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“Oh, Fox.” Mom worried her lip. “It’s something a woman who means anything to you needs to know.”
“Like I said…” I buried my face back in the menu. “Not having this discussion.”
“Okay. Fine. But will you at least tell me where you’re taking her?”
I sighed. “I don’t know, Ma. I figured the Laurel Lake Inn.”
The look on my mother’s face told me I’d given the wrong answer.
“What’s wrong with the Inn?” I asked. “The food’s good.”
“Nothing’s wrong with the Inn…to take your mother.”
“Let me get this straight. It’s good enough for you but not a date?”
“Well, yeah. It’s not romantic, Fox.”
I rolled my eyes. It was on the tip of my tongue to say romance wasn’t on my agenda, but finding out what was underneath the tight black yoga pants Josie wore all the time was. But I refrained and gave my mother an inch, because I knew she meant well. “Where would you suggest I take her?”
“Le Pavillion would be nice.”
My brows shot to my forehead. “Seriously? The French place? It’s more than a half hour away. And you have to wear a suit to that restaurant.”
“Don’t you think Josie will be dressed up? She’s from Manhattan, honey.”
I was sort of hoping for the yoga pants. Though… I’d gone out in New York City enough back in my hockey days. The ladies in the clubswerealways pretty dressed up—slinky shit with no back and all. It was night and day from the way women looked when they went to the Inn, the nicest restaurant in this little town.
“Maybe I’ll see if I can get a table at the steakhouse over in Chatrun.”
Mom smiled. “That’s a little better.”
I nodded. Thankfully, Tricia came to take our orders, ending the conversation. She took out her little notepad and slipped the pencil from behind her ear.
“Hey, Fox. You want your usual?”
“I do. Thanks, Trish.”
She turned to Mom. “We have the Greek salad you like as one of the specials today.”
“Ooh. That sounds good.” She held out her menu. “Thanks, Trish.”
Mom and I caught up for a while. She told me about her knitting class, and I bitched about the delivery delays giving me a headache on one of the jobs I was trying to finish.
“I have a favor to ask, honey.”
My mother never asked for anything. “What do you need?”
“Well, it’s for my friend Greta. You remember her, right?”
I nodded. “Blue hair shaped like a helmet?”
Mom smiled. “Her hair is silver, not blue. But yes, that’s Greta, and she’s going to be losing that hair soon.”
“Cancer?”
“I’m afraid so. She started treatment a few weeks ago. She’s keeping it quiet.”
“How can I help?”
