What Happens Between Friends

“They did.”

“And because you wanted us to get to know her, since we’ll be working with her so closely at Bradford House.”

Rose added her delicate china sugar bowl—the one James and his brothers had bought for Mother’s Day a good twenty years ago to replace the one they’d broken during an impromptu, and ill-advised, indoor game of soccer—to a large serving tray. “I’m well aware of what I said.”

“You forgot to mention you were setting me up with her,” he said in a thoughtful, patient and completely reasonable tone. He was nothing if not a thoughtful, patient and reasonable man, damn it.

He stabbed another bite of cake.

“No one has set you up. All I did was invite Anne to the party for all the reasons I mentioned and you so helpfully repeated. If you two hit it off, great. If not...” She shrugged, though the look she shot him clearly said if he didn’t hit it off with Anne, he was an idiot. “No harm done, then.”

“You’re sneaky.”

“I prefer to think of it as multitasking. I help someone new to town feel welcome, introduce her to a few friends and possibly help you find your future wife.”

He set his empty plate aside. “Sneaky and scary.”

“Relax. No one’s forcing you to the altar. I’m just showing you an option.”

Thunder boomed and his sweet-natured dog, Zoe, a German shepherd/husky mix, whined and nudged the side of his leg. He patted her head, but kept his gaze on his mother. “Anyone ever tell you you’d make a hell of a used-car salesperson?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She set cups and saucers on the tray. “Why don’t you open a couple more bottles of wine and take them around to the guests? Make sure one is merlot.”

He went to the other side of the square island and searched through the well-stocked, built-in wine rack. Pulled out a bottle of merlot along with one of pinot blanc. “Don’t tell me, Anne prefers merlot.”

Beaming, Rose patted his cheek. “You always were a bright child.”

Bright enough to know arguing with his mother would do him no good. The best way to handle this was to grin and bear it.

He opened the bottle of white, set it aside to breathe. He didn’t have anything against Anne, or pretty brunettes in general. But he could, and often did, get his own dates. He didn’t need his mommy setting him up.

“Dad wants to know if the coffee’s ready,” James’s younger brother, Eddie, said as he came through the kitchen door.

“The regular is about done,” Rose said, “but the decaf is going to take a few minutes.”

Eddie grabbed a cup from the tray and reached for the pot. “He won’t know the difference.”

Rose slapped the back of his hand. “If you give him regular, he won’t sleep. And when your father doesn’t sleep, I don’t sleep. Mostly because he keeps me awake until the wee hours of the morning with all his tossing and turning. You’ll give him decaf or I’m sending him home with you and Max tonight.”

“No need for threats. I’ll give him decaf.” He turned to James. “Meg Simpson’s looking for you. Said she wants to discuss us doing an addition at their cottage on the lake next year.”

“She’ll have to wait,” he said mildly, lifting the merlot bottle. “I’m getting my future wife a drink.”

Eddie raised his dark eyebrows. Shorter than both James and their youngest brother, Leo, but broader through the shoulders, he had their father’s muscular build and their mother’s hazel eyes. “Future wife?”

Nodding, James pulled the cork from the merlot. “It’s all thanks to Mom. She got me a girl for my birthday.”

Rose shook her head. “Now, James. Really. A girl?”

“Sorry. Woman.”

Eddie helped himself to a strawberry from the fruit-and-cheese tray Rose was putting together. “She got me a watch for my last birthday.”

“Maybe she’ll get you your very own woman for Christmas,” James said.

Eddie gave one of his reticent shrugs. “A man can hope.”

“Meg Simpson wants to talk to you,” Leo told James as he came in carrying dirty dessert dishes.

“Yeah. I got that memo.”

Leo put the plates in the sink. “A customer wants to talk to you about doing a new job and you’re not racing out there with your handy schedule and charts and whatnot?” He studied each of them, his dark eyes narrowed. “Okay, what’s going on?”

“Mom got him a girl for his birthday,” Eddie said.

“Yeah?” Leo grinned, slow and wicked. “Which one?”

“Kloss’s new painter,” James said. “Tall brunette in a blue dress in the living room.”

Leo and Eddie exchanged a glance then both walked out only to return less than thirty seconds later. “She’s hot,” Leo said. “Excellent legs, nice ra—”

Rose slapped him upside the head.

“Shoes,” he amended quickly, holding his hand over the spot she’d slapped. He stepped out of range. “Really nice shoes. Good choice, Mom.”

“Thank you,” she said, pouring the regular coffee into an insulated carafe. “I’m glad one of my sons appreciates my efforts.”

“Guilt?” James asked. “That’s beneath you.”

Leo smiled, the same smile that had made fools of hundreds of women. Females. Always falling for a pretty face. “If he doesn’t want her, can I have her?”

“Absolutely not.” Rose turned to James. “My goodness, the way you’re acting, you’d think I bought you a Russian mail-order bride and had you legally wed without your knowledge. All I did was invite a lovely, interesting, nice woman to your party. Is that so wrong?” she cried with the dramatic flair he’d come to know and love.

Eddie pursed his lips and, as usual, wisely kept quiet. Leo rolled his eyes.

James showed his appreciation with quiet applause that had Zoe lifting her head, her tail wagging. “That was true Oscar material. Bravo.”

Leo snorted. “I’ve seen her do better. It was lacking something. It needed more...action. Drama. Maybe next time,” he told Rose, “thump your fist over your heart. Gnash your teeth. Rip at your hair. Don’t hold back.”

Rose gave him one of her patented disdainful sniffs. “Everyone’s a critic.”

“Hey, you know my motto—go big or go home.”

“I wish you’d go home,” James said with feeling. He turned to his mom. “And I wish you wouldn’t set me up, especially without asking first. Especially on my birthday,” he added.

Guilt may have been beneath his mom, but he wasn’t above using it himself.

Sometimes a man had to fight fire with fire.