“How about I meet you at the restaurant so you and Hattie don’t have to be driving all around Denver picking up your parents.”

“That’d work, thanks.”

“Not a problem. See you then.”

And yeah.

There it was.

They were going to be a family.

“Yeah, Don,” he replied. “Later.”

* * *

As usual, she was the first headliner to come out.

Before she did, they brought the lights down.

And during the opening of the song there was nothing, just a muted shine coming from the black surface of the stage.

So it nearly blinded you when the spotlight came on Hattie, flying through the air on the first drum crash of U2’s “Where the Streets Have No Name.”

He felt Don shoot straight in his seat, heard his mother’s quickly drawn breath.

But Axl didn’t take his eyes off her.

She was in a black leotard that had swathes of material crossed over her breasts, a mock turtleneck, exposed shoulders but gathered material tight down her upper arms to her wrists. The back was exposed except for a narrow band along the middle. Some parts of the bodysuit were sheer, and there was a filmy skirt that went to her knees and floated around her.

Her pointe shoes were red.

The beat of the song was fast, Axl had no idea how she kept up, arms out, heels down and crossed, up on pointe, down, up, down, and again, again, again.

But before Bono shared he wants to run, she swept her leg around and up nearly to her nose before it came down.

She turned and took only two steps before she was soaring again.

Back arched at an impossible angle, arms up and graceful, front leg straight, back leg in a curve cutting through the air like it had weight, holding her up.

And she could fly forever.

Christ.

It slowed down a bit then, and she used the entire stage, interpreting the song with every inch of her body, the room dark, the only light following her.

Turns and leaps and all sorts of shit he had no idea what it was called.

And it didn’t matter.

There was only one word for it, really.

Beauty.

She started looking at him at “poison rain.”

And like it was when she danced for him before, he got her message immediately.

This was their song.

He was her shelter.

His throat closed.

At the end of the song, after another leap, she did pirouette after pirouette after pirouette as the light faded.

And then there was black.

The packed room was utterly silent.

And then it exploded.

The light came on again for Hattie to take her bow.

And she was looking at him.

Axl smiled at his woman.

And she smiled back.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Deviled Eggs

AXL

They came in the back door and Cleo was right there to share how she felt about whatever she was feeling.

Cleo didn’t get the chance.

Hattie launched in.

“Get this, Sleekmeister General. My mother is dating a dude named Shiloh. He carves logs for a living and reeks of pot.”

Cleo assumed her disapproving face, though, it had to be said, that was her normal resting expression. It had just been temporarily replaced by her “What the Fuck Are You Two Doing Interrupting My Naptime” face.

“I know,” Hattie agreed.

“Honey,” Axl said, his voice shaking.

She whirled on him.

“You think this is funny?” she demanded.

“A little,” he lied.

It wasn’t a little funny.

It was hilarious.

Her head cocked dangerously and Axl tried to focus on that rather than her gorgeous curls moving with it.

“It’s funny my mother ambushes our meet-the-boyfriend brunch by making me meet her boyfriend? One she hasn’t mentioned word one about? One she’s been seeing now for three months, again, without mentioning word one. One who carves logs for a living and reeks of pot?”

“I’m seeing you don’t see why she did that, considering she was nervous as fuck, Shiloh was nervous as fuck, and you aren’t taking this too well.”

“He carves logs for a living!” she shrieked.

And Cleo took off.

Apparently, she wasn’t a fan of ranting women.

Axl hooked Hattie by the waist and pulled her to him before he wrapped his other arm around her.

Because, even if he also wasn’t a fan of ranting women, he was a fan of Hattie.

“Babe, chill out,” he urged.

“I cannot believe this,” she said.

“Yeah, I got that message all the way home from Mercury Café.”

“This is unbelievable,” she mostly repeated.

This time he didn’t respond.

“I mean, if this goes somewhere, and they’re clearly into each other, so it’s going somewhere, what kind of provider is he going to be?” she asked preposterously. “I think he was actually high at brunch. I’m not sure it’s a good mix, carving wood, which would, I assume, require sharp instruments, and being stoned.”

“Wait. Did we get thrown back to 1952 and we gotta worry what kind of provider your mom’s boyfriend is gonna be when she’s got a successful cake decorating business that she’s kept successful for nearly twenty years?” he asked.

She looked chastised at that.

“If that’s the case, don’t worry,” he went on to tease. “I got you covered. And I’m all in for you to wear a short, little apron over your tight skirt and twinset when you make me dinner and greet me at the door with a martini. Though I think we need to interrupt our plans of doing nothing but fucking the rest of the day to go out and buy you a string of pearls.”

She slapped his arm halfheartedly then asked, “You know what a twinset is?”

“My mother, until very recently, was the dutiful wife of a prominent attorney. Once a month, she had what she called her Twinset Lunch. Which was supposed to be about being on a guild to raise money for some charity, but from what Mom said, it was a chance for all the women to try to beat each other out on who had the best set of pearls. I think Mom has seven sets. And those were something Dad never bitched about buying her.”

She made a face.

Adorable.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Think that’s the same thing Mom thought of it.”