My nosy ex started to ask, “And are you and Reno—”
“We’re lovers,” Jack informed him, raising his chin defiantly, as if he was daring Ford to question it. He was barely five-foot-nine to Ford’s six-one, but he held himself like a king indulging a peasant with the pleasure of his company. God, I loved his bravado. If he found anything even remotely intimidating about Ford, he sure as hell wasn’t showing it.
“Anyway,” I cut in, “as you can see, my mom is fine. Now I’m sure you have important doctor business to get to, like a round of golf or a three-martini lunch at the club.” I turned to Jack and added, “Ford’s a plastic surgeon, so it’s not like he needs to get back to work saving lives or anything.”
Only then did Ford even acknowledge I was in the room. His ice-blue eyes narrowed just a little as he turned his gaze to me and said, “Hello, Reno. You’re looking well.”
“I know.” If he thought I was going to pay him a compliment in return, he was dead wrong.
My mom cut in with, “Why don’t you join us for lunch, Ford? Reno went to Martino’s, and it looks like he bought enough for ten people. I know how much you love their potato salad.”
Oh, fuck no. I tried to keep my expression neutral because I didn’t want to piss off my mother, but if he agreed to stay I’d have to leave. I just couldn’t do this right now.
Before my ex could reply, Jack circled the table and cuddled up to me, and I put a protective arm around his shoulders. He was probably just doing that for show, but then again this all had to be incredibly uncomfortable for him, so maybe he really did want a little reassurance.
The muscles in Ford’s square jaw tightened, but only for a moment. Then he smiled at my mom and said, “Thanks for the offer, Mandy, but I need to get going. I’m meeting a client at the clinic in half an hour. Poor dear lost both of her breasts to cancer, so I’m helping her regain some of her confidence through the use of implants.”
Oh, nice try, Ford. Way to make it sound like his job was all about doing god’s work. I asked, “Did you have to special order a believable size? I know most of your clients go for the double-Ds at a minimum, or as I like to call them, the trophy wife special.”
“Be kind, Adriano.” That was from my mom, who shot me a warning look.
Ford said, “Anyway, I’m off. Mandy darling, call me if you need anything at all. Reno, good to see you. And Jack, it was a pleasure meeting you.” Then he turned to Romy, who’d been watching all of this with a frown, and asked, “Will you walk me out, kiddo?”
When the two of them left the kitchen, I sat down and exhaled slowly, and Jack sat beside me. “Sorry,” I whispered, so Ford wouldn’t overhear us from the other room. “I had no idea we’d be running into my ex today, and I know that was awkward.”
“It was fucking hilarious,” Jack whispered in reply, while my mom took a pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator. “What a complete tool. ‘I’m Doctor Stanford Whatever.’ And then it turns out he’s a plastic surgeon! I mean, I guess I get what you saw in him since he’s conventionally handsome, but I don’t think I’ve ever instantly disliked a person quite that much.” I loved the way he sprinkled the word “conventionally” in there. No way was he going to pay my ex an out-and-out compliment.
I teased him with, “Maybe you’re jealous,” which earned me a scowl.
Romy returned to the kitchen a minute later, and as he grabbed some silverware he said, “You should really make the time to talk to Ford, bro. I know you’re with Jack now, but there’s no reason you and your ex can’t be friends.”
There waseveryreason we couldn’t be friends, starting with the fact that we were completely toxic together. But I didn’t want to get into that right now, so I told him I’d think about it.
As soon as we all sat down at the table, my mother flashed me a hopeful smile and asked, “So, where did you and Jack meet?”
I answered truthfully. “In a bar.” Then I redirected the conversation with, “What’s new with you, Mom? You’ve been so busy the last couple of times I’ve called that we’ve barely had a chance to catch up.”
Romy answered for her. “She’s dating someone. His name’s Chet, and he’s really nice.”
My first thought wasoh no, because this never ended well. But I said, “Oh yeah? Tell me about him.”
Over lunch, I discovered that Chet was forty-eight (so, fifteen years younger than my mom, not that I was judging…much), an artist (red flag—that usually was a code word for unemployed), and divorced. When I pressed, I discovered he’d actually been divorced three times. Fucking hell.
“Please be careful,” I told her. “I know you have a tendency to jump in with both feet, and I really don’t want you to get hurt.” She actually sighed at that, as if her track record proved me wrong somehow.
Toward the end of the meal, I brought up a topic I knew would go over like a lead balloon. I chose my words carefully as I turned to my mom and said, “Even though the bar’s going to be put back together by this afternoon, I’d feel a lot better if it remained closed for a few days—just until I get this situation under control.”
“I can’t do that,” she said. “My regulars depend on me. For some of them, it’s all they have, and they count on me to be there. I can’t turn my back on them.”
“But if it’s not safe for you—”
“It is, though,” she insisted. “You have people watching the place, and like I said, that Greco fellow already sent his message. Why would he do it again?”
“I don’t know. Nothing he does is predictable.”
“Also, those men didn’t target me or any of my customers. They just broke stuff. If they actually wanted to hurt me, they could have done that easily, but it wasn’t their objective,” she said.
That wasn’t reassuring. I tried a few more arguments, but of course it ended exactly like I’d thought it would—with my mom digging in her heels and being stubborn. Finally, I just had to let it go, and trust that my teams of armed guards would keep her safe.