They fell into a comfortable silence, and during that silence, Axl contemplated two things.

One, it was nice coming home to her.

Two, they were falling in love with each other.

With this in mind, he told her, “I’ve never lived with a woman.”

“Pardon?”

“I’ve never lived with a woman,” he repeated.

“Um … okay.”

“That said, my last long-term relationship, she was over a lot. We both preferred my place when one of us slept over. So I gave her a drawer.”

“A drawer,” she said, partly contemplative, partly teasing. “That’s big stuff.”

“I thought it was. She was ticked it was just a drawer.”

“If I had a diary, and therefore wrote in a diary, and you gave me a drawer, I’d have to go out and buy heart stickers and glitter washi tape so I could fully commit my ‘Dear diary, today, Axl gave me a drawer,’ memory as it deserved.”

He started laughing again.

“I haven’t lived with a guy either,” she told him.

“Seems so far we’re both naturals,” he remarked.

A wave of warmth hit him from the passenger side of the vehicle.

He then saw her out of the corner of his eye move in so she could kiss his jaw.

She sat back and it took a minute before she queried, “Can I ask why you mentioned that?”

“Never in my life came home to a woman.”

Hattie didn’t respond.

“Been comin’ home to you now for days, didn’t think on it, all that was going on. Had a second to think on it, and I like it. So I thought you should know.”

At that, she pushed the limits of her seatbelt again to give him another kiss on the jaw, this time wrapping her hand around the other side of his neck to give him a squeeze.

He felt her touch and smelled her perfume.

Yeah.

He liked her in his Jeep too.

Axl enjoyed her kisses, but he decided not to share that in case she did it again, and her touch prompted more action, the kind where he’d turn around and dis his mother on dinner.

They drove the rest of the way, back in their comfortable silence.

Until he pulled into his parents’ side drive.

“Holy crap,” she whispered.

As they passed by, he studied the sprawling house with its red brick, black shutters, white woodwork, and curved portico.

The green lawn was perfectly manicured. The front hedges flawlessly clipped. The dual elms on either side of the front of the house mature and towering.

An opinion on something Axl had never considered hit him with a surety that surprised him.

He hated his parents’ home.

It was classic, pompous, had zero uniqueness, no personality, and the best things you could say about it were that it was big, it was sturdy, and at a push, it was stately.

But it was boring.

If you had to guess who lived in that house, you’d probably say conservative, elderly and uptight.

Except the elderly, all true.

He drove around back to the huge area that included four garage doors, an archway covered in some flowering plant that didn’t quite hide the pool and tennis court beyond and the small detached mother-in-law house where his mom and dad’s assistant/ housekeeper lived.

And he hadn’t felt the feeling he was feeling as he parked since his dad reamed his ass in front of his teammates and coaches for coming in second in the hundred-yard dash in regionals his sophomore year.

But he knew what the feeling was.

He was embarrassed.

“Okay, so your dad isn’t like, a successful attorney. He’s, like, a super-duper, mega successful attorney,” Hattie noted.

“We’ll just say his firm does the very least pro bono work they can do and not look like complete assholes rather than total assholes. Every hour is a billable hour. And he works a lot.”

“Axl,” she called, her voice searching, soft.

He turned to her to see her gaze the same as her voice.

“Are you okay, honey?” she asked.

Shit.

He wasn’t.

“We do it, it’s done,” he said.

She let her seatbelt go that time, came in and touched her glossed lips to his.

She pulled back, still staring into his eyes.

“There’s one thing I already know I’ll always love about your parents. They made you.”

Fucking fuck.

Another punch right to the sternum.

She read his intent before he did what he intended.

He knew it when she ordered, “Don’t mess up my lip gloss.”

“I’m gonna mess up your lip gloss, beautiful,” he warned.

And then he did.

When he was done, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand as she reapplied.

They got out of the Jeep, walked to the house and went in the back door, which led them into the massive kitchen.

And to his mother hovering while Lisa, their woman who did everything, was cooking.

This was something else that hit him as a surprise, like a shot.

His mom was just his mom. He’d always thought she was beautiful in a detached way any kid would think their mom was beautiful.

But as he took her in right then, he saw she really was something.

Tall, blonde, features that were classically attractive, she’d always been slender. Though the last year or so he’d noticed abstractedly that she’d been putting on weight, it looked good on her. It made her look healthier. Even more animated.

And in the moment of coming to this realization, Axl noted something else.

Her clothes were more casual than usual.

Hattie and he were dressed more formally than she was, something Axl hadn’t noticed his mother ever do “in company.” And they would consider the first visit with Hattie to be having company.

She was wearing pressed chinos, a crisp white Oxford shirt with the collar popped and a pair of neutral flats.

He knew the shoes were Louboutin, but unless someone recognized the style, or saw the lipstick-red sole, they wouldn’t.

What they weren’t were Chanel, his father’s preferred footwear (and accessories) for his mother.

And that was so much so, even Axl knew it. He couldn’t count how many times he’d heard his father say, “Rachel …no. You need to go back and put on the Chanel.”

There was something almost rebellious about those Louboutins.

And definitely the chinos.