Frankie was half-asleep in Matt’s arms when her phone beeped.
“It’s Sunday morning. Who is texting me this early on a Sunday morning? If it’s Paige, I’m resigning.” With a groan, she reached out her hand and picked her phone up.
It was Roxy.
Warning! Your mom is on the way up.
Her mom?
“Matt, get up!” She sprang out of bed. “My mother is here.”
He eased himself onto his elbow. “It’s a little early, but that doesn’t constitute an emergency, does it?”
“Yes! I’m naked in your bed and I’m living in your apartment.” And she didn’t want her mother to know. And the reason for that was too complicated to explore right now. She searched frantically for her clothes, some of which were strewn across the floor. In desperation, she grabbed one of Matt’s T-shirts and managed to get herself jammed inside it. “This T-shirt doesn’t fit. How can it not fit when it’s too big for me?” She felt Matt’s hands on the fabric as he carefully extracted her.
He did it the way he did everything. Thoughtful, calm and measured.
“You’re trying to put your head through the armhole. You need to calm down. What’s the panic?”
“The panic is my mother.” Wishing some of his calm would transfer itself to her, she grabbed her hair, freeing it. “I don’t want her to know I’m living here.”
“Why?”
“Because she ruins everything, Matt. You have no idea. She’ll embarrass me. She’ll embarrass you—”
“Do you really think anything your mother does could change the way I feel about you?”
Something in his voice made her pause and glance at him, but his expression revealed nothing.
How could she explain that what they had was special and perfect and she didn’t want it tainted?
“You don’t know her.”
“I’ve known her almost as long as I’ve known you.”
“But you’ve never seen her in full flow. You don’t know what she’s capable of.” She stumbled as she pulled on her yoga pants. “What is she even doing here? Please get dressed. If my mother sees your chest, I can’t promise you’ll be safe.”
She closed the door between the bedroom and the living room and reached the door as her mother pressed the bell.
Crap, why couldn’t she have a normal mother? Someone who called a few days before and arranged Sunday lunch?
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. “Mom! This is a surprise.” So was the realization that she’d forgotten her underwear. She was naked under her yoga pants and her breasts were loose and free.
Fortunately, her mother seemed distracted. “I went downstairs first. You didn’t tell me you’d moved.”
“It’s only temporary—”
“You lent your apartment to that sweet girl with the baby. I know. I apologized for waking her, but she told me that she’d been up since five.”
Frankie wondered what else Roxy had told her mother. “What are you doing here, Mom?”
“You’re my daughter!” Her mother’s voice rose. “Do I need an excuse to visit my daughter?”
“It’s eight o’clock on a Sunday morning.”
“You’re always up early. You were the same when you were little. You and your father, thick as thieves, giggling away as you planned your adventure for the day.” It sounded like an accusation, and Frankie tensed in anticipation of the conversation that lay ahead.
Were they going to be revisiting the past or was this about the present? More excruciating details of her mother’s current relationship?