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“Cheating. Your son was outside smoking when I arrived. Now he’s sneaked in salt.”
“Salt? Salt? Did someone say salt?” A plaintive voice cried from the other end of the table. “I’d give my eyeteeth for some salt.”
Matt sighed and offered it up.
“Definitely a corrupting influence,” Peta declared.
“And you are a spoilsport,” he retorted in some exasperation. “A pity the jug on the table isn’t full of prune juice. I could have offered you some.”
She laughed and sat down. “Put out, are we?” she tossed at him teasingly.
“Matt, you promised to give up smoking...”
“Mum, if you nag me about one more thing today...”
“Well, if you want to have a baby...”
“You want to have a baby?” The cornflower blue eyes stared incredulously at him.
“Matt would make a wonderful father,” his mother enthused.
“Pass the salt back, please,” he thundered down the table.
“Salt? Who’s got salt?” someone appealed from across the dining room.
“Got everyone cheating now,” Peta muttered darkly.
Matt didn’t care. At least he’d diverted the talk about babies. He gave his mother a baleful look. It was perfectly obvious babies were the last thing on Peta Kelly’s mind. His freewheeling bachelor image would be far more likely to appeal to the rider of the red Ducati. If he was to get to first base with her, he had to shut his mother up on the subject of grandchildren. The problem was, she was so obsessive about it.
“Please forgive me,” his mother gushed to the object of his desire. “I can’t stop looking at your hair. I’ve never seen anything so daring.”
Peta grinned at her. “Well, nobody can take me for a blond bimbo anymore.”
More like a blond bombshell, Matt thought.
His mother was astonished. “You’re really a blonde? I thought the copper red part was natural.”
“Nope. Straight out of a bottle. It’s called flaming chestnut.”
“What are the other shades called?”
“The first band is crushed orange and behind it is papaya.”
Very exotic, Matt thought. He reached for the jug of juice on the table and poured her a glass. “You’ll like this. Tropical fruit.”
She laughed. No mocking lights in her eyes this time. Pure amusement dancing at him. Matt’s heart did cartwheels. There was definitely a connection here. He could feel it. He smiled at his mother.
“Why don’t you do something exciting with your hair, Mum? Peach with cream highlights would look good. Much more fun than grey.”
“Oh, Matt! I’m at the stage in life where there’s nothing left to do but grow old gracefully.”
“Nonsense! Who says the mature woman has to be dull? You admire Peta’s daring. Put some colour into your hair. Splash out on some bright clothes to go with it. Start a new life.”
“It can make you feel better,” Peta said in support.
Matt grinned at her, delighted with her help in encouraging his mother to do something for herself. Peta looked quizzically at him, probably assessing his motives for using her as a glowing example to be emulated.
“Well, I’ll think about it,” his mother said dubiously.
