What Mom Doesn't Know

I'm twenty years old, home from college for winter break, and I'm falling for my mother's boyfriend.

His name is Connor Hayes. Thirty-nine. Corporate lawyer. Recently moved into our house after dating my mom for six months—six months I spent away at school, completely unaware that she'd gotten serious with anyone.

I should hate him. The interloper. The replacement for my dad, who died three years ago. The stranger sleeping in my mother's bed.

Instead, I lie in my childhood bedroom at night, separated from them by just one thin wall, and imagine what it would feel like if he came to me instead.

If those hands I watched chopping vegetables at dinner touched me the way they touch her.

If that mouth that smiles so easily at my mother's jokes kissed its way down my body.

If that deep voice that calls her "sweetheart" whispered my name in the dark.

I know it's wrong. Know I should pack my bags and go back to campus early, put distance between us before this wanting consumes me entirely.

But I don't.

Because every time he looks at me—really looks at me, like he sees something that surprises and intrigues him—I feel it too.

This pull. This recognition. This dangerous, undeniable thing that we're both trying desperately to ignore.

Winter break lasts three weeks.

I have a feeling it's going to be the longest three weeks of my life.

"Jenna! Oh, honey, you're home!"

Mom practically tackled me as I dragged my suitcase through the front door, her enthusiasm as familiar as the house itself. She looked good—better than she had in years, actually. Her hair was freshly cut, her clothes stylish instead of the comfortable frump she'd fallen into after Dad died, and there was a lightness to her that I hadn't seen in a long time.

"Hey, Mom." I hugged her back, breathing in her perfume. "The drive wasn't too bad."

"I'm so glad you're here! There's someone I want you to meet." She pulled back, her eyes sparkling. "Connor! She's here!"

A man appeared from the kitchen, and my stomach did an unexpected flip.

Connor Hayes was nothing like I'd imagined from Mom's vague descriptions over the phone. I'd pictured someone soft, dad-ish, maybe a little boring. Safe.

This man was none of those things.

He was tall—easily six-two—with broad shoulders that filled out his casual blue sweater perfectly. Dark hair with just enough silver at the temples to make him look distinguished instead of old. Strong jaw. Sharp cheekbones. And eyes that were such a startling shade of blue-green that I actually forgot to breathe for a second when they met mine.

"You must be Jenna." He smiled, extending his hand. "Connor Hayes. It's great to finally meet you. Your mom talks about you constantl...