Free No Better Man by Sara Richardson

the word so she’d get the hint. “We don’t need a sub.”
    Avery swooped next to him, her eyes round with what had to be fabricated innocence. “Are you sure about that? I’m really good. I played softball in high school and college.”
    “Great.” He made sure his tone was as flat as the napkin he held in his hand. Before she could say anything else, he headed for the kitchen.
    “Oh, this’ll be so fun!” She followed him and set the plates on the counter. “I’ll go change. I’ll be right back!”
    “No hurry,” he called after her, but she didn’t seem to hear. That was because women like her only heard what they wanted to hear. She had no concept of reality, of what it felt like to battle through life instead of skipping merrily along Easy Street while she stopped every so often to smell the damn flowers.
    He carted the dishes over to the sink and flicked on the water, squirted in the soap. Dishwasher. They needed a dishwasher. Another thing to add to his fix-it list. Fingers stinging, he scoured plate after plate until footsteps on the other side of the door warned of his mother’s impending arrival.
    She’d have plenty to say about dinner. Unless he missed his guess, he was in for a stern talking-to. Mom never missed a chance to lecture on manners.
    Sure enough, she plowed through the door with the momentum of a wild stallion. Wouldn’t surprise him if she snorted and pawed the ground before charging.
    He pretended to be completely engrossed in scraping grease off her best platter, but it didn’t divert her.
    She marched straight to the sink. “What was that about?”
    He scrubbed the china, shaped his eyebrows into innocence. “What?”
    “You know perfectly well ‘what,’ Bryce Walker.” She swiped the sponge out of his hand and tossed it in the sink. “You were downright rude to that girl. That’s not like you. Not at all.”
    He retrieved the sponge and took his frustration out on the plate. “She’s so…pushy.” And oblivious to the fact that he couldn’t give this place up. He couldn’t turn his back on every memory he had of Yvonne, of his life here…
    “She’s doing her job. You can’t fault her for that.” Mom’s disappointed frown relaxed into a softer gaze. “Besides, I happen to think Avery is lovely.”
    “You think everyone’s lovely.” He flipped on the faucet to rinse the plate and resume his dish-duty penance for bad behavior. Not that it would get him anywhere with her.
    “Well, she is.” She snatched a towel off the counter and stole the clean plate from his hand. “Didn’t you hear what she said? She’s on the board of a women’s shelter.” She held up the plate and inspected it, then set it on the counter. “She’s obviously very compassionate.”
    “When the cameras are clicking, sure.” She probably rescues kittens from trees and carries grocery bags for little old ladies, too. He kept those comments to himself. Mom had never been a fan of sarcasm. He handed her another dripping plate.
    “For your information, Avery told me she hates cameras.” His mother took great care mopping the plate, then set it on the clean stack. “She said she hates all of it, actually. The hullabaloo. She’d rather be left alone.”
    He shook his head. He couldn’t help it. Sometimes the woman was too gullible for her own good. “And you believe her.”
    “I can tell when someone’s lying.” Elsie crumpled the towel on the counter. “It’s all in the eyes. Hers are sincere.”
    Sure. Okay. He’d give her that. Avery had sincere eyes. Stunning, intense eyes. But that didn’t make her a good person. He faced the sink again and washed the last of the dishes.
    It got quiet. Too quiet.
    When he turned back around, Mom’s gaze gave him nowhere to hide. “Bryce…you don’t have to stay here. You know that, don’t you?” She stepped closer. “You could sell to Mr. King. You shouldn’t hold onto this place for me.”
    “I’m not.” There was a time,