“Yes, ma’am.”
Helen divided a look between them. “You had dinner with my daughter. And breakfast.”
Trey lost some of his cool as shock rippled over his features.
Welcome to small towns.
“Uh, yes, ma’am.”
“Just what are your intentions?”
“Mom!” Mortified, Sandy stepped between them.
“What? It’s a reasonable question.”
“It is not. I’m forty-nine years old.”
Entirely unrepentant, Helen reached up to tap her cheek. “And still my baby.”
That was it. Sandy was just going to die of embarrassment on the spot. The end.
“To answer your question, I intend to enjoy the pleasure of her company, for however long she’s willing to bestow it.”
“Hmm. A pretty talker and polite. Norah speaks very highly of you, so that’s in your favor. Perhaps you’ll do.”
“Mother, that’s enough.”
Helen just beamed at the warning tone. “I’ll go on and get out of your way.” She wiggled her fingers. “Tootles.” Then she was gone.
Sandy leaned back against her desk because her legs weren’t entirely steady. “God. I’m sorry.”
“Our fault for not locking the door. How did she even know?”
“Small town, remember. I picked up the pork chops at McSweeney’s on my way home last night. Your car was then seen in my driveway.”
The CIA had nothing on the gossip network in Wishful.
Obviously amused, he leaned beside her on the desk. “I run a multi-national company that frequently deals with high-level government officials. I can handle meeting your mother.”
“It’s not just my mother I’m worried about. As soon as the news circulates, I fully expect you to end up hearing from practically every member of my family. We are adults, for God’s sake.” She scooped a hand through her hair.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I’m a big boy. I’ll survive. Whatever they dish out, you’re absolutely worth it.”
“Yeah, well, hold on to that thought.”
He studied her. “You’re legitimately worried about this.”
“Yeah.”
“Why? What’s this really about?”
Sandy held up her hands, let them fall. “It’s just…I haven’t done this since my divorce.”
“Done what?”
“Dated. Not really.”
After the disaster of her marriage, her family had felt plenty free to opine about the men she had deigned to go out with. She clearly couldn’t be trusted to make a sensible decision on that front, so they felt the need to investigate the candidates and vet them. It hardly made for an environment conducive to forming real relationships. So, she just hadn’t bothered. And maybe, on some level, she’d believed them.