Page 73 of Mister Mom

Jagger shakes her hand, kissing her cheek and then stepping aside.

“Hannah Crowley, meet Vance Rose.”

Her red-lipsticked mouth smiles, revealing perfectly white teeth. She extends her hand, bracelets adorning her wrists, a simple ring on her right hand.

“Don’t you mean Ryder Stone?” She side-eyes Jagger, who chuckles, looking at me.

The reference to my producing alias only brings Layla to mind.

Before I have time to say anything, she shoos me off with her manicured hand. “I’m kidding.” I shake her hand. “Very nice to meet you, Vance.”

“You as well, Ms. Crowley.”

“No, no, no, it’s Hannah,” she insists.

Jagger steps back and holds her chair out for her. The three of us sit down, Jagger taking the spot in the middle.

“Why do you seem to look younger every time I see you?” She holds her hand out to Jagger and then shakes her head. “The fact men become more handsome with age and woman become hags is total bullshit. Just ask my ex-husband. I’m pretty sure it was the year I turned thirty that he started heading to college campuses for younger versions of yours truly.” She laughs, but it’s empty and bare.

“I can’t imagine that, Hannah.” Jagger leans forward, lowering his voice. “You have the best ass in this place.” He winks.

She hits him on the shoulder and laughs, then turns her attention to me. “This is why I keep Jagger around. He’s good for the ego.”

I could add my two cents. She is gorgeous. She’s turned at least five heads since we’ve been sitting here. It’s more than the red dress, though. It’s her demeanour, and her sophistication. The ‘take no shit’ attitude pours off of her.

“He only speaks the truth,” I say.

She sips her wine. “I need to keep both of you around for a while. Going through a divorce when your husband somehow beat you to the best lawyer in town hasn’t been good for my self-confidence. Or my bank account.” Again, an empty laugh leaves her lips.

The waiter comes over, Jagger and I order drinks and then I wait for her to open her menu before I do.

Between some small talk about what’s good at the restaurant and Jagger pouring on enough compliments that she’s probably sweeter than a jar of maple syrup, we order and afterward the real conversation begins.

“I have a question, Hannah,” I say.

Jagger looks at me with a warning in his eyes.

“Yes?”

“You told Jagger my story reminds you of your own love story…”

She purses her lips as though she’s trying not to remember, but eventually her entire face relaxes. “Confusing, right?”

“A tad,” I say.

“Well, I wasn’t a criminal and neither was he, but when I read your story, I just felt how overpowering to was for Melanie to have Joseph dominate her life. The summer before I went to college, I fell in love with this guy. He was a few years older than me and I would’ve followed him anywhere to do anything, like Melanie did Joseph. Melanie’s love for Joseph reminded me of myself during that time in my life.” Her smile dims for a second and she picks up her wine to sip it. She might physically be at the table, but mentally I can tell she’s far, far away somewhere in the past.

“Was it Todd?” Jagger asks, and I’m assuming Todd is her ex-husband.

“No. I married Todd because I was an idiot.” Her tone brings a finality to the conversation.

“The script manager thinks there isn’t enough love in the script.” I ask her opinion—if she’s bankrolling it she’ll tell me the truth.

“There is on Melanie’s side for sure,” she says.

At least that’s one part I don’t have to worry about.

“So, you guys have secured Layla Andrews?” she asks, her gaze bouncing from me to Jagger.

---