Beneath the Patchwork Moon (Hope Springs, #2) Read Free Page A

Caffey Furniture.
    Whereas it now held the docking station for her iPod, her library of escapist thrillers, and framed photos of herscarves torn from the pages of entertainment magazines, it had once been stuffed with Beanie Babies, cluttered with bottles of glittery nail polish, covered with little sticky-note Polaroids of her friends.
    Over the years the tiny pictures had fallen, the adhesive losing its tackiness to time. She’d picked them up when she’d found them, tossed some in the trash, taped others into her yearbooks. Only one remained in place, tied there with a ribbon she’d glued to the back. One she’d taken of Sierra climbing into the family’s car in front of St. Thomas the day they’d met.
    Angelo had been standing in the open driver’s door, yelling across the roof for her to hurry. Sierra had turned back to Luna, rolling her eyes and sticking out her tongue, and Luna had taken the shot. Not focusing on Sierra, but on her brother, his dark hair falling over his forehead, his mouth open, his narrowed eyes hooded as he’d looked from his sister and caught Luna’s gaze.
    And oh the way he’d taken her in, ignoring whatever it was Sierra was saying to study her… her face, her hair, which was waist-length then, too, and held back with a band, her body, which he couldn’t see much of at all, covered as it was by her uniform, but which responded as if he could see all of her. As if he wanted her.
    Of course, none of that longing had meant love at first sight. Even after they were together, they’d fought like dogs. That history, the accompanying memories, would no doubt make the next five days epic. She wasn’t sure she was up for epic. She wasn’t sure, honestly, if she was ready for Angelo at all.
    Once back at home, Luna went in search of her mother. She found her propped against a stack of pillows on the family room sofa, an open book facedown in her lap, a cloth onher forehead, her eyes closed. A glass of fizzy, iced Sprite and a sleeve of saltines sat on the coffee table within reach, as if she’d just settled in to fight the morning sickness that plagued her every day long past.
    Julietta Meadows smiled as Luna plopped into her father’s recliner, kicking off her shoes before tucking her legs beneath her. Her bare feet squeaked against the leather seat.
    “How’re you feeling?” Luna asked, though the answer was obvious.
    “Like I should know better.” Her mother shifted to sit straighter, setting her book on the floor as she looked to where Luna sat. “All the times we talked about birth control when you were growing up, you’d think I wouldn’t have gotten myself knocked up at forty-six years old.”
    “Momma! Don’t say that.” As close as Luna was to her mother, and to her father, they were still her parents. She preferred not to think about the intimate side of their relationship—even if her mother’s unexpected pregnancy made that intimacy more than plain.
    “Well, it’s the truth,” she said, reaching for her drink and toying with the straw as she brought it to her mouth. “And it shouldn’t have happened. But it has, and your father and I will love this little bean just as much as we love you. It’ll be harder to deal with the lack of sleep this time, but that’s the difference twenty-eight years makes. I’ve gotten used to my nine hours a night.” She shifted again, took a small sip of soda, and let it settle on her stomach before speaking again. “How goes the arts center planning?”
    Luna thought about sidestepping the obvious until her mother felt better, but the obvious was why she was here. “I saw Angelo today.”
    “Angelo Caffey?” her mother asked, her frown caught between curiosity and disbelief.
    Luna nodded. “I went by the house, and he showed up out of the blue. I didn’t see a car, so I didn’t realize he was there until it was too late.”
    “Until he found you in the house?”
    “Yeah.” There was no need to elaborate. Her mother