Gin Fling (Bootleg Springs, #5)(40)

Mom stopped in front of Yee Haw Yarn and Coffee and peered through the window. “I’m just happy that you’re happy. Whatever it is. This town.” She nodded and said a polite hello to the third person who’d greeted her by name on our walk. “Getting to know your siblings, potentially having protected but expectation-free sex with Shelby. I like seeing you happy.”

“You make it sound like I was miserable at home.”

“You were grieving. And forgive me for saying so, but part of me wasn’t sure if you were grieving Rene or the life you thought you’d have with her.”

Was there a difference? Could you love someone and not be attached to how they fit into your life?

“Let’s go hit up Moo-Shine and change the subject,” I suggested, pointing in the direction of the popular ice cream shop.

“Please tell me they don’t put alcohol in their ice cream,” Mom croaked. “I don’t think I can handle any more alcohol in my bloodstream for at least another hour or two.”

“I’m sure you can order a virgin butter pecan,” I teased. “Now, let’s talk about your dating life.”

“Ugh. Don’t even get me started. Have you heard of Tinder?”

“Oh my god, Mom!” I was mildly horrified.

“What I’m looking for is a divorcé with a bunch of grown kids who will give me grandbabies, but all I get are men sending me below-the-belt selfies.”

I made an urgent mental note to steal my mother’s phone and delete the app just in case she was telling the truth and not just trying to get a rise out of me.

“You always wanted a big family,” I said, ignoring the bait.

“Instead I had to settle for my one perfect boy,” she said, tucking her arm around my waist.

It was an old routine, but this was the first time I heard the wistfulness in her tone.

Moo-Shine’s Ice Cream and Cheese shop was a free-standing building tucked into a copse of trees on one end of Main Street. It had the requisite red-and-white striped ice cream shop awning as well as a collection of picnic tables clustered under the pine trees. There were walk-up windows for warm weather orders on the side. Inside, the floors were black and white tile, the tables were round and red, and the ice cream and cheese selection was unbeatable.

“Ooh. Cheese,” my mom cooed, peering into the case.

“We can get some to go,” I promised her. “But first, ice cream.”

We ordered. Chocolate frozen yogurt for me and Blue Moon with sprinkles for her.

The shop was crowded with residents and summertimers, so we headed back outside and snagged a table.

“Hey, Jonah. Hey, Jenny,” EmmaLeigh, pretty and perky, said with a wave as she hustled her four kids through the ice cream shop’s doors.

“How does everyone know my name?” Mom asked. “I haven’t even been here twenty-four hours yet.”

“Give them another twenty-four hours, and they’ll have a complete dossier on your life since birth,” I teased.

“I’m going to grab a water. Do you want one?” she offered, getting up from the table.

“Sure, thanks.”

She went inside, and I gave my full attention to my yogurt.

My phone chimed in my pocket. A text from Shelby.

Shelby: Nap complete.





Me: Feeling better?





Shelby: Still sore, but a lot better than last night. I think this is a mild flare. According to my research, I should be feeling significantly better soon.





I hesitated to respond. I liked that she was discussing her diagnosis with me and wanted her to feel safe enough to continue to do so. But I also didn’t want to move us into intimate territory before we were ready.

Me: Good. Do me a favor?





Shelby: Sure!





Me: Tell your rheumatologist you’re signed up for a triathlon.





And cue the crickets. I waited a minute, noting my mom was holding the front door of the shop open for a man. Jimmy Bob Prosser, hardware store owner and flannel connoisseur.

Me: Stop pouting. Just ask him or her if they have any specific advice on how to proceed with training.





Shelby: Fine.





She included an annoyed emoji.

Me: Jimmy Bob Prosser is putting the moves on my mother.





Shelby: Which Bootleg eligible bachelor is he? Oh no. He’s not the one with the taxidermy hobby, is he?





Me: No. Thank God. JBP owns the hardware store.





Shelby: Oh! He’s very handsome. I approve this match.





Me: He’s also Misty Lynn’s father.





Shelby: We don’t know for sure if that’s a nature or nurture problem. He could still be a nice stepfather for you. What’s their body language saying?





Me: What would body language say?





There was another minute of silence from Shelby while I watched Mom laugh at something Jimmy Bob said to her.

Shelby: Uh-oh. George needs me at his and June’s place. Some kind of emergency. Keep me posted.