Page 115 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

I head back to find her standing at the island, slicing strawberries into a bowl. Her Boston Terrier, Spark, is circling my ankles as though I may have brought contraband treats.

Mom points the paring knife at me, narrowing her eyes. “Your smile is different.”

“What? Mom, I’ve been here less than thirty seconds.”

“Yes, but I raised you. I can tell.”

I drop my purse onto one of the stools and bend down to scratch Spark behind the ears. “Maybe I’m just happy to see you.”

Mom gives me a look. Spark gives me a look, too.

I straighten. “Wow. Hostile audience.”

“Reese.”

There’s way too much anticipation in the way she says my name. I should’ve prepared better for this conversation. Maybe started with something distracting. Asked about work. Complimented her strawberries. Brought up a neighborhood scandal involving an improperly placed recycling bin.

Instead, I came over with Kissed Miles Lancaster apparently written across my forehead.

I slide onto a stool. “Miles and I went on a date.”

My mom freezes, the knife stopping halfway through a strawberry. “A real date?”

“I don’t know what your definition of a fake date is, but he brought me flowers, cleaned his car, and planned activities.”

Her mouth drops open.

I just look at her for a moment. “Uh, Mom, that reaction feels excessive.”

“You and Miles went on a date.” She says it slower this time. As if she needed it repeated again just to convince herself it is true. “I wondered if things were heading that direction when you said he told you about the CSA, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up. When?”

“Saturday.”

“Saturday?” Her voice rises enough that Spark looks up. “And you’re just now telling me?”

“I’ve been busy.”

“It’s Tuesday.”

“I had things.”

“What things?”

I consider that for a moment. “Kissing him.”

The strawberry falls out of Mom’s hand and lands on the cutting board with a soft splat. For two full seconds, she does nothing. Then she lets out a sound that is alarmingly close to a squeal, sets down the knife, wipes her hands on a dish towel, and comes around the island to give me a hug.

“Mom.”

“Sorry. I’m just a little excited. That’s all.”

“You squealed loudly enough to concern the dog.”

Spark has moved to the opposite side of the island and is watching Mom carefully.

“How was it?”

“The date or the kiss?”