She continued to look at me as if I had grown two heads. The bell on the door to the bookstore rang and I turned to see who was coming in.
“Good morning!” my mother sang out.
I smiled. “Morning, Mom. What brings you by?”
She walked up and kissed me on the cheek before she turned and looked at Candace, who was still staring at me.
Leaning in close, my mother whispered, “Is she doing the marijuana again?”
I laughed and rolled my eyes. “No, Mom. I don’t think Candace has smoked that since we were in college.”
My mother continued to examine my best friend, frowning. “Then what on earth is that girl doing?”
With a half shrug of my shoulder, I decided the best thing to do was guide my mother away from Candace.
“To what do I owe the honor of this visit, Mom?” I asked, steering her into the main area of the bookstore.
“Well, I heard about the writer staying out at the cabin, so I took a drive out there this morning.”
I groaned. “Mom! I told him he would have peace and quiet out there. Why would you go and disturb him? Did Dad not tell you the guy is trying to write a book?”
She waved her hand as if to push away my worries. “Oh, don’t get your panties in a twist, Greer. I didn’t bother the boy.”
“He’s a man, Mother.”
She grinned and winked. “Trust me, I saw.”
“What do you mean…you saw?” I asked.
She motioned for me to follow her into my office. Once inside, she shut the door and turned to me with a wide smile. “Well, he didn’t hear me coming down the drive because he had headphones in, or at least, I think he did. He was cutting wood—and he didn’t have a shirt on!”
I wanted to roll my eyes so badly, but I fought to keep myself from doing it. “How long did you sit there and watch?”
She blushed, actually blushed. “Not very long. When I saw he was busy, I decided to leave and head on over to Jean’s house. She told me she’d stopped by earlier and brought…what was his name again?”
“Hudson.” I balled my fists at the idea of Jean going over to see Hudson. “And what were you saying about Jean?”
“Right! Hudson. She brought him some freshly made orange muffins for breakfast. She said she stayed for a bit and visited with him, but then he mentioned he had a lot of writing to do.”
My mouth hung open. “I told him he wouldn’t be bothered by anyone, and Jean is going over there bringing him muffins?”
With a surprised look on her face, Mom asked, “Why are you getting so bent out of shape, sweetheart? Jean was merely being friendly and doing the neighborly thing.”
I harrumphed. “Oh, I’m sure she was being friendly. You should have seen the way she was flirting and eyeing the poor man up last night.”
“Greer Elizabeth Larson, are you jealous?”
“What?” I replied with a disbelieving laugh. “Don’t be silly. Hudson is only a friend, and I’m just trying to help him finish his book.”
She smirked at me. “Is that why you invited him over to your house this evening for dinner?”
I nearly choked on my own tongue. “How did you know that?”
“Jean told me. Apparently, she invited Hudson over for dinner, and he declined. He told her that he’d already made plans to have dinner with you at your house.”
I was suddenly hit with a strange urge to shake my mother and demand that she tell me the entire conversation.
I pressed my fingers to my temples and rubbed at the dull ache that had formed there. What in the world was the matter with me? I was turning into someone I didn’t know when it came to Hudson Higgins.
Before I had a chance to respond, she went on. “She also told me that Higgins—”
“Hudson,” I corrected.
“Oh, right, Hudson told her that you cooked him some meals. That was thoughtful of you.”
“Don’t read anything into it, Mom. I simply wanted to help him out. After all, Daddy is making him do manual labor in exchange for staying at the cabin.”
She folded her arms over her chest and stared at me a bit too long.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No reason at all. I better not take up any more of your time,” she said as she made her way to the door. “Are you coming to dinner on Sunday night?”
I followed her out of my office and through the bookstore. “Yep, I’ll be there. Want me to bring anything?”
“Or anyone?” she mumbled.
I decided not to respond. The last thing I wanted was for my mother to think that Hudson and I were anything more than friends. She’d pounce on that like a cat on a mouse.