Connected: Part 4 of the On The Edge Series

Chapter 19

"Please call me Beth," my mom let out the breath she had been holding. "Come in before we let all the December chills in," she prodded as she shifted from the doorway. "So, Billy, how have you been?"

"I've been well. Some ups and some downs, but it'd be a crime if I complained." He let out a wince of a smile as he helped me shrug my coat off. Either the answer or the help brought a smile to my mom's face. Once his jacket was also off, he squared himself to my mom and dropped his voice to just above a whisper before adding, "how are you?"

"I'm..." my mom's voice caught at Billy's sincerity. "I've had a life," she mirrored back to him.

Billy nodded before defusing the tension with, "you have a lovely home."

"Oh, thank you." My mom's eyes darted around the entryway to assess the home. "A few things are out of order. I'm still learning how to take care of things."

"I'd love to help. Anything I can do?" Billy offered without hesitation.

"Oh dear, no. It's Christmas Eve!" A genuine laugh bubbled from my mom.

"It'd be my absolute pleasure," Billy offered again.

"No, mom, really it would. His mom once took a fork to a toaster, so he had something to do," I added.

"It was unplugged. She wasn't trying to off herself at my presence," he added before turning to me and shooting, "you always forget to add the unplugged part."

"No, none of this nonsense," my mom insisted. "Tonight, we eat, talk, and relax."

"Well, at least let us help you finish dinner," I offered.

"That's a deal," my mom smiled before leading us to the kitchen.

"So, Lily tells me you're a high school teacher?" Billy began as he again engulfed my hand in his as we made our way to the kitchen.

"Yes, for nearly forty years, if you can believe it," my mom's voice seemed filled with genuine shock at the fact.

"History, right?" Billy continued.

"Yes," my mom smiled. "You've done your homework."

"Mmhmm, I remember most things Lily tells me. Plus, that was easy since she is always reading something interesting."

"Oh, that's straight from Charlie. I read trashy romance novels in my free time." An actual giggle bubbled from my mom. "Those two could spend hours on the most bizarre topics. Although, as I recall, Charlie spent a fair share of hours doing the same on the phone with you."

"He was a dear friend. I lost my father when I was a teen. In many ways, I thought of your husband as a second father. He certainly shaped the way I parent my kids."

"Of course, Charlie mentioned you have two, right?" My mom spoke as she checked the various pots bubbling on the stovetop.

"Yes, Vivian and Jackson," Billy confirmed.

"And what is it you do again, Billy?" The loaded question had been on my mom's tongue since we arrived. "I think Charlie mentioned you were a musician."

"I am, but I own a few businesses as well," Billy deftly answered.

"Oh, really?" My mom paused and lifted her eyes to Billy.

"I've been lucky enough to have enough success with my music to finance a few other areas of interest," Billy smiled.

"Oh, like what?" My mom looked genuinely interested.

"Well, I own a recording studio and spend a fair amount of time producing other artists. I'm also a silent partner in a Duluth bowling alley and malt shop."

"You are?" The words slipped from my lips before I could stop them.

"Yes, dear." Billy smiled with his dimples.

"I didn't know that," I sheepishly said.

"Well, there were some rough times in Duluth a couple of years back, so I offered some financial support to keep the places open. You know how I enjoy bowling and malts." There was a hint of tease that boarded on flirting in his tone.

"Impressive." My mom smiled before returning to her cooking. She reached up to the spice cabinet as the door drooped in her hand.

"Mom, is the door broken?" I asked.

"No, the hinge is just loose," Billy answered as he moved closer. "You have a Phillips screwdriver?"

"I'm sure I do. Where is the actual question," my mom admitted.

"I know where it is," I offered. "Dad kept them in the garage."

"I told you I don't need you fixing things on Christmas eve," my mom noted again.

"Mom, it'll come off in your hand if you keep ignoring it, and it'll only take a minute," I reminded her. "Come on; I'll show you where the toolbox is." Billy dutifully followed me, as I knew he would.

"Hey." Billy caught my elbow as we stepped into the garage. In one swift movement, he spun me into his chest. "How are you?"

"I'm good. I thought I wouldn't be, but so far, so good. It doesn't feel like Christmas Eve, though," I admitted. "My mom seems to hate you less now that you are a fancy business owner. Although, this new information makes you shutting down the alley for our date less big."

"Oh, does it?" Billy curled his shoulders, bringing his face closer to mine.

"Mmhmm," I nodded.

"Does it make you love me less?" His lips hovered dangerously close to mine.

"No." I smiled as his lips crashed into mine for a kiss that sent surges through my body until my toes painfully tensed. "I love you more," I whispered when he pulled away from me.

"Tools." The word blew his breath over my face.

"Huh?" Billy's proximity muddied my mind.

"The tools," he reminded again.

"Oh, right," I shook off the moment and pulled out my dad's bag of tools.

Billy quickly took the bag from me and returned his hand to mine. "Let's fix some things," he eagerly said.

I helped my mom with the salad while Billy tightened the cabinet door and then turned his attention to the rattle from the garbage disposal.

"You know, Lil had the same problem at her condo. When you hear a rattle like this, you should really do something about it," Billy shot from beneath the sink.

"I did," my mom offered. "I acknowledged it and did nothing."

"Mmhmm, that's where Lil gets that. Are you sure you've never met my mother? She also ignores things." Billy's faceless voice filtered up to my mom and me.

"In our defense, things always seem to get fixed," I offered.

"I'm suddenly becoming a fan of depending on the kindness of strangers," my mom added.

"I'm a stranger now, Beth?" Billy added.

"I suppose not." My mom flashed me a pleased smile as the doorbell rang around us. "I bet that's your brother; this is way too early for Cherie and the kids to be here."

"You said five, right?" I questioned.

"I said five, knowing that I raised three perpetually late kids," my mom admitted before heading to the door.