Karter limped toward the elevator. I ducked under his arm and slid my hand around his waist so he could put his weight on me.

He smiled. “Thanks.”

“I got you.”

“How’s the guy?” he asked. “Still alive, I’m guessing?”

“He’s a mess but I think he’ll be okay.”

I helped Karter outside and into his truck. “I’d offer to drive, but we’d probably end up right back in the hospital with somethin’ a lot worse than a sprained ankle. I don’t even have a license.”

“I’m good,” Karter said. “Really.”

I climbed in on the passenger side. I felt guilty for dragging him into this. “She was pretty mad, huh? I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

“Like I said, not your fault.”

“I’m the one who asked you to come up here.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Maybe it is your fault.” He narrowed his eyes, and we both laughed. “Our relationship is . . . ​ complicated. It always feels like I’m fuckin’ up, like I’m not doing or saying the right thing.”

I sat back as he turned on the truck and pulled out of the parking lot.

“Sorry,” he said, staring straight ahead. “That was too personal.”

“No, it’s okay,” I said. “So, you guys have a tough relationship?”

He hesitated before letting his shoulders fall and shaking his head. “I wouldn’t say tough. I love her more than anything. She expects a lot from me. Makes me feel like I’m always letting her down.”

“Because you twisted your ankle?”

“It’s not just that.” He sighed heavily. “It’s nothing. I need to stop being so emotional.”

“Nah, don’t say that,” I said. “Emotional is good.”

His mouth drew up into an amused smile. His phone buzzed in his pocket as we pulled up to the house. He put the car in park, then glanced at the screen and sighed. “She don’t know when to quit.”

I hopped out, grabbing the bag of field guides. “Whatever’s happening between you and your mom, I hope it gets better,” I said. “And you can absolutely talk to me if you need to.”

He smiled, but it was all mouth and no eyes. “Wanna get breakfast tomorrow?”

“Or you can come over and I can make you breakfast!” Mo came bounding toward the truck, rubbing her hands together.

“How did you even hear what he said?” I asked. “Were you waiting on the porch?”

“Yes,” said Mo, unapologetic.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” said Karter.

“Come by about nine. I make a killer Belgian waffle.”

“You’ve never made a waffle in your whole life,” I said. I’d never met anybody who could cook lunch and dinner so well but couldn’t make breakfast food to save their life. That was why the people at the bagel shop knew us by name. “Didn’t you burn the scrambled eggs last time you—”

Mo caught me in a bear hug so that I couldn’t say anything else.

“See you tomorrow, Karter. Bring your appetite, hun.”

“I’ll be here,” he said. “Bye, Briseis.” He turned the truck around and took off.

Mo grinned as I wriggled free of her grasp and pushed up my glasses.

“Really?” I said. “Why are you acting like this? Are you okay? Do you need to lie down?” I put my hand on her forehead to see if she felt hot.

“Girl, stop,” she said, smiling. “I’m happy to see you getting out of the house and making friends.”

“Are you really gonna make waffles?” I asked Mo. “We just moved in. Mom’ll be pissed if you burn this place down.”

“It’ll be fine. Tell me more about Karter. You like him, huh?”

“He’s really nice,” I said, pausing to consider what she was hinting at. “I like him as a friend and honestly, that’s what I need right now.”

“That’s just as important as anything else,” said Mo.

I could always tell if I liked somebody straight out the gate. People didn’t really grow on me. I either liked them right away or not at all, and I liked Karter. But that meant at some point I’d have to decide how much to tell him or how much I had to hide, and I hated that part.

CHAPTER 12

I found Mom in the kitchen, scrubbing the open shelves like her life depended on it. Her eyes were rimmed with red like she’d been crying.

She caught the concern on my face. “It’s my allergies. This place is so dusty. Where did you run off to?”

“I drove around with Karter for a while.”

“See anything interesting?” she asked.

“Sort of. We drove past this place called Samuel’s Sweet Shop. Looked cute. They serve coffee and stuff. Maybe we could go there another day.”

“Tomorrow?” Mom asked.

“No, Mo is making waffles tomorrow.”

“Wait. Who’s making waffles?” Mom asked.

“Karter is coming over for breakfast tomorrow, and I’m gonna make waffles,” said Mo as she walked into the kitchen, shooting me an overexaggerated scowl. “Look what I found earlier.” She went to the cabinet and took out what seemed like the first waffle iron ever made. She put it on the counter with a heavy thud. “It inspired me.”

Mom stared at Mo like she had two heads.

Mo crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m so mad that y’all think I can’t make waffles. It’s not rocket science.”

“I know,” Mom said. “But, babe, have you ever actually made waffles?”

I tried to stifle my laughter but couldn’t. Neither could Mom. Mo turned and walked out.

“I’m gonna prove y’all wrong in the morning,” she called over her shoulder. “And then you’re gonna want me to make you waffles all the time, and I’m gonna say no.”

Mom sighed and knelt down to clean the lower row of cabinets. “Make sure you have your camera ready when she starts cooking, but also be ready to call the fire department.”

“Oh, I’m on it,” I said. “I’m gonna start going through some of the stuff upstairs. I, um—I found something when I was out looking around.”