“It was really nice meeting you,” April said, giving Josh’s mom a little wave.
“And you, honey,” his mom said with a wave, helping herself to the rest of Josh’s French press.
And because he wasn’t a complete ass, Josh walked April to the door, even though there wasn’t much to be said at this point.
Even still, she hesitated briefly, giving him a chance to ask for her number.
He did not.
“See you around,” April said, giving him the same awkward wave she’d given his mother.
“Absolutely,” he said, bending to kiss her cheek.
He wouldn’t be seeing her around, and they both knew it. Or if he did see her around, there wouldn’t be a repeat of last night. They both knew that, too.
Josh let out a little sigh of relief as the door shut behind her. Bachelor status firmly in place, exactly as he wanted it. Needed it. Life was too short—way too short to sleep with only one person.
Did that make him an ass? Maybe. Did he care? Not particularly.
“Well. She seemed nice,” Sue said, holding her mug in both hands and taking a sip as she watched him over the rising steam.
“Thanks for not asking her to Christmas dinner,” he said, heading back into the kitchen to make another pot of coffee, since his mother was drinking faster than him.
“I wouldn’t have done that,” she said, sounding scandalized.
“No? Just ask her to breakfast?”
“You don’t feed them after you’re done with them?”
“Mom.” He winced.
“Am I wrong?” she said. “This is the third one in as many months I’ve seen that’s left just like that. Nothing but a good-bye.”
“Well, perhaps if you called once in a while, I could spare you that,” he said pointedly.
Sue sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. I just . . . sometimes I need to see you. You know?”
Josh’s chest constricted, understanding immediately what his mother was saying as well as what she wasn’t saying, and grateful for it.
He didn’t need reminders about those days. Didn’t need a reminder of just how fiercely he’d needed her and his father.
And yet he knew that he wasn’t the only one with scars. Just like he was trying to put those days behind him, Sue Tanner was trying desperately to make sure they never came back.
And if that meant her stopping by, looking him over, all but checking his temperature . . . he could deal.
Josh glanced over, held his mother’s blue-green gaze, her eyes the same color as his own. “Mom. I do know. I understand, and I don’t mind. It’s why you have the key to my apartment. Just . . . some warning next time, okay?”
Her eyes crinkled as she smiled at him. “But if I call first, you might tell me not to come.”
“I’ll just tell you to come over later. You know. After.”
“After you’re done wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am-ing, you mean.”
“Jesus. Mom. Did you spike your coffee?”
His mother had never been the frail and dainty type, but she wasn’t quite normally so bald in talking about his . . . relationships.
“I’m sorry if I’m embarrassing you, dear. Just once I’d like to come over here and see a girl that you actually look at.”
“What?” he grunted, scooping beans into his grinder.
Sue gestured with her mug in the direction of the front door. “That girl right there was beautiful and sweet, and I’m not even sure you noticed.”
“I noticed.”
Last night.
He’d noticed this morning, too, he just . . .
Didn’t care.
His mom was shaking her head as she went to the fridge. “One day you’re going to find a girl that you can’t look away from and I hope I’m there to relish every minute.”
“Oh, I’m sure you will be,” he muttered.
“Josh Tanner, you’re out of milk!”
“Yeah, well, I eat cereal most days,” he said, mentally adding milk to his grocery list. “It happens.”
“Well, I can’t make pancakes without it. What about buttermilk?”
“Of course I keep buttermilk on hand. What thirty-three-year-old bachelor doesn’t?”
His mom shut the fridge door. “Sarcasm’s not going to get you pancakes.”