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“No worries,” Beckett said. “So am I.”
* * *
So far,under Bam’s expert guidance, Janey had four bras, eight new pairs of underwear, “so I canfinallyshow my face in PE,” a winter coat, boots, three “darling” sweaters, two turtlenecks, and two pairs of “cute” jeans, which Beckett probably wasn’t going to be thrilled about, because, yes, they were what you’d call form-fitting. They had now progressed to leggings and warm dresses, and Bam was whipping clothes off the racks like it was a shopping race and shoving them into Quinn’s arms.
“You don’t have to try them all on,” Quinn told Janey when she delivered them to the dressing room. “Just pick the ones you like.”
“Of course she has to try them all on,” Bam said. Oh. She was here again, handing Quinn warm-yet-flippy skirts. “Not everything flatters your figure the way it looks like it will on the hanger. We need fleece boots for you with these, Janey. Those’ll be cute, and warm, too.”
Quinn said quietly, moving away from the door so Janey wouldn’t hear, “Mom. She’s eleven. How much of a figure does she have to flatter?”
Bam didn’t deign to respond to that. Instead, she said, “I got some real cute sweater dresses in last week. They were backordered, and I can see why. They’re flying off the shelves already.”
“Well, great,” Quinn said. “It’s not like Janey doesn’t already have half the store in there.”
“Not for her,” Bam said. “For you. That’s enough choices for her. Too many can be overwhelming.”
“You think?” Quinn asked. She didn’t snort, because she was above it. “And I’m all good, thanks.”
“Hon,” Bam said, “you have three sweaters that I’ve seen.”
“And I like them,” Quinn said. “Besides, I have more than that.”
“I’m not counting some ancient cardigan with a stain on the front and half the buttons missing that you wear to rake the leaves, though that’s probably a Stanford sweatshirt, and that thing wasn’t flattering twenty years ago. What are you going to wear out on a date?”
“My red sweater,” Quinn said promptly. “Ha. Martin already chose it. And how do you know I’m dating?”
“Hmm, I don’t know,” Bam said. “Because you told us, when you explained why you weren’t coming for Saturday dinner anymore? That sweater might work for thefirstdate. What are you going to wear on the second one?”
“Oh. I forgot I told you. I’m halfway through the program, and based on the results so far, I’m guessing the red sweater is going to do it.”
“You sure?” Bam asked. “How about when you go out with Beckett?”
“Well,” Quinn said, “the first time, Ididwear my Stanford sweats, and he still asked me out again. More or less. With the kids. Maybe Australian men are different.”
This time, Bam was the one who snorted. “Honey, no men arethatdifferent. He’s moving into your house? Whose idea wasthat?”
“Mine. As a tenant.” Quinn wished she could see where her dad was. She did not have a good feeling about this. Her dad was a great salesman for power tools and fishing gear. For clothes? Not so much. He was probably shoving things at Beckett and saying, “Here. Hope you’re not planning on sleeping with my daughter.” Quinn was shuddering in advance.
Bam asked, “And why haven’t you invited any of the, oh, five hundred seventy-three other people looking for housing in Western Montana to move in with you?”
“Because I like the kids? Because it’s for two months?”
“Uh-huh,” Bam said. “You know, I’ve got an OK selection of nightwear, but let’s be honest, it’s more along ‘long underwear’ and ‘fuzzy robe’ lines. Nothing here’s going to knock anybody’s socks off. You might consider heading over to Sinful Desires. Lily’s got some winter nightwear that’s surprisingly sexy. There’s a long-sleeved ribbed Henley that’s cut in averywide vee, for example. It’s soft as a kitten and warm as can be, but boy, is that thing slinky, and it’s got snaps instead of buttons. Whichdon’tsnap, because those snaps are pretty dang far apart. And some pretend-snap, snug little boxers in the same fabric that show exactly what you’ve got. That’d be darling on you. Heck, I bought a set myself. In ice blue, which you can just about see straight through. Maybe I wasn’t exactly subtle, but your dad sure appreciated them.”
“Mom,” Quinn said. “I don’t need to know that.” How bad was it when even yourparentshad a better sex life than you? Howextrabad if your mom was sixty-five, and your dad gave his age as “old as the hills, but God don’t want me and the Devil don’t dare”?
Her mom went on, of course. “A pale green would look great on you, or if you don’t want to show that much nipple—I’m just saying, honey, because why beat around the bush?—she’s got it in chocolate brown, too, and you’d knock anybody’s socks off in that. Still sexy as heck, but more casual. Or some wide-legged PJ bottoms in modal, slung low on your hips and tied in a bow, with a not-too-big-at-all top, and a pretty robe open over them to show off your midsection and a little bit of your chest, because men love that spot between your shoulders and your breasts, where they can see you’re not tanned. It looks so unexplored, Dad says. She’s got that set in burgundy, which is one of your colors. That one’s not even suggestive, it’s just pretty, if you happen to be, oh, making toast.”
“Mom,” Quinn said, “are you pimping me out?”
Anybody else’s mother would have looked shocked. Bam just laughed. “Can I help it if I like him?”
“Fine,” Quinn said. “You can come over in your wide-legged PJ pants and crop top, then. I’m sure I’ll be in my warm robe and fuzzy slippers, because that floor isfreezingin the morning.”
“When you remodel,” Bam said, “you can put in heated floors.”
Quinn didn’t bang her head against the wall. That was because she was standing in the middle of a bunch of clothing racks, and there was no wall around. “You know what you could help me do after we finish this that would actually help me? Buy a bigger sauté pan. Beckett and I are going to be cooking together, and I need one of those big ones with two handles to cook for four people.”
