Page 25

For a split second, I debated burning down the house and running. A judge would understand. I shuffled my way into the dining room to see four plates set on the table. He had brought a bottle of wine. Had Mom tracked him down and invited him to dinner, or had it been a chance encounter?

I knew the answer before I asked the question. “I’m going to kill her.”

“Are you going to stand there or be my sous chef?”

I looked up to see Simon wearing Mom’s apron. The burly bear with the half-naked man. It paled in comparison to the man who wore it. I shook my head. No imagining him naked while in my childhood home. The last thing I needed was little Jason tenting the front of my jeans.

I walked into the kitchen to Simon, flipping steaks and sprinkling them with salt. Mom sat at the kitchen table, sipping her coffee. She hugged the mug with both hands, trying to hide. It was the look of pure guilt. She knew she had meddled.

“I need you to get me three cloves of garlic.”

Simon had three pans on the burners. He gave each one a quick shake before tossing in the thyme. “Before the butter burns.” Oh, he wasn’t kidding. This wasn’t cute romantic cooking as a means of foreplay. I suddenly felt like I had been given a test I didn’t study for.

“Should I ask the obvious question?”

“How to peel garlic?”

I gave Simon a dirty look. “Where did my mom find you?”

“Find me?”

“Don’t play coy, Mr. Peterson.” I grabbed the garlic, peeling three cloves before smashing it with the flat of the blade.

For a moment, I felt like a chef. They didn’t need to know I had been watching cooking shows since our date.

“My mom spent her childhood hunting. Finding a bear wandering Firefly isn’t any different. ”

The sizzle of meat drowned out Simon’s laugh. I brought over the chopping board. He threw the garlic into the butter sauce in each pan. This was already more luxurious than any meal we had growing up. Then, to see a pot filled with mashed potatoes, he had outdone himself.

“I stopped by the Bistro. We got to talking, and I invited him over for dinner.”

“To make him cook?”

“That was his idea. There hasn’t been a man cooking in this kitchen in years.”

“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 whisky was 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.

I grabbed the apron, pulling him close. My other hand held the back of his neck as I kissed him.

A peck had stopped being enough. Like a drug, I needed more.

More of his scent. More of his skin. More of him.

When he tried pulling away, I held him in place, pressing my forehead against his.

I might have my worries, but in his presence, they were dim shadows.

“I’m glad you’re here.” The shock of the situation had worn off. The more I thought about it, I couldn’t remember the last time I brought a guy home to meet my parents. “I hope you’re prepared for the interrogation portion of our evening.”

He raised an eyebrow. As I pulled back, I couldn’t help but laugh. Simon must not have much experience in dating, or at least not being introduced to the folks. If he expected light dinner conversation and discussing hobbies, he was about to have his world rocked.

“Simon,” Mom called from the dining room. “Do you consider yourself a bear or a polar bear?”

The smile on his face vanished. I laughed as I pulled the plates from the oven.

I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face as I walked into the dining room.

The appetizer for the evening might have been embarrassing me, but the main course would include Simon gulping down wine as he tried dodging her rapid-fire questions.

Mom pulled out her chair and took a seat at the table. “Does that make you the big spoon?”

The innocent interrogation had begun.

Mom touched her pinky to her thumb. Simon pressed the muscle under her thumb. She switched to her pointer finger and thumb. This time, when he pressed, the spot had gotten squishier.

“That’s how you can tell well done versus medium rare.”

Mom had spent the entire dinner asking Simon every question that crossed her mind. I learned about his parents growing up in Boston and even his investment portfolio. He couldn’t answer fast enough between bites of food. I’m sure she had a million more, but they’d have to wait for the next meal.

Simon might not have noticed, but Mom refrained from asking any question involving the two of us.

Elbowing her way into my love life could have been her superpower.

I had to give her credit. She knew how to read a man.

I’m sure the questions burned on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t dare out a man.

Moms. The real allies.

“We’ll need to do this again.” She gave Simon a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Regardless of what happened between us, he’d always have a place at her table. She gave me a tight squeeze, kissing me on the cheek. “I like this one.” She didn’t bother whispering.

Simon’s face turned red. With a quick pat on the cheek, she turned around and headed toward the kitchen. “You two can see yourselves out.” She wasn’t kicking us out. Mom had subtly given us an excuse to be alone.

I opened the door to the porch and bowed. Simon walked out, and I followed. He let out a low whistle. “Your mom could work for the FBI. I feel like I just ran the gauntlet.”

“And that’s what she does for the ones she likes.”