“You mean Gerald hasn’t made you dinner?” Ha. If we were going to compare men, mine won this competition.
“Mrs. Cowan has herself a gentleman? Do tell.”
No, Simon. No! Do not encourage my mother. The last thing I needed was an image of her swapping spit with another man. Blocking her view, Simon gave my ass a light pat.
“Get to those mushrooms.”
“Gerald wouldn’t know his way around the kitchen if I drew him a map.” Ha, he’d have to step up his game to compete with Dad. “Whisky, though, he knows how to pick them.”
“You’re drinking whisky?” Who was this woman? “You never drink.”
“That’s a woman after my own heart,” Simon said.
I set the cutting board down on the counter and dwelled on the statement. My mom picking up a glass of whiskywas one thing. I’d deal with that conundrum later. Did Lucy have an affinity for whisky? Would she spill embarrassing stories about Simon as she swirled the amber liquid around a tumbler? I tried pushing the image from my mind, but I couldn’t get her out of my mind.
“You still need to meet him, Jason.”
Nope. I had come up with every excuse to avoid being the third wheel on their date. I wanted to be happy for my mom and her willingness to embark on the next stage of her life. Not yet. I wasn’t ready for it. I’d be happy for her from a distance.
“He’s a nice man. Very dapper.”
I had forgotten they had eaten at the Bistro. “He offered to bring me some river trout.” Simon didn’t know it, but he played for the wrong team. Time to change the subject, even if it meant embarrassing myself.
“Mom, what are the photo albums doing out?”
Simon chuckled without saying a word. I’d be doing a thorough investigation when we were alone. I needed to know how much damage Mom had done and how much therapy I’d need.
“If you were on time, I wouldn’t have had time to show him photos of you growing up.”
“I would have been on time if you hadn’t…” I spun about, knife pointing out. “Did you send me to the market to stall me?” I sounded paranoid. I knew it. Momma Cowan had a devious streak. She raised an eyebrow and shrugged before returning to her coffee. There was a conspiracy afoot.
“I will never unsee that mullet.” Simon flipped the meat in all three pans. “It borders on legendary.”
“You didn’t get to see the denim jacket he made us buy him.”
My life was over. I’d be changing my name and leaving at first light. I’d need cosmetic surgery and a new identity. There’d be no looking back as I started my new life as a receptionist in a marketing firm in Ohio.
“I don’t like this dynamic. You two are never to be left alone again.”
“What would Mr. Cuddles say about that?”
My eyes went wide as Simon basted his meat. Not only had she shown him the photos, but she must have given him the abridged version of my childhood. It was one thing to show photos, but bringing my imaginary friend into it? Was it possible to give Mom up for adoption? Elderly adoption was a thing, right?
“Mrs. Cowan, if you want to grab a seat and open the wine, we’re just about ready.”
The barrage of embarrassing stories didn’t dismiss the lengthy conversation I wanted to have with Simon. It had been days since I spotted Lucy at his house, and I had heard nothing about her from the rumor mill. Either she hadn’t left the house, or people were keeping secrets. My imagination ran wild with both possibilities.
“Boogiebear, can you grab the plates in the oven?”
I grimaced at him using my mom’s pet name for me. He stepped out of the way as he opened the oven. Never in the history of my family had we warmed plates before a meal.As I approached, he glanced at the dining room and quickly gave me a kiss.
I froze.
When he pulled back, he had that devilish grin stapled across his face. I’ll admit, I didn’t want it to end. For all the insecurities bubbling to the surface, a single peck on the lips, and they nearly vanished. If I was sure my mom wouldn’t walk in, I’d have tried for another. I think being caught was the least of our worries. If she saw that, she wouldn’t waste time asking questions about how we met, where this was going, and how soon she could expect a grandchild.
“Sorry for the surprise,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to?—”
Be damned, let Mom ask questions.
