Mr. Picture Perfect – Spruce Texas Read Online Daryl Banner

Categories Genre: M-M Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
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That’s when a slow, ghostly voice comes out of the darkness. “Second to the left.”

I nearly vacate my own body as I jump from the spot and spin my head around.

At the kitchen table, next to a wide window overlooking the backyard, sits a woman in total darkness. When my eyes adjust, I see soft, pale moonlight glowing along the side of her slender face. She lifts a small glass to her mouth, takes a sip, then sets it down. “Second to the left,” she repeats. “Where we keep the cups.”

“Oh.” After a second to collect myself, I find the right cabinet and fetch a glass. “Thank you.” I fill it at the sink.

“We have infused water in the fridge.”

“Oh. Um …” I’ve already poured water into my glass, so I give her a smile and the tiniest nod. “Th-This’ll do. Thanks.”

“I’m Cole’s mom,” she says, though I’d gathered that already.

“I’m Noah,” I tell her.

“I know, sweetheart. You sure haven’t changed. Still got your sweet little eyes.” She takes a breath. It seems to be an effort for her, as if she wears ten thick, invisible weighted coats, pulling her shoulders down. “You and my son have been getting close.”

I just stand there with my glass of tap water, uncertain how to respond. How much does she know? Cole rarely talks about her. “I guess you can say that.”

“He never has anyone stay over. Not since the school days. It’s a welcomed change.” She takes another sip, then nods at the table. “Go ahead and take a seat. Join our little Insomniacs Anonymous meeting we’re having, our little impromptu middle-of-the-night party.” She smiles. “Been a while since I’ve had company.”

After a moment’s misgiving, I slowly draw close to the table, then take a seat in the chair across from her. It creaks under me. I take a sip of my water, then wonder whether I should have come out here for a glass at all. Was I really that thirsty? Could I have just cuddled with Cole and enjoyed my sleeplessness?

“You probably don’t remember most of the times you spent with us as a kid,” she says. I shake my head no. “Well, I sure do. I remember every time.” Her fingers fiddle against her glass as she stares down at it. “Even the last time. Especially the last time.”

I gaze down at her fingers.

Her fiddling fingers.

I realize at this point that I’ve probably gotten as much as I can squeeze out of Cole and my mother regarding our past—and the mothers’ friendship. Cole doesn’t know the full story. My mom isn’t helpful, shutting down or freaking out when I pry even the littlest bit. Yet every time I mention Cole, she won’t stop asking about his mother and how she’s doing.

Considering how seldom Cole brings me here to his house—as in: never—I don’t know when I’ll get another opportunity.

Somehow, I sense Mrs. Harding will have less walls up.

Even in just a few minutes, I’ve gotten the notion that she’s a very what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of person.

I find it surprisingly comforting.

“What happened that last time?” I ask her.

Her eyebrows lift. “Your mom didn’t tell you?”

“N-No, ma’am.”

“Really? Not a peep?” She shakes her head. “Guess it’s just as well. She’d rather pretend it didn’t happen at all. Typical Deidra.” She makes a scoffing noise, then sighs. “Sorry. I don’t mean to talk about your mom like that. That’s so … childish of me.”

It barely fazes me. “She won’t tell me anything. I … I asked. A few times. I know you two used to be friends.”

“Feels like lifetimes ago.” She shrugs. “Also feels like yesterday. I guess time’s like that. Are you really okay drinking that water?” she asks, half-cringing. “It must taste like chlorine and ass.”

“It tastes fine, ma’am,” I assure her. “Thank you.”

“No, I’m sure it doesn’t. Here.” She gets up from the table and takes my glass straight out of my hand, startling me, then goes to the sink and tosses it right out. She opens the refrigerator and pulls out a pitcher of water along with a small flat container. It contains thinly-cubed honeydew melon, two pieces of which she drops into a new glass pulled from the cabinet, then fills it with the fruit-infused water, along with two ice cubes she plucks out of the freezer via a pair of hot pink tongs. “Your mom got me these,” she says with a playful little click in the air, like they’re castanets. “God knows why I still have them, but I do.” She brings me the fresh glass of honeydew-infused water, then returns to her chair.

I thank her with a nod and take a tiny sip. I’m stunned by the clean, crisp, refreshing taste that a tiny bit of fruit and maybe some filtering lends the water, then go for another big sip—which turns into a gulp. “Wow, this is really good.”



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