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“Oh.”
“But I have a mother.”
“Oh,” I said again, mindful of the less-than-flattering depiction of the mother inComes the Dreamer.
“Luckily, she moved to Vancouver a number of years ago, and I no longer have to deal with her.”
“My mother’s just been diagnosed with Parkinson’s,” I surprised myself by saying.
I heard a not-too-subtle “Ahem,” and glanced over to where Tracy was standing. She made a show of lifting her arm to glance at her watch.
“Subtle,” Harrison remarked.
“Always.”
“I admire your patience,” he said. “And not just for waiting so long in line. To Jodi,” he said as he was scribbling my name in the front of my book, “with a heart.”
I smiled.
He handed me back the book with one hand, slipping the piece of paper with my phone number into his jacket pocket with the other. “I’ll keep this, if you don’t mind,” he said.
My breath froze in my lungs.
“What were you talking about for so damn long?” Tracy asked as we left the store.
I shrugged.
I’m going to marry that man,I thought.
