Page 32 of The Spy Ring

ELEVEN

Tiffany

“Your mother’s sweet,”I said before shoving a fork full of chicken into my mouth. Trying to fill it so I wouldn’t have to talk anymore.

Greg smiled and turned toward his mom, taking her hand in his.

“She makes sure every woman I go out with is good enough for me. She’s the perfect judge of character,” he said.

I almost threw up the dry chicken I had swallowed.

“My little Greggy never told me how you two met?” the robust woman with a black, protruding mole on her cheek asked.

The mole matched her short, curly hair, which matched her son’s hairstyle as well. Even their outfits—plaid button-up shirts and khaki pants—appeared to be planned to coordinate.

“Through a dating app. It helps single men and women find locals with similar interests,” I said and forced another piece of chicken in my mouth.

Despite my dinner being a bit overdone with very little flavor, I had to distract myself from this abysmal date.

After what almost happened between Jagger and me four days ago, I knew I had to do something, and quickly. I liked Jagger, but I was looking for someone that valued safety and support for my family.

While I knew very little about Jagger’s job—other than it was secret and he worked for the government—I knew even less about the man himself. I thought he would tell me something about his life over dinner the other night, but he only wanted to know about me. Every time I asked about his past, he would change the subject or explain there wasn’t anything to discuss. Everyone has a past, yet he acted like he didn’t.

And when I asked anything about his job, his response was, I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you.

I had no doubt that Jagger was good at what he did but was it dangerous? I had a feeling it was, and I’m not about to put David or me at risk because Jagger had a tight butt. Or that he had the ability to see into my soul and made me weep in the park last week. Or that my heart melted when he helped David out with those bullies when they tried to steal his skateboard.

No, that wasn’t important. Safety, that’s what counted. There’s been too much trauma in my life, too many losses. I don’t believe I could handle anything like that again.

“An app? Greg, you told me you two met while volunteering at the children’s hospital,” his mother said with a frown that accentuated her mole.

“Oh, he didn’t tell you?” I said, trying to hold back my smile.

Perhaps this morsel of information, which was much juicier than my chicken, would be the knife that killed our date. I felt very little guilt that Greg was breaking out into a sweat and his plaid shirt was sticking to his chest.

His dating profile was completely misleading. Everything, except his photograph, was a lie. I wasn’t disappointed when I saw him tonight. He’s not a bad looking man—slim with handsome features. The frustration came when he led me to a table with his mom. And that wasn’t the worst.

“Tell me what?” his mom asked.

Greg shook his head, pure fear creating lines on his face.

“He’s a doctor. Your son doesn’t volunteer at the hospital. He’s a doctor. Isn’t that right, Greg?”

I knew he wasn’t. My son spent most of his life in and out of that hospital. If Greg worked there, I would have come across him at least enough times to recognize him.

“Greg, you’re not a doctor. You’re the assistant accounting manager at RT Mitchell. Why would you lie to Tiffany? Or to me, your mother?”

We both kept our attention on Greg waiting for an answer, but nothing came. His eyes flickered back and forth between the mother that wondered what happened to her perfect man-child, and me, the date that just wanted to spend a few hours with a normal guy.

“What’s that over there?” Greg pointed to something behind me.

I glanced back but only saw the other patrons enjoying their meals at matching round tables covered in green linen. When I turned back, Greg was maneuvering through the tables, bumping into one and almost knocking it over, on his way toward the front of the restaurant.

“Greg,” his mother yelled as she stood and went after him.

I sat there for a few minutes expecting one of them to come back, but they didn’t.

“Would you like anything else, ma’am?” the waiter asked, who was dressed better than my date in a blue button-up shirt, gray tie, and dark slacks.

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