“I rarely do, Mom.”
“Is she a model? An actress?”
“No. Her mother was, but she’s a businesswoman. She comes from a very wealthy family in New York. Long Island. She runs their charity foundation, and she’s damn good at it, from what I can tell. And she’s a painter on the sly, though most people don’t know that. That’s her real passion, art. She loves to paint.” Logan found himself running off at the mouth and swallowed a spoonful of soup.
Annmarie handed him back the phone, staring hard. “And you’re just friends.”
“Kind of. I mean . . . we’re starting to be. Or, were.” Recollection slammed him in the gut, the lick of shame washing through him. He shoveled more soup into his mouth.
“So what happened?” Annmarie folded her hands on the table and stared him down. “Come on, honey, talk to me. Maybe I can help.”
“She . . .” He sighed and put his spoon down. He couldn’t tell her everything. It occurred to him with a jolt that she’d probably be all for his being Tess’s donor, and holy hell to that. “She’s a good woman. A really good one. And she asked me to do something for her that I just can’t do.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
“Both.”
“And would that be something like becoming her boyfriend?”
“No,” he said with a wry grin. “I wish it were that simple.”
“You like her,” Annmarie almost purred, her eyes narrowing on her son.
“Yeah, I do. She’s really . . .” He huffed out a breath and admitted out loud, “If I were going to date someone, she’d be the kind of woman I’d want. She’s got it all.”
“So what’s the problem? She’s rich and you’re not?”
“Nah. I thought so at first, but no. She’s not like the others. She’s genuine. Down-to-earth. Kind and unpretentious.”
“So what’s holding you back?” she asked. “I don’t see a problem, other than you’re a grumpy stubborn jackass.”
He laughed and conceded, “You’re not totally wrong on that.”
“You haven’t had a woman in your life for such a long time. When are you going to take another chance?”
“I’m not looking to do that.”
“Why on earth not?”
He sighed again, frustration building in his chest. Telling her only parts of it wasn’t helping after all. “It’s complicated, Mom.”
“I bet you’re making it complicated. Just stop overthinking for once. Get out of your head and back into life.”
“I have done that,” he asserted curtly.
“Not enough,” she retorted. “You live a loner’s life. When I’m gone, you’re going to be completely alone, and that saddens me.”
“Well, don’t die, then.” He picked up his glass of ginger ale and chugged.
“Logan . . .” Her gaze turned somber.
His stomach lurched. “No. No, Mom. The doctor said if you keep up with the protocol, you have a shot at beating this.”
“A shot. Odds aren’t in my favor. It’s not going my way.”
“So what.” He pinned her with his gaze now, both glad to turn the topic away from him and needing to talk sense into his bullheaded mother. “You have to keep fighting. I’d do it for you if I could, but I can’t.”
“I know you would,” she said with a soft smile. She reached across and patted his arm, gave his hand a squeeze that he returned. Then she pushed back from the table. “Couch time for me.”
He moved to rise and she held up a hand. “I’m fine. I’m tired, but I’m fine. If I need your help, I’ll ask.”
“No, you won’t, you stubborn mule,” he grumbled.
She fixed him with a look and drawled sarcastically, “Gee, sounds like someone I know.”
“Hey, tree, I’m just the apple.”
She laughed and walked away from the table. “Okay if you clean up?”
“Like I’d let you help.”
“You’re the best, darlin’.” She turned back to look at him, leaning against the door frame that separated the tiny dining area from the living room. “You really are the best, Logan. The best son a woman could ask for, and the best man I know. I hope you know how much I appreciate you, and everything you do for me. I love you.”