Quarterback Draw

Those gestures had meant so much to Katrina. She knew how much her mother had loved her.

She wished she could remember the sound of her mother’s voice, but it had been so long, her voice had faded with time. She could still picture her face. She had a few old photos around the apartment and every now and then she’d pull them out and look at them. Photos of her mother with the three kids all together.

The best of times.

She shuddered out a sigh, closed her eyes for the briefest of moments, trying to hold on to that sweet memory, then let it fade up into the night sky.

“I miss you, Mama,” she whispered into the darkness, choking back the tears that threatened before pushing off the top step and heading back to the crowd.

TWENTY-SIX

GRANT HAD NOTICED A CHANGE IN KATRINA’S MOOD after she’d gone inside to refresh her drink. He’d watched her as she stood on the back porch, her arm wrapped around the railing, staring off at something in the distance.

For a minute there she’d looked so damn sad, he’d wanted to get up and go to her, put his arms around her and comfort her. But then she’d closed her eyes for only a few seconds, sighed, then come back down the stairs to sit next to him.

He wondered what was wrong, but this wasn’t the right time to ask her. He’d taken her hand in his and squeezed it, and she’d smiled at him. Still, that sadness in her eyes lingered.

When the night started to wind down, he stood. “I think we’re going to head out.”

“Okay,” his mom said. “We’ll see you in the morning for breakfast. You two sleep well.”

“Thanks, Mom. Good night, all.”

“Thank you all for a lovely evening. And for dinner,” Katrina said.

They said their good nights and headed out to the car. Grant drove the few miles to the other house, parked in front, then came around to the passenger side as Katrina was getting out. He slipped his hand in hers and squeezed.

“This place is okay?” he asked.

“This house is amazing. It was so nice of your mom to offer it to us.”

“I think my mom really likes you. I think she likes you and me together.”

She didn’t say anything, just offered up a faint smile. He let it go, and walked them up the steps and to the front door. He opened it and switched on the light.

“We brought the luggage in earlier today, so that’s in the bedroom,” she said.

“Great.” He closed the door, then pulled her against him. “How about we talk?”

“Okay. What would you like to talk about?”

“You.”

Her lips tilted. “I’m not a very interesting topic.”

“I disagree.” He brought them over to the sofa in the living room, then sat, putting her on his lap. “You came outside after going in and refilling your drink. You stood on the back porch and you looked so sad.”

“I’m surprised you noticed that.”

“I notice a lot of things about you, Kat.” He brushed his hand down her hair, loving the way it felt like wet silk against his fingers. “Tell me what made you sad.”

“I was thinking about my mother. About how much I missed her.”

He thought about that for a minute. “Being with my family—around my mother—makes you miss your mom.”

She looked down at him. “For a guy, you’re very adept at reading a woman’s emotions.”

“I have a pretty good mom. And I have a sister. I’ve had some experience in this area. Plus, I’d like to think I’ve been around you enough that I might be starting to grab signals about how you feel.”

She sighed. “Yes. You have an amazing mother. She’s reminded me that I also had an amazing mother. It was just a momentary thing. I’m past it.”

He sat her down next to him. “I’m sorry you were sad. I couldn’t imagine not having my mother.”

“She’s obviously had a very strong influence on you.”

“Yeah, she has.”

“You know, for some reason, I thought you would have been heavily influenced by your father.”

“To some extent I was. As far as sports, he was my role model. My mother taught me about a lot of other things, mainly about women. She used to think I wasn’t listening, but I was.”

She traced her fingers across his brow, then over his cheekbone and jaw. “Your mother has done an amazing job. You’re quite the man, Grant Cassidy.”

“I don’t know about that. More like a work in progress. I haven’t always been the best as far as women, but as far as you? You do something to me, Katrina Korsova.”