THE FIRE SAGA

SPARK 34 - MOM NATION

Meeting Derry's mom wasn't on my radar. The bring-the-girlfriend-home thing isn't supposed to happen on a second date. Of course, that line of reasoning presents two definite issues. One, I'm not his girlfriend. Two, we haven't been on a date. This isn't a date. The Rec Room absolutely wasn't a date. This is just a coincidental meeting brought on by more poor choices on my part. In a way, I deserve this. Not the good being with Derry part, the bad meeting his mom part.

"Unless you don't want to meet her. If that's the case, I'll tell her to stay in her room."

I gasp. "No, that's silly. It's her house! It's just...I mean...this is unexpected."

How will he introduce me to her? What will he call me? His friend from school? He doesn't go to my school. Why doesn't he go to my school? How old is he? Will he refer to me as the girl he kissed yet hasn't actually been on a date with? That one will go over really well. Wicked hot but mentionable to Mom not.

Moms love girls who refer to their sons as hot, Superego chides unhelpfully.

I'm so agitated I barely register him pulling me out of his lab.

Bright side: Derry does a fantastic job distracting me, giving me kitchen tasks that are impossible to screw up. We work well together, and I was wrong. It's fun helping him, though I'm still not sure how he gained my agreement. Probably by not asking.

Whenever I internally question how I should do something, he comes up behind me and slowly guides my hands into a rhythm before switching to his own tasks. If I'm honest, I'm milking it a tad. Those hands are worth further devaluing myself in his eyes. Who doesn't know how to shred cheese? Yeah, a knuckle grate is legitimately problematic, but the general slice motion isn't as complex as cracking an egg and hoping you don't lose any shell bits. All in all, food prep with Derry isn't terrible. By the end of our silent nacho preparation, I'm at ease again.

Cleaning becomes my favorite part of the kitchen experience when Derry slides his arms along mine at the sink. Having his glorious scent surrounding me, I give the faucet a run for its money in the steam department.

He rests his head on my shoulder, burrowing his face in my neck. My tinder heart drums in response, hammering away at my resolve. His hot breath in my ear encourages a moan, but his words have me laughing instead. "Lukewarm?"

When I turn around, prepared to tell him just how hot he is, a woman is standing at the kitchen island wearing a pair of oven gloves on her hands.

Busted! Superego goads.

"Careful, you two," she says coolly, transferring the nachos onto a serving plate. "You almost burned up our snack."

She has no clue how right she is on so many levels.

My initial shock is replaced by awkwardness. Derry leans his back into my chest, sandwiching me between the counter and himself. He holds me there until the flush of my cheeks subsides enough I feel comfortable stepping out from behind him.

"This is Melanie Connell," Derry announces. "My mother."

I swallow down the rather bothersome lump creeping into my throat. Her long, raven hair is pulled into a twist at the back, showcasing alabaster skin that matches Derry's. Her Rose and Ozone scent is exceptional. Digging deeper, I'm even further impressed. And intimidated. She's unreadable. Chilly, even, which contradicts the warmth in her tone that fails to reach her ice-blue eyes. I've never met anyone who fights so fiercely to mask their emotions, next to me.

As Melanie steps in for a closer scan of the girl acting inappropriately in the kitchen with her son, Derry unfolds his arms and slides one over my shoulder. "Mom, this is Sheyla Tierney. My future wife."