“Just don’t book a steak restaurant,” I reply, refusing to bite.
“And a budget for her gift?”
“Spend whatever you think.”
“No budget? You should probably come with me.”
I can’t restrain the twist of my lips. Mimi Valente is not bad. She’s an out-and-out brat. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Fine. Have it your way, Daddy Warbucks.” She tips her gaze again. It doesn’t hide her smirk. “One last question.”Thank fuck.“What kind of things does Lavender like?”
“Edibles,” I say with a sigh.
“O-kay.” She marks something on the iPad when she looks my way again. “I wonder if El likes people to do as they’re told, too.”
I send her a withering glance. “My brother is nothing like me.”
“I expect you’re right. He seems way more laid-back. Maybe I’ll just ask him to hook me up with a dealer.”
“It was a joke,” I say repressively.
“Yeah.” She sighs. “I’m beginning to wonder if you think that’s what I am.”
And with that, she flounces out of my office.
7
MIMI
“Aunt Doreen!”The brass letterbox rattles as I push the door.
“In here, dear,” she calls from the kitchen.
I make my way through the slightly musty hallway into the bright kitchen where Aunt Doreen, dressed in a terry cloth robe and head full of pink spongey hair curlers, is pushing her fat tabby cat from the kitchen table. “Bloody moggy.” She scoots it away from an earthenware teapot, patting her silver-blond hair. “Oh, pretty!” she coos as her gaze snags on the flowers in my hand.
“I’m glad you like them because they’re for you.” Her eyes sparkle as I present her with the modest bunch.
“For me?” she repeats with genuine pleasure as she brings them to her nose and inhales. “Oh, how lovely! I don’t remember the last time someone bought me flowers. Thank you, Mimi, love.”
“None of your harem buy you flowers?” I press my hand to my chest with mock affront before sliding off my jacket and draping it over the wooden chair back. “Sounds like you didn’t train them right.”
“My date tonight would probably just pilfer a bunch from the local cemetery.”
“He sounds like a charmer,” I say as I pull out the chair.
“He really isn’t.” She gives a little laugh. “I picked him up during my bad-boy phase.”
At seventy-nine, Aunt Doreen, who isn’t really my aunt, lives life at full tilt. From mornings spent volunteering at the local food bank and soup kitchen, to coffee dates with her friends, onto a diary that’s just bursting withactualdates.
“So Wednesday night is Alan?” I hazard.
“No, love. Alan is Thursday.” She turns and opens a cabinet door before banging it shut again. “Wednesday is my reformed bad-boy Frank. Well,boymight be stretching it, but he is younger than me.”
“You cougar!”
“He keeps me on my toes,” she trills.
“Does that mean he tries to get fresh with you?”
