Not My Romeo (The Game Changers #1)(65)

“Huh. Fawn, you say? I’ll have to tell her you said that.” She sniffs, arms crossed.

Well.

Shit.

How could I forget that Ms. Clark is her freaking niece?

In for a penny . . .

“Do that. Pass it along. Hate for her to be let down or embarrass herself.”

She huffs and marches off.

“You done and did it now. You let your temper out. She’ll tell her exactly what you said, probably embellish it.”

I blow at my hair. “Dammit.”

“Stop your cursing, Elena Michelle.” Mama appears next to me, giving me the once-over. “Nana’s clothes look good on you. Now, where are you going?”

“Nashville.”

“And?”

“Just a meeting for public librarians.” I hate lying—I do so much—and I shouldn’t even have come in, but I wanted my hair to be smart and savvy. Should have just done it myself.

She nods, seeming to accept that. “Saw Patrick having lunch with Laura at the diner yesterday. Looks like you’ve got some competition, dear. Maybe you should call him.”

“He’s not interested, Mama. I think it was the pink shoes at church.” I smile.

She harrumphs. “I knew it. You scared him off on purpose. But he is in that play with you. Just flirt a little—but not too much. You know, compliment his shirt or quote some verses—”

“Mama! I don’t even know any verses off the top of my head, and Laura is perfect for him. You should see them at rehearsals. They laugh and play with Timmy. They make a cute couple. Let it go.”

“Is she all over him? I knew it. That girl has always been pretty, and I know her husband dying was just awful—bless his heart—but I really thought Patrick liked you.”

“Mama, Laura is not a flirt. She’s one of the sweetest people I know.”

She sighs. “But Giselle is getting married, and now the engagement party is at your house—”

“Thanks to you.”

“And I just want you to be happy.”

“I am ecstatic.”

“And I know when you’re depressed. You get those bags under your eyes—”

“My eyes are fine—”

“And you get all secretive. Are you dating that football player? He’s practically a Yankee.”

“Ohio is the Midwest, Mama. He grew up in a small town. Definitely not a Yankee.”

“That’s worse. He’s a hayseed.”

“Mama! We live in Daisy. You can’t get much more rural than this.”

“And I read about all those women he dates.”

I sigh. “Don’t read stuff on the internet.”

“You didn’t answer me. Are you the girl he met on Valentine’s Day, the one you told Birdie about? Wasn’t that the date with the weatherman—or was it him?”

Dammit. She’s so close to the truth. Has Giselle or Preston told her?

I smile. “Mama, all this talking has made me parched. Can you grab me a Sun Drop?”

She huffs and turns to grab one of the sodas out of the old fridge behind her. She hands it over, and I twist the top off and suck it down. “Those things aren’t good for you. Too much sugar.”

“Hmm.” I figure as long as I’m drinking, I can’t answer her.

I’m saved by the mailman. Scotty waltzes in, wearing his smart blue-and-white uniform, a wad of packages and letters in his hands as he strides to the front, eyes all over Aunt Clara.

I bite back my grin as everyone in the place stills. He is a good-looking man, single, and owns a small farm on the outskirts of town. With sandy hair, hazel eyes, and an engaging grin, he’s muscular and fit too.

He’s one of Daisy’s most eligible bachelors, except he’s in love with my aunt.

“Mail,” he calls, and I’m glad Aunt Clara’s done with my hair because she practically sprints over to him. I take in the way she laughs up at him, the way his eyes heat as he stares down at her. Sadness tugs at me, and I chew on my lips. I want that. I want a man to gaze at me as if I hung the moon, as if one moment away from me is too much, as if he doesn’t ever want to walk away, as if he doesn’t need a piece of paper before trusting me . . .

“Scotty! What do you have for us today?” Aunt Clara smiles brightly up at him.

He blushes. “Oh, just some hair stuff. Want me to put the boxes in the back?”

Mama whispers, “That man is smitten.”

I start, wondering how much she really knows about the late-night visits and sexy times Aunt Clara tells me about. Not much, I bet. She wouldn’t approve.

Mama frowns at them as Aunt Clara leads the way to the storage room where they keep the hair products. I notice she shuts the door just enough that we can’t see them. Secret kissing, I bet.

I break the silence, hoping to divert Mama’s attention. “Mama, stop worrying about me, okay? I’m fine.”

She looks back at me, running her eyes over my hair, touching some of it. She smiles wistfully. “You can’t tell a mother that, dear. We always worry. You go have your meeting, and I’ll see you at Sunday lunch this week.”

I stand and take in my hair. Pretty. Soft. Not too uptight. I straighten my suit and look at Mama. I pull out a couple of twenties and leave them on Aunt Clara’s counter. She’ll try to give them back, but I always pay. I head to the door, and Mama follows me. She takes my arm before I can leave. “Elena, I’m sorry about suggesting your house for the engagement party. It just slipped out before I thought about it. That house stands for us and our family, you know, and I guess that’s just what I was thinking.”