Or my mother.
She clears her throat loudly, and I snap my head in the direction of the sound. She and Julie are walking toward us like two women on a mission.
“Eric,” Mom says, “would you let Julie spend the night here with the other girls?”
His expression grows tense within seconds. “She has—”
“Please, please, please, Dad,” Julie says. “All the other girls are staying overnight, and they are awesome.”
Her eyes are wide and pleading. Ah, she’s bringing out the big guns.
“She’ll be safe,” I murmur to Eric.
“Whose side are you on?” he asks me. I wink at Julie, and Eric shakes his head. “Fine.”
Julie smiles brightly, and Eric all but melts looking at her. “You are the best dad in the entire world.”
“Mrs. Bennett, when should I pick Julie up tomorrow?”
Mom waves her hand. “Give me a call in the afternoon. You and Pippa enjoy the time together.”
I blush furiously as Eric bids her good-bye and takes Julie to one side, presumably to give her instructions to be on her best behavior. As if it’s necessary. This girl is precious.
“Pippa, can I give you a piece of advice?” Mom asks me.
Uh-oh.
A truth that should be universally acknowledged is mothers are always right—whether they give you advice or a warning. It took me a while to accept this truth. I’ve never been rebellious, though I did have a wild streak here and there toward the end of high school. My rebellions were more of the ‘Of course I’m going to wear this mini skirt, even if it’s below zero outside’ type, despite my mother’s advice. I’d remember that when I got sick. In my mid-twenties, I progressively realized all of my mother’s warnings turned into reality. At thirty, I’m almost afraid her words have prophetic qualities.
“Sure.” I eye my surroundings, wondering if I can find an excuse to make a quick escape. Not likely. She cornered me in the hallway.
“If you find a good thing, don’t let it go.”
My heart squeezes, and I blink rapidly. “Mom—”
“I want you to be happy again.” She pulls me in to a hug I return.
“I am happy,” I whisper in her hair. “I have all of you.”
“There are several kinds of happiness, Pippa.”
I pull away from her as Julie and Eric approach us. He attempts to hug Julie good-bye, but she pushes him off, mumbling, “Dad, I’m too old for hugs in public.”
“You’re never too old for hugs,” I tell her, but she shakes her head. Eric looks taken aback by her declaration, and I feel for him, so I squeeze his hand lightly. After verbal good-byes to Julie, he and I walk to the car together.
Once inside, he says, “We are about to have some alone time.”
I sink lower in the seat, blushing. “Yeah. The evening got much more interesting.”
“Let’s not forget the night too,” Eric says in a husky, delicious tone, which sends a jolt right through my center.
“What about the night?” I tease.
“So many possibilities,” he whispers. “All of them involve you staying up and screaming my name.”
“Eric.” The word leaves my mouth almost on a moan.
“Stop saying my name like that, or I’ll pull over somewhere dark and make love to you right here in this car.”