Page 49 of Physical Therapy

I sigh out my nose. “Is my mother there?”

“Get a bottle of red. Pick one that will go great with Italian. We’re ordering in tonight.”

The bastard disconnects before I get a chance to grill him, or in the very least, blackmail an answer out of him. I thumb through to the Uber app as I walk. Like hell, I’m wasting time waiting for a train.

I find myself in the back seat of a European compact car wishing the journey didn’t take so long. I have all of two blocks left to travel, but it doesn’t matter. I could live next door to work and it would still be too far. All that’s needed for Boe to make my life hell is the five seconds it would take him to say the wrong thing.

My mother isn’t a prude, exactly. But she has standards. And if I don’t adhere to them? Let’s say the woman can hold a grudge.

“Thank you.” I exit the car before my driver has time to get the vehicle in park.

My heels clip so fast across the pavement that I make a steady rat-a-tat as I head for my building. Thankfully another tenant enters as I do, holding the security door. I join the guy in the lift and elbow my floor.

“Running late?” he quips, eyeing the simple shopping bag emblazoned with the silhouette of a wine glass.

“Yesterday would have been too late,” I jest back.

He smiles, raising the flowers tucked in his elbow. “Apologizing.”

I exit without hesitation as the doors open on my floor. “Best of luck.”

“You too.”

My stomach flips violently as I approach my door. I can damn well hear them in there. Polite laughter interspersed with animated chatter from… more than one woman?

What the actual hell?

I come perilously close to dropping everything in my haste to open the door.

“Here she is!” My mother crosses the floor, blocking my view of everyone else as she meets me in the entry. “Let me help you with that.”

She takes the wine, leaving me juggling my purse and coat.

“This will go perfectly with dinner.” Her face lights up as she reads the label on the bottle. “I hope you don’t mind, Edith, but we ordered already. You know how busy these city delivery boys can get. Might as well beat the rush.”

I drop my coat on the hook and loop my purse strap over it. “Not a problem.”

Boe smirks from his casual position in my only armchair. My shoulders lighten when I spot who the other woman is: my mother’s peroxide-blonde best friend, Sue.

“To what do we owe this impromptu visit?”

“Well,” my mother says, preparing three glasses for the wine, “it was supposed to be a surprise.” She lifts an empty vessel and looks to Boe. “Do you drink vino?”

He tips his head politely to one side. “I’ll sort myself, Charlotte. Thank you.”

Ugh. They’re on first name basis already. I shoot Boe a “what the hell” look.

He smiles and pats his leg.

As though I’m about to sit in his goddamn lap…

“Sue and I were uptown for an art festival,” Mom explains. “We thought we’d stop by on the way home, but I think it’s fair to say we were the ones who got a surprise, not you.” She sweeps over to where everyone’s seated, three glasses of wine expertly pinched between her fingers in the way only a seasoned entertainer could. “You didn’t tell me about this delightful man.”

“Stop,” Boe gushes, fixing both of the old ducks with a winning smile.

“I hadn’t felt it necessary to, yet,” I reply dryly.

Mom eyes me with disbelief as she takes her seat beside Sue. “Why on earth not? Did you think you’d jinx yourself, or something silly along those lines?”

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