“It’s wonderful to see you make an effort,” I chime in, “but I only wonder, why? Not for our meeting, surely.”

They glance at each other uncertainly.

“Well, my clean-up is just a coincidence. But they heard your mom’s in town, didn’t they?” Wade says, looking sheepish.

“What?” I demand, aghast. “You aim to try flirty business with my mom?”

“We only want to look nice, in case she comes by. That’s all,” Christie says.

“I’m trying flirty business,” Roy corrects. “Grady won’t mind me getting your mom a nightie. She doesn’t work here, so it’s not inappropriate. See? I remember the rules.” He taps his forehead proudly.

“It’s still inappropriate.” I groan. “Et tu, Christie?”

“I always make an effort, Marnie,” he reminds me. “She’s your mom. You’re getting a second chance with her. I wanted to look nice, so she feels comfortable with us.”

“She ain’t gonna feel comfortable with our freaking Hells Angel over here,” Wade quips, turning to Roy. “You damn numpty.”

“I thought a redheaded hair stylist might like flair,” Roy defends. “It gives me an edge.”

“The only edge you’ll see is the one she pushes you over,” Wade chuckles. “Marnie, I apologize on their behalf. It was a dumb idea. Not our first. Won’t be our last.”

I huff out a sigh, holding back my laughter. I take a quick picture of them and text it to Grady with the caption: The fellas found out Mom is in town.

He texts back a minute later. Fuckheads. I’ll swing by at lunch. I don’t want to miss that shitshow.

A warm smile emerges. I hoped he might join us to tour Wade’s available trailers. I have time at my little cottage, but Mom and Tilly need something sooner.

Now, I stare down my three friends, still shaking my head over their brazen efforts. “Well, gentlemen, maybe it’s your lucky day. Mom’s dropping by at lunch. She wants to see what’s available to rent.” I hold a finger up and put on my best stern face. “But the last time a guy flirted with her in a way she didn’t like, he ended up with a broken penis.”

“What? That’s not a thing,” Roy argues, jolting up in his chair.

“I’ve heard of it,” Christie nods solemnly. “Male gymnasts get it when they fall wrong on the pommel horse.”

“That’s right,” I agree, though I’m clueless, and Mom’s not violent. But they don’t need to know that. “He had to go to the hospital. Ice and heat for weeks.”

“Dang, what’d he say to her?” Roy asks, wide-eyed.

“Don’t know, but I wouldn’t want to find out the hard way.”

They wince simultaneously. I hide my inner smile—I doubt they will risk flirting now.