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Am I being punked? Are there reality TV cameras around?
First, my friends have become a couple. Now my son and my I-don’t-yet-know-what-to-call-him know each other?
Reagan frowns at me. “Mr. Evan is the surfing instructor at the camp. I told you all about him on the plane.”
What is it with everyone chastising me for not listening? To be fair, I was only half listening on the plane. Of course, I don’t know if “Mr. Wilcox” would’ve even registered as “Evan” if I’d been paying full attention.
“Hold on a minute.” Evan’s gaze ping-pongs between Reagan and me. “Reagan is your son?” He turns to Reagan. “Brooklyn is your mom?”
Reagan looks at him with his own super-confused expression. “How do you two know each other?”
How do I answer that without using words like “vacation fling,” “hookup,” and “orgasms?” I’ve never brought a guy home or even talked to Reagan about the possibility of my dating someone, so this is completely new territory for me. How would he react if he learned that his “Mr. Evan” and I have been engaged in something with no labels? Not to mention, we still are in the “no label” territory, as I have no idea what Evan is doing here.
“Your mom was my neighbor during her vacation,” Evan says, and I’m so grateful I could kiss him. Except that would shock Reagan even more, so I just nod and throw my friends a pleading look.
“Ice cream,” Jolene says immediately. “Who wants to go get some?”
Mr. Goobers wags his tail for all his shaggy fur is worth.
“Not you.” Jolene wipes off the soap his tail sprayed her way. “You’re getting poodled. But I will give you peanut butter when we get home.”
Reagan looks at me pleadingly. “Can I go too?”
“Sure, but I have to stay here, so it will just be with Aunts Dorothy and Jolene,” I say magnanimously.
“Okay.” Reagan grins. “Can I have five scoops?”
It’s like he knows he’s got leverage. “Four, but not chocolate, tiramisu, or any other flavor that has caffeine in it.” This last bit is more for my friends’ benefit than Reagan’s.
“Deal,” Reagan says eagerly, making me think his first offer was a negotiating tactic for four scoops all along.
Definitely a lawyer to be.
“Let’s go.” Jolene grabs Reagan’s right hand and Dorothy his left—and he lets them. If I’d done it, he’d stomp his foot and remind me that he’s not a little kid anymore.
Just as they’re about to walk out, Reagan turns to me and grins mischievously. “Bye, Mom. Have fun talking to your boyfriend.”
My mouth falls open, and I want to sink through the floor. It doesn’t help that Jolene cackles like an evil villain, and Dorothy snorts like a horny deer.
Fortunately, the two of them get my son out of the salon before I have to think of a reply.
When the door closes, it occurs to me that if I can get past the embarrassment of what has just happened, there is a bright side. The way Reagan called Evan my boyfriend was so casually teasing that it’s unlikely he minds the idea of us dating. Maybe he even approves of it.
Not that we’re dating. We’re still in the no-labels territory. Or worse, broken up. Except… he’s here.
Why is he here?
Before I can ask, Evan closes the remaining distance between us. “I still can’t believe it,” he says, shaking his head. “Reagan was my favorite student at the camp, and he’s your son.”
I rub my throbbing temples. “Don’t try to change the subject.”
Evan blinks at me. “What subject?”
Ah. Right. Just because I’m thinking a question so loudly in my head doesn’t mean that Evan can hear it. “What are you doing here?”
“Hold that thought.” Evan walks over to my boss, says something I can’t hear, then pulls out his wallet and hands over a few bills. Returning, he gestures at the door. “Let’s go.”
It’s my turn to blink. “What did you do?”
