Page 2 of Good Girls Don't Kiss and Tell (Rock Canyon, Idaho 7)

“Like what?”

“All high-pitched and out of breath.”

Insulting her already? Shocker. “Because I was carrying Gemma’s baby shower cake, and it was heavy. Could be that I’m excited to hear from you, too.”

“Hmm, okay…” There was definite doubt and suspicion in her mother’s voice, but she didn’t press her. “Did you remember the gift I sent Gemma?”

Ah, the ‘check up on her’ phone call. She’d forgotten that one. “Yes, it is sitting right next to mine in the house. I was just heading in to grab it.”

“Well, I won’t keep you then. I just wanted to make sure you give Gemma my best.”

“I will.”

“Oh, and your father and I have decided to come back to Rock Canyon for the holidays, so you won’t need to get a plane ticket this year.”

Gracie stopped walking up the steps to her house—her tiny, tiny house—and her heart did the River Dance in her chest. “You are? When are you coming?”

“The twelfth. We really miss our friends and the town, and figured we’d come back for a nice long visit. Do you think you can pick us up from the airport in Boise? It was less expensive than flying into Twin Falls.”

But an hour-and-a-half drive two ways for me is okay?

“Sure, Mom, of course I can get you guys. Where are you going to stay?”

“Well, we just assumed we’d stay with you, sweetheart.”

Gracie wanted to slam her head into something. The whole reason she flew down to freaking Florida for the holidays was to spend it with her parents, who had a three-bedroom house on the beach. Yet now they wanted to come up here and stay in her one-bedroom house, while she’d get stuck sleeping on the couch for two weeks?

“Of course, if that’s a problem, I suppose we could find a hotel or something,” her mother said.

Passive aggressiveness rears its ugly head.

“Mom, it’s not a problem. I’ll just have to figure out the logistics. You know that I only have the one bedroom, and there’s no hide-a-bed in the couch.”

“Sounds like something Santa should bring you for Christmas.” Her mother laughed at her own joke, but Gracie was picturing the ugly-ass couch her mother would choose for her.

“No, that’s okay. Really. I’ll have everything set up before you get here.”

“Wonderful. I’ll let your father know. Oh, and can you order some of that coffee we like from Brazil? Several bags, so we can take it home with us. We’ll pay you for it.”

Gracie didn’t mind that her parents liked the coffee she served at her coffee shop and bakery, The Local Bean. She just wished sometimes that instead of asking her to order several bags at cost, she’d at least pay full price for one.

It was about the only thing her mom liked about Gracie being a small business owner: the family discount. Her mother had wanted her to go to law school and marry someone with a steady job and income. When she’d gotten a business degree and started The Local Bean, her mom had complained about small businesses not lasting in a stressed economy.

But her little shop had been thriving for nearly seven years, so her mother had stopped fussing about it…for the most part.

“Sure, Mom, be happy to. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Gracie clicked off the call and slid the phone into her pocket. She walked back into the house and picked up the two presents with a grunt of frustration.

Two weeks. Her parents were going to come to town and stay with her. Sleep in her room, bitch about her small kitchen. The house she rented was perfect for her under most circumstances, but not now. Not for this.

What in the hell was she going to do?

* * *

Eric Henderson had no idea how he’d ended up at a co-ed baby shower on a Saturday afternoon, but there he was, carrying two trays of his mother’s frog eyes while she bustled ahead of him with a delicately wrapped present in her arms. His little brother, Grant, and his dad had managed to bow out to work at the family owned business, Buck’s Shot Bar, and hi