“It’s a little dressy for work,” replied her mom. She sorted through the dresses on the other side of the rack. They’d made a day trip out of shopping and a movie. The romantic comedy was fun, and something she’d never get Owen to watch. He preferred action flicks, so they compromised and watched Marvel movies together. Watching muscle-packed superheroes was waaaaay more fun when cuddled up to a muscle-packed man.
Bree laid the dress across her front, looking down as she swished the hem side to side. “It’s not for work; it’s for a date.” They’d have to take Owen’s SUV if she was in this dress. Strike one. But his eyes would pop out if she showed up in this. She tucked it over her arm and kept looking.
“A date? With whom?”
Bree’s head came up and she panicked. She was in violation of the kiss pact, had been for almost a month. Geez, had it been that long? Time flew by. “His name’s Owen. He’s, uh, new in town.” Anything under a year was considered new, right?
Mom’s hand went to her rounded hip. “The football player?”
“Yeah, that’s him.” Bree ripped through the clothing on that rack and hopped to the next.
“He’s the guy who bit off Michelle’s head at the grocery store.”
Bree paused, her hand gripping a plastic hanger. Michelle was a standing member in Mom’s Bunko group. If anything happened in Schulenburg, she knew about it, and she made a point of making sure the Bunko club knew about it too.
Bree thought back to that day she’d invited herself on Owen’s church tour. Michelle hadn’t said much to her in line—had she said something to Owen?
“I didn’t hear about that.” Bree released the hanger and grabbed her glasses off her face so she could clean them. Not that they needed cleaning, but she needed to look like she wasn’t worried. Because she was very worried. Owen wasn’t exactly Mr. Social. She didn’t mind his Lone Ranger ways—preferred them, actually. Others didn’t understand, though, and he came across as surly or even rude.
“She broke down in tears and he didn’t even look back.”
“Maybe it was someone else?” One could only hope there were several football players lurking about Schulenburg.
Mom’s lips thinned into a straight line.
Bree returned her glasses to her face. She picked up another dress, feigning lack of interest in her mother’s concerns. That was always a good idea. Moms love it when their kids pretend they didn’t just say something completely profound. She lifted a black shirt with a soft lace overlay into the air. This is what she wanted to wear. The shirt had an edge while still being feminine and soft. The edge was the best part, though. She added it to her growing pile.
“When’s the date?” asked Mom with a sigh. She picked up Bree’s avoidance tactic and stared much too long at a shirt that was much too ugly to consider.
“Friday.”
Mom lifted her chin and looked down her nose at the shirt. “Think he’ll kiss you?”
Bree’s stomach twisted. “Probably.” She hated lying to her mother, hated it as much as she would have hated eating one of the plastic hangers. What option did she have? She could tell the truth and earn the wrath of a broken kiss pact, or she could ease her mother into Owen’s acquaintance—and vice versa—and pray that they got along like long-lost besties.
“Well, then.” Mom shook out a shirt as if it were covered in wrinkles. “I guess this means dinner at my house on Sunday.”
“What about Michelle?” She lived on their street and had a penchant for looking out her front window—with binoculars. Bree groaned inside. No wonder Michelle told Mom about Owen at the grocery store. Mom probably knew about the motorcycle dates too.
Mom shrugged. “Everyone has a bad day now and then. Besides, if I judged everyone off of Michelle’s stories, I wouldn’t be on speaking terms with half of Schulenburg.”
The heaviness that had followed Bree into the conversation lifted. What did she have to worry about, really? Her mom was the best person she knew: kind, loving, responsible. It wouldn’t take longer than a snap for her to see how wonderful Owen was on the inside. He was protective and soft and contemplative and deep. He was a hard worker. And he kissed her like she was the last woman he ever wanted to kiss.
“Thanks, Mom. I’ll ask him to come.” Bree hesitated. Owen wanted to keep their relationship between them and them alone for as long as possible. “Mom, don’t be offended if he doesn’t come, okay? He’s … private.”
“Is it the fame thing? He thinks I’ll sell his secrets to a gossip columnist?”
Bree laughed unsteadily. Maybe. “I don’t know. I just know he’s cautious about meeting people.”
“He met you.”
“I’m as threatening as a church mouse.” Bree held up her hands to stem the you’re-strong-and-beautiful lecture. “I’m only telling you because I don’t want you to get your hopes up and then be disappointed.”
Mom hooked her arm around Bree’s side. “The only way he could disappoint me was if he hurt you. If he makes you happy, then I am happy.”
Bree smiled. “Thanks.”
That might be all fine and good for Mom, but Bree wouldn’t be truly happy until the two people in her life got along swimmingly. She needed her mom and wanted her to be a part of her life—all parts. And she liked Owen—a lot. So putting the two of them together made the most sense. Then she wouldn’t have to choose between lying to her mother and spending time with her boyfriend any longer.