Chapter 63 Come Stay with Me
LAWRENCE
Scarlett’s mother lives in a modest bungalow in Brooklyn.
I suggested going to see her with Scarlett today because I needed to see the woman who raised the only person I’ve ever let get this close.
Also, because it's the right thing to do.
Sharon Thorn has been divorced for fifteen years, according to what Scarlett told me on the drive over.
Her father hasn’t been in the picture since she was ten; he moved to California and started a second family.
Sharon raised her alone, working two jobs while putting her only daughter through college. Strength like that is rare, and I respect it. Plus, it reminds me of my mother.
The door swings open before we even knock, revealing Scarlett’s mother, a livelier, chubbier version of her daughter, with the same red hair—though streaked with silver—and more pronounced Asian eyes that crinkle at the corners.
She lights up the entire doorway the second she sees us.
“Oh, hi Lawrence! It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she coos, pulling me into a tight, surprisingly strong hug before I can even offer my hand.
Beside me, Scarlett laughs silently.
“Geez, Mum, I wish you were that excited to see me,” she jokes. “Just don’t smother him.”
Her mother releases me but keeps one hand on my arm. “Nonsense. You know I'm always happy to see my daughter.”
She pulls Scarlett into a long, tight hug. “Besides, any man who puts up with you for more than a week without going insane from your constant movie binges deserves a medal and a hug.”
Scarlett gasps. “You mean any woman who puts up with him.”
“Hey,” I mutter.
“Come in, come in!” Sharon interrupts, gesturing inside. “I made lunch.”
The next couple of hours play out with a warmth I didn’t realise I had been starving for.
We sit at the table to eat while she bustles around, refusing any help and asking me questions about my background, and the company. And, most importantly, how I’m treating her daughter.
I answer honestly, even though it makes Scarlett blush and kick me under the table. When the conversation drifts to my own mother, the words come easier than I expect.
I tell them how much I still miss her and how the grief still catches me at odd moments.
Scarlett threads her fingers through mine under the table while Sharon looks at me with a sympathy that only someone who’s loved fiercely can give.
It’s a small family, but the love in this house is so real and astonishing.
I feel loved beyond words.
“You know," Sharon says, glancing at her daughter with a silly little smile, “Scarlett used to tell me stories about you when you first took over the New York office. She called you ‘The Ice Dragon CEO'."
I nearly choke on my water before turning to face Scarlett in pure amusement. “Ice dragon?"
She shrugs, her cheeks turning pink. “Dragons are aggressive creatures. They spit fire, right? But you… you were always the cool, calculated type. So I went with Ice Dragon.”
“Ah.” I lean back in my chair, my lips twitching. “I see. Any other interesting nicknames I should know about?”
Sharon doesn’t even hesitate. “Oh, plenty. My personal favourite was ‘the boss from hell'."
My mouth drops open.
Scarlett turns scarlet, dropping her gaze to her plate. She kicks me lightly under the table, but it only makes me grin wider.
“The boss from hell," I repeat slowly. “That’s very creative.”
“Accurate, too,” Sharon adds cheerfully, unbothered as she reaches for her glass of juice. “At least for the first few weeks. She’d call me on the weekends to rant.”
"Mum," Scarlett groans, burying her face in her hands. “You were supposed to take that to the grave.”
I gently tug one of her hands away from her face, joining our fingers on the table.
“For the record," I tell her, “I probably deserved every single one of those names.”
Scarlett peeks at me through her fingers, fighting a smile. “Yeah, you definitely did.”
Sharon watches us delightfully. “Well, look at that. The ice dragon has melted.”
I squeeze Scarlett’s hand. “Only for her.”
Sharon studies me for a while before nodding, as if I’ve passed some invisible test. “You’re good for her. I can see that.” She says. “She’s happier when she’s with you.”
“I am too.”
Scarlett smiles at me.
After lunch, we settle on the couch to watch an old movie when the sky outside darkens and rain begins to patter against the windows.
“Perfect,” Sharon exclaims happily, grinning at the both of us. “Why don’t you two spend the night here?”
“It’s just a drizzle, Mum,” Scarlett says.
“That sounds lovely, Sharon,” I reply at the same time. “We’ll stay.”
Scarlett gives me a look of pure surprise.
I shrug, a small smile pulling at my lips.
I like being here. I like the normalcy of it.
When Sharon excuses herself for a few minutes to tidy up in the kitchen, Scarlett snuggles into my side on the couch.
The rain has now thickened into a downpour, drumming softly against the roof.
“I like being here with you,” she admits quietly. “You feel so perfect with us, Lawrence.”
I stroke her hair softly. “Yeah, baby. I feel the same way.”
She tilts her head up, and I press a soft kiss to the tip of her nose.
“I also like your mum,” I mutter. “She's very pleasant.”
Scarlett smiles. “I knew you would. How could you not? I’m basically a mini her.”
“True.”
Sharon reappears a moment later, oblivious to the fact that she’s the centre of our conversation. She pauses in the doorway, sees us curled together on the couch, and a gentle smile touches her lips.
“Don’t mean to interrupt, but I’ve prepared Scarlett’s old room for you two in case you’re too tired and want to retire early.”
“Thanks, Mum,” Scarlett chirps.
“Thanks, Sharon.”
She waves us off with a fond look. “Well, anyway, I’ll be heading to bed myself. Goodnight, you two.”
“Night, Mum."
“Night, Sharon."
She turns away, still smiling.
Scarlett and I finish the rest of the movie in a warm, snug silence.
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“I can’t remember the last time I slept in a bed this small,” I say, amused as I kick off my shoes and take off my shirt.
It remains my white vest underneath it. Scarlett moves around me, pulling an old sleep shirt from her wardrobe and changing without a hint of self-consciousness.
Her childhood bedroom is small and cute.
Posters from her teen and college years still hang onto the walls, and the quilt looks like it’s been washed a thousand times. The bed itself is small for a man my size.
Scarlett smiles as she gathers her red hair into a messy bun. “Sorry, some of us aren't billionaires.”
I wander the room slowly, running my fingers over her old desk and the stack of worn paperbacks on the shelf.
I love this … seeing the space where Scarlett spent most of her life before she became independent.
Before me.
“How many boys have you brought into this bed?” I ask curiously.
“The number would scare you.”
My smile drops, my jaw tightening.
Scarlett bursts out laughing.
She looks at my face again and laughs harder, stepping closer until she’s in front of me. “Yo, I was in college, okay? I was a horny, emotionally destroyed young adult with daddy issues. Cut me some slack.”