felt surreal,
extending my hand to shake his. Was this really happening? Was I
meeting a genuine billionaire? “Thanks. But…”
“You’re welcome. Happy birthday.” He motioned
to the limo. “Please.”
Mom rolled her wheelchair back slightly, and
suddenly I realized what she’d said, you . She’d said, take you to dinner.
Not us.
“Mom, I thought you would be coming too.” I
hesitated. Something was wrong. I knew what Mom had told me
earlier. I remembered it clearly. She’d said that the boss at her
new temp job had found out about my birthday and he had invited
both of us out to dinner to celebrate. While she’d spent more time
helping me pick out my outfit than her own, I still had expected
her to come with us.
Mom shook her head. “I’m not feeling well.
Are you too disappointed?”
I was disappointed.
And a little confused.
I had thought Mr. Sharpe had invited us out
to dinner to get to know my mom better. She was closer to his age
than I was, thirty-six. She was beautiful, with long, thick
mahogany hair and huge blue eyes. She was single. She was thin and
petite and graceful, even though she was sick, while I was tall and
curvy and awkward. And, after Dad had run off ten years ago, after
she’d been diagnosed with MS, she deserved her own prince charming
as much as anyone. Actually, she didn’t just deserve a prince
charming, she needed one. Especially now that she was no longer
able to walk.
There she was, the picture of feminine
beauty, sitting in that stupid wheelchair, more or less shoving me
out the door, encouraging me to go out with the man that should be
taking her out.
God, she was at it again.
When she had first come to the realization
that she would spend the rest of her life in that damn chair, she’d
become withdrawn, depressed. I thought she’d given up on life. But
lately, when she’d found the temp job at Sharpe Industries, she’d
seemed to have come alive again. She talked nonstop about her job,
her coworkers, her boss. I hadn’t seen her this happy in ages.
But now she was backsliding again, falling
back into a depression.
“Um,” I mumbled, not sure what to say. With
her big, pleading eyes and tip of the head, she was encouraging me
to go without her. Why? “You haven’t eaten.”
“I’m not hungry. You can bring something back
for me later.” Mom jerked her head toward the car. “Go. Please. I
don’t want to ruin this night for you. It’s your birthday.”
“But we’ve always celebrated our birthdays
together. You and me. Always.”
“I’ll make a cake. We’ll celebrate just like
we always do.”
I glanced at Mr. Sharpe, who was waiting
patiently beside the car. He didn’t deserve to be stood up after
having made such a generous offer and going to the trouble of
hiring the limo and everything. I nodded. “I’ll bring you something
back.”
“Thank you, honey. Go, have fun.” She gave me
a little shaky-handed wave and I returned it before brushing past
Mr. Sharpe to duck into the car.
I’ve see what limos look like on the inside,
but only on TV. The reality was so much better. The leather of the
seats was so soft and it smelled amazing. Sitting inside the huge
car, I felt luxurious. As the vehicle prowled the crowded street, I
watched the people sitting on their porches staring and pointing.
It was as if I were in a parade.
“Would you like something to drink?” Mr.
Sharpe asked. He was sitting beside me, close enough that I could
feel the heat of his body warming my arm. I was trying hard not to
notice how amazing he smelled, too, or how sexy the five-o’clock
shadow on his jaw made him look. This guy was almost old enough to
be my dad.
“No, thanks.” I turned to watch as he helped
himself to a bottle of water in the vehicle’s refrigerator. “Thanks
for taking me out for dinner. I’m sorry about my mom. I’m guessing
you weren’t expecting to get stuck having dinner with a kid.”
“I don’t mind at all.” He lifted his
extending my hand to shake his. Was this really happening? Was I
meeting a genuine billionaire? “Thanks. But…”
“You’re welcome. Happy birthday.” He motioned
to the limo. “Please.”
Mom rolled her wheelchair back slightly, and
suddenly I realized what she’d said, you . She’d said, take you to dinner.
Not us.
“Mom, I thought you would be coming too.” I
hesitated. Something was wrong. I knew what Mom had told me
earlier. I remembered it clearly. She’d said that the boss at her
new temp job had found out about my birthday and he had invited
both of us out to dinner to celebrate. While she’d spent more time
helping me pick out my outfit than her own, I still had expected
her to come with us.
Mom shook her head. “I’m not feeling well.
Are you too disappointed?”
I was disappointed.
And a little confused.
I had thought Mr. Sharpe had invited us out
to dinner to get to know my mom better. She was closer to his age
than I was, thirty-six. She was beautiful, with long, thick
mahogany hair and huge blue eyes. She was single. She was thin and
petite and graceful, even though she was sick, while I was tall and
curvy and awkward. And, after Dad had run off ten years ago, after
she’d been diagnosed with MS, she deserved her own prince charming
as much as anyone. Actually, she didn’t just deserve a prince
charming, she needed one. Especially now that she was no longer
able to walk.
There she was, the picture of feminine
beauty, sitting in that stupid wheelchair, more or less shoving me
out the door, encouraging me to go out with the man that should be
taking her out.
God, she was at it again.
When she had first come to the realization
that she would spend the rest of her life in that damn chair, she’d
become withdrawn, depressed. I thought she’d given up on life. But
lately, when she’d found the temp job at Sharpe Industries, she’d
seemed to have come alive again. She talked nonstop about her job,
her coworkers, her boss. I hadn’t seen her this happy in ages.
But now she was backsliding again, falling
back into a depression.
“Um,” I mumbled, not sure what to say. With
her big, pleading eyes and tip of the head, she was encouraging me
to go without her. Why? “You haven’t eaten.”
“I’m not hungry. You can bring something back
for me later.” Mom jerked her head toward the car. “Go. Please. I
don’t want to ruin this night for you. It’s your birthday.”
“But we’ve always celebrated our birthdays
together. You and me. Always.”
“I’ll make a cake. We’ll celebrate just like
we always do.”
I glanced at Mr. Sharpe, who was waiting
patiently beside the car. He didn’t deserve to be stood up after
having made such a generous offer and going to the trouble of
hiring the limo and everything. I nodded. “I’ll bring you something
back.”
“Thank you, honey. Go, have fun.” She gave me
a little shaky-handed wave and I returned it before brushing past
Mr. Sharpe to duck into the car.
I’ve see what limos look like on the inside,
but only on TV. The reality was so much better. The leather of the
seats was so soft and it smelled amazing. Sitting inside the huge
car, I felt luxurious. As the vehicle prowled the crowded street, I
watched the people sitting on their porches staring and pointing.
It was as if I were in a parade.
“Would you like something to drink?” Mr.
Sharpe asked. He was sitting beside me, close enough that I could
feel the heat of his body warming my arm. I was trying hard not to
notice how amazing he smelled, too, or how sexy the five-o’clock
shadow on his jaw made him look. This guy was almost old enough to
be my dad.
“No, thanks.” I turned to watch as he helped
himself to a bottle of water in the vehicle’s refrigerator. “Thanks
for taking me out for dinner. I’m sorry about my mom. I’m guessing
you weren’t expecting to get stuck having dinner with a kid.”
“I don’t mind at all.” He lifted his
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