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I quickly stride across the patio to join them.
“Hey, baby,” I reach Jenn, and lean down to kiss her. She brightens, just a little.
“Save yourself,” she whispers.
I hide a laugh and straighten up. “Mrs. Walker,” I say, offering a hand. “Austin Banks. A pleasure to meet you.”
She shakes my hand, eyes passing over me in a slow review. “Please, call me Deborah. What an unexpected surprise.”
“I begged Jenn to let me crash,” I explain. “She’s already met my sister and nephew, and I’ve been dying to get to know her family.”
“I… See…” she says, smile widening. “Of course. Please, join us.”
I pull up a chair and order an iced tea. I could use some lunch, but I already know that Jenn wants to bolt ASAP.
“So, my daughter says she’s working for you,” Jenn’s mom says primly. “A new spa company, mm? After years of a baseball career.”
Well, there’s the passive aggression shining through. Her tone is light—perfectly pleasant, but I can hear the doubt.
“Mom—” Jenn begins, but I place a hand on hers.
“Yeah, it’s interesting,” I say breezily, as if I’m totally at ease. I’ve had reporters ask me, straight-up, how it felt to bungle a game. I can certainly handle Mrs. Walker and her judging stare. “My baseball career was an education. Being a pro athlete means you get access to cutting-edge health tech, so I learned first-hand from the best around. But enough about me,” I pivot with a smile. “Tell me about yourself. You’re from Long Island, right?”
“Well, not originally…” Deborah starts to talk, and I keep the questions coming. After all, the longer she’s talking about herself, the less time she has to start picking at anyone else.
“… But of course, Jenn doesn’t make it back to visit as often as I’d like. She’s just so busy. Be sure you don’t work her too hard,” Deborah adds.
“I can’t keep her away from her desk,” I reply. “She’s been heroic.”
Jenn blushes. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“I’m not exaggerating,” I insist. “She’s been putting out fires left and right. Did she tell you she brought in a big investor, last-minute? Saved the whole launch from going up in smoke.”
“No, she didn’t mention it,” Deborah says, looking impressed.
“I didn’t bring them in,” Jenn corrects. “I was just watching TV, and mentioned to Austin—”
“And then talked the guy into considering my deal, engineered a trip to pitch in person, wowed them all with her charm and smarts,” I talk over her. “The list goes on.”
“That’s wonderful,” Deborah says, giving Jenn a look. “You see what happens when you finally start showing some ambition? She spent so long spinning her wheels at that last job,” she adds to me. “Years! I kept saying, it was time for a chance, but would she listen? She’s lucky you gave her a chance.”
“Dessert,” Jenn interrupts, heading off her mom’s new line of critique. “I do love the olive oil cake here.”
Deborah tuts. “Cake, really? I thought you were trying to stay healthy.”
“I had salad,” Jenn glares.
“With fries.” There’s a note of disapproval in Deborah’s voice that makes my blood boil.
Is she fucking kidding right now?
“Cake sounds great,” I announce loudly. “Make it two slices. With ice-cream.”
Deborah arches her eyebrows. “You surprise me, Austin. I thought, as an athlete, you’d be makingsmartchoices about your food. I’m always telling Jenn, a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips.” She gives a trill of a laugh, as if it can disguise the toxic bullshit she’s spewing.
“I don’t see anything smart about developing a fucked-up relationship with food,” I say bluntly.
Deborah’s eyes widen in shock. “I wouldn’t say—”
