Page 111 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

Rue gives him a soft smack on the shoulder. “Who else could I be talking about?”

Eli breathes an exaggerated sigh of relief. “He was really nervous to meet you,” he says, wondering if outing Peter is the right move. But he doesn’t know who else to talk to about this.

“What did you tell him about us?”

“Nothing!”

“Then why was he scared?” Rue asks.

“He’s nervous by nature.”

“He’s very sweet.” Rue pauses, and Eli braces himself for the worst. “When’s the wedding?”

“There it is.” He throws his head back.

“You know that I’m joking.” Rue laughs, grabbing onto her son’s arm.

“I know.”

“But he seems very sweet, and . . .” Rue lets her voice drift. It’s a rare thing for Rue Clark to leave words unsaid. Being the director of her own press leaves her no room to beat around the bush. Every single year, she oversees each step of their production process. And while she’s not the only one responsible for the making of the books that costs thousands of dollars, she’s the face of the company.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Rue shakes her head.

“Mom.”

“It’s nothing, you don’t want to hear it.”

“Just tell me.”

Rue pauses, glancing toward her son before she turns back to the ice. “For months there, you seemed so lost after Keith broke your heart. And . . . a mother never likes to see her child that way. Between him and how stuck you are at that awful website, I was really worried about you.”

“Mom,” Eli starts to say, but he’s silenced with a hand on top of his own. The breakup with Keith brought many conversations. Rue had a higher opinion of Keith than Patricia or Rose ever did, but she’d admitted to Eli one night, post breakup, that there was something. A “gut feeling,” as she’d labeled it.

“You didn’t seem happy with him,” she says. “Even a few months before the breakup . . . I don’t know. Things seemed different between the two of you. Like you were already mourning something.”

Eli doesn’t say a word.

“But . . . you seem happy now. Happier than I’ve seen you in a very long time, Eli. And it’s just . . . it’s nice to see.”

“Mom. Don’t get all sappy on me, please.”

“I’m just telling you the truth!” she says defensively. “He’s a sweet boy, and I’m glad that you found him. Gives me hope for grandchildren after all.”

“Pfft, yeah, right. I don’t think I’m father material.”

“Your father said the exact same thing. I was so scared to tell him I was pregnant. But when I worked up the courage, he just smiled at me and he started to cry, saying, ‘I’m going to be a father!’ over and over again.”

“Yeah . . .” Eli’s gaze drifts toward the hot chocolate line, where Peter has sped through in record time, carrying a drink tray with four cups, a fifth cup in his other hand. He feels his heart swell with joy, pride.

Happiness.

“I like it when you’re happy, Eli. Makes me feel like I did my job right.”

“I like him a lot, Mom,” he says softly.

And he hates that it’s not a lie.