. I have a guest bedroom you can use. But if you’re uncomfortable staying with me, I understand. Not all couples live in the same house.”
“What if I want to share your bed, Stella?” he asked in a low tone.
Despite how much he wanted to help her and prove he wasn’t his dad, he wasn’t sure he could do this if sex was off the table. He wanted her too much. Besides, most of her problems stemmed from lack of confidence. Bed was a great place to work on that.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said.
“That wasn’t the question. I know I don’t have to.”
Staring out the passenger window, she said, “My bed is open to you if you want it, but you know where my skill levels are at. That hasn’t changed since our last time together.”
He smiled at that. She sounded worried about pleasing him. Something his clients almost never cared about.
“Let’s seal the deal.”