Page 10 of Smoke Show

Gwen shook her head. "No,thank you. I appreciate all you're doing for the town. Especially since you haven't lived here long."

I hid the hurt her words caused. She and the rest of the Campfire Council had embraced me so fully, I hated the reminder that I was essentially an outsider. Gwen fluttered her hands. "I didn't mean it that way, Eve. We're just thankful to have you as part of Campfire. Someone else's loss is most definitely our gain."

Her vague platitude served as the perfect reminder of why Gwen might not consider me fully settled as a local: I hadn't come clean about my past.

Moving beyond the uncomfortable moment, I forced a smile. "I consider Campfire home. I love it here."

"And we love you," Gwen said in her motherly way.

We wound through the plants, pausing when one of her employees called from the florist station. "Yoohoo, Gwen! Sorry to interrupt, but is this number a three or five? I need to call the Santiagos about their quincinera order."

Gwen paused to examine her handwriting on the sales order and introduced me to the other woman. "Matty Gleason, this is Eve Pendleton. She's helping your son with the school play."

It took me a moment, but slowly the resemblance to Brady became clear. Mrs. Gleason had his same fine nose and height, though her hair had silvered and was caught up in a soft bun away from her face. She also dressed much less formally, in jeans and a blue tee.

"Please, call me Matty. It's nice to meet you, Eve." She seemed sincere, but something about the spark of mischief in her gaze made me pause. "Am I right that you own Fierce Ink in town?"

Nodding, I extended my hand. "Yes, that's right. Nice to meet you."

"I've been meaning to make an appointment," Matty said.

“What kind of design are you interested in? Do you have a preferred style?”

Matty chuckled, the carefree sound making it impossible not to smile in return. “I’m a tattoo virgin,” she stage-whispered. "But I’ve been thinking about a design to honor my son for a while.”

The mind boggled. I had no trouble envisioning Brady's reaction if his mother came to me for her first tattoo. There would be blistering commentary. I bit my lip. Maybe that was unfair. Brady was a little uptight, but his mother was mature enough to make her own decisions. And the desire to honor Brady was sweet, even if he might not appreciate it.

"I've got my calendar app on my phone," I offered.

Matty clapped her hands together, looking almost girlish in her excitement. We compared schedules, and she snapped up a slot later in the week.

Gwen reappeared. "Sorry, Matty. I went back and checked caller ID. It was actually a two. Here you go."

Matty waved her goodbye, returning to her counter and picking up her phone.

"I didn't know Brady's mom worked for you," I murmured as Gwen walked me to the door.

"I was an honorary Gleason growing up. Brady and I have known each other forever. Matty always made the most gorgeous bouquets for their house. When I decided to add a florist, asking her if she wanted to run the shop was a no-brainer."

I couldn't help my curiosity. "Now that I've met his mom, I have to ask – what is Brady's dad like?"

I tried to imagine the paragon of virtue that had to have raised Brady. Matty Gleason was lovely, but nothing about her hinted at the strict formality that Brady had made into his whole personality.

"Mr. Gleason is a retired English teacher." Gwen smiled. "In fact, he wasmyhigh school English teacher, which is why it's hard to call him anything but Mr. Gleason. He's a lovely man, though I was terrified of him when I was in his class."

"Hm." I said noncommittally, trying to picture an older version of Brady. It was hard to imagine Gwen terrified of anything or anyone.

"Will we see you tonight at Jo’s?" Gwen asked.

"Yes, I'll pop over after work. We don't have play practice on Tuesdays, so it shouldn’t interfere with our campfire meetups. See you then."

Slowly, I climbed into my car, trying to mesh the new facts I'd picked up about Brady into some semblance of a total picture, not sure why I couldn't stop thinking about him. I had no business dating a high school principal. But part of me remembered the ease of our dinner together, and the edge of attraction I couldn't seem to ignore. Guiltily, I glanced at his jacket where I'd tossed it on the passenger seat. I should give it back, but it smelled like him. That subtle hint of coffee and soap acted like a tranquilizer on my nerves, putting me at ease. Ironic given the man himself had a totally different impact on my nervous system.

As if thoughts of Brady conjured him, my phone buzzed with an incoming text.

Brady: Practice is 5pm sharp Wednesday.

Someone really should tell the man I owned a watch. Still, it was fun to needle him. Something about pushing him past the point of using polished grammar thrilled me.

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