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Tom almost choked on his pie. “Ma, I appreciate the thought but I’m happy with my life exactly the way it is.”
“Happy? How can you be happy being alone?”
“I’m not alone. I have Henry. And my job. And you and Pops.”
“Your job? Well, I hope that keeps you nice and warm on a cold winter’s night.”
“We live in Florida.”
“You know what I mean.”
First Lauren, now his mother. The women in his life needed to get their own lives. For the first time he wondered if Lauren’s prodding him to date meant that she herself was dating. He hoped so. Just as long as she dated a good guy. Not that Tom had any worries on that account. Despite her quirkiness, Lauren had always been sensible.
“So why can’t you keep Henry tonight?” she asked.
“Gotta work,” he said, swallowing down the rest of the pie she’d sliced him. If Betsy Donalan knew he planned to spend the night in the senior center with Allie Grant she’d be calling the Whispering Bay Gazette to announce their engagement.
He thought back to their text conversation. He hadn’t meant to flirt with her. It had just come naturally, but flirting, or anything else that might come equally as naturally with Allie was a bad idea.
He kissed his mother and said a quick goodbye before she could get another word in.
I’m happy enough. Those had been his exact words to Allie last night. He thought it over a second. Was he happy? Hell, he wasn’t unhappy.
Why did women always overthink everything?
Okay, so maybe Allie was just a tiny bit afraid of Tom Donalan.
No, not Tom Donalan exactly. It was the whole set up that had her squirmy. And then of course, there was the problem of what to wear. She was not dressing up for tonight’s sleep-in at the senior center. Allie chanted this to herself while she got ready. It was like a mantra of sorts to remind her that tonight was strictly business.
Still, that little fantasy she’d been holding onto for the past twelve years, the one where she saw Tom again for the first time? In that fantasy she was a goddess to be reckoned with. Her long dark hair was straight and shiny, her brown eyes were made up to look smoky and sexy, and her perfect curves were accentuated by a designer gold lame gown.
In other words, she was Sophia Vergara.
Eat your heart out, Fat and Bald Tom Donalan.
Of course, in reality Tom wasn’t fat, nor was he bald, and she certainly didn’t look anything like Sophia Vergara. Allie’s long brown hair was straight and maybe just a tad bit shiny (shampoo had a tendency to do that), but her eye makeup was minimal, and as for the perfect curves? Not even close. She was more Olive Oyl than sexy Latina star.
Her legs were her best body part, but she couldn’t justify wearing a short skirt tonight. Plus, she’d only packed a couple days’ worth of clothes, so she had to work with what she had. Jeans, white T-shirt, a red sweater and her cowboy boots. Which were the only cool thing about her ensemble. The boots were turquoise leather with a Fleur de Lis cream embroidery and a conservative two inch heel making her almost six feet tall. Allie had never felt comfortable in girly heels, but if the temperature ever went below sixty (chilly for native Floridians) she’d be in these boots. Lauren had been right about the rain. It poured for a couple of hours straight, instantly bringing cooler weather.
She sprayed some cologne along the inside of her wrist and did a quick inspection in the mirror. It was exactly the look she was going for. Casual, slightly hip, and semi-attractive journalist who hadn’t put much thought into what she looked like (ha!).
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Both Mimi and Claire remarked on her appearance over dinner.
“You look great,” Mimi said.
“No, she doesn’t. She looks hot. Can I borrow your boots?” Claire asked.
Allie helped herself to some of Mimi’s homemade lasagna. “My sixteen-year-old niece thinks I look hot. Should I be flattered or am I being played for a pair of boots?” she mused aloud.
Cameron snickered.
“Both,” Mimi said.
Claire flushed. “I mean it. You look awesome, Aunt Allie.”
“You’re great for my ego, kid. Maybe I should move back to town.”
