Page 39 of Half Baked

“Would you two like some tea while you gossip about me?” I asked dryly as I sat in my recliner.

Lance laughed. “I was telling her that my mother had informally adopted you and makes sure you eat.”

“Someone has to,” my mother said. “In Memphis, after he broke up with Monica, he mostly ate takeout and frozen meals he heated up in the microwave.”

Monica being the woman who I’d dated and lived with for years. We’d even been engaged until she realized I could never give her what she wanted.

Funny how Mom had changed her tune about the tavern since showing up on Tuesday night.

Lance nodded. “I’m pretty sure he did the same until my mother took pity on him.”

“I’d like to meet your mother,” my mom said.

“And she’d love to meet you,” Lance said. “It will have to be at the tavern since she works most nights, but it’s a nice place. You’d like it.”

“How about tonight?” my mother suggested.

“Hold on there,” I said, holding up a hand. “Mom, we’re having dinner with Maddie tonight.”

“Then we’ll have it with Lance’s mom too. Lance, would you like to join us?”

Lance beamed from ear to ear. “Love to.” He made a face. “But unfortunately, I have other plans, so I’ll have to take a raincheck.”

What was happening? Why had she invited Lance? Why didn’t my mother want to have dinner with just Maddie and me?

A smug smile lit up my mother’s face. “I’m going to take you up on it. I have to confess, I’m intrigued by this mystery woman. Maddie.”

The way she said Maddie’s name put me on edge. I’d thought she’d genuinely wanted to met her, but now I was second guessing her intentions. My mother wasn’t devious, but I knew she didn’t want me getting too involved with a woman from Cockamamie, especially one who had roots here. She’d been very straightforward about the fact that her goal was to get me back to Memphis.

Maybe I should reconsider this dinner.

“Maddie’s been great for him,” Lance said, sensing the shift. “She’s really brought him out of his moody shell.”

“How could I disapprove of a woman who could performthatmiracle?” my mother asked, but she didn’t look entirely on board.

“I’m sitting right here,” I said in a droll tone.

Lance laughed, then he and my mother launched into more stories about me, from the way my palate had changed after stalking the coffee shop while I was pining (Lance’s word) for Maddie, to how I’d sworn I wouldn’t become a cop like my father then turned out to be a damn good one. (My mother’s story, although Lance added the last part.)

After about ten minutes, I’d had enough.

“Lance,” I grunted. “Didn’t you come here for a reason other than swapping stories about me with my mother?”

He let out an exaggerated sigh. “He’s right, I did.” He glanced around. “Is there somewhere private we can go?”

He knew damn well there wasn’t, but it was his not-so-subtle way of telling her we needed privacy.

“I think I’ve made a decent enough grocery list that I can head to the store while you two talk,” she said, getting up and walking over to the coat tree next to the front door. She grabbed her coat and picked up her purse. “I’ll get some bandages for your arm, Noah. You only have small bandages for your gunshot wound.”

“It’s two tiny holes,” I protested, “and you don’t have to do either of those things. Mom, I’m perfectly capable of getting my own food and bandages.”

She gave me a dark look. “Your pantry says otherwise.” Then she walked out the door.

“I like your mom,” Lance said with a laugh.

“I’m sure you do,” I said dryly as I watched her walk to her car through the windows. “She likes you too.”

“Of course she does,” Lance said. “All moms like me. I’m a likable guy.”

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