On the other hand, Jill had let the stress of her day tarnish any worthwhile conversation they could have had. Nothing new there, she thought. She’d had many first or second dates ruined because she could never fully let go once she left the office. Success was front and center in her mind and dating always seemed to get in the way. Dating also meant opening herself up to someone, and that was an even bigger struggle than letting go. Occasional loneliness prevailed when she compared it to showing emotions.

Before she could run through the entire list of her faults, she placed her glass on the coffee table and reached for her work bag. When she pulled out her laptop, the business card her mother had given her earlier fell onto the couch. The top corner had the initials TMG which stood for Taylor Murphy Group. The card was for Gwen Taylor, the co-owner and executive chef. She put a reminder in her phone for the meeting on Tuesday morning. Tossing the card back in the bag, she lifted her feet onto the coffee table and opened her laptop. It was time for a long night of work. And wine.

Reagan opened the door to the comforting scent of pot roast. After her late lunch, she thought she wouldn’t be hungry for dinner, but her mother’s cooking would make anyone’s mouth water. Loud laughter came from her dad’s room, and she set her wallet and keys on the counter before following the sound.

She found her dad out of bed, a rare sight these days, and sitting in the chair she or her mom normally occupied. Her mom sat in the chair opposite, smiling at him as they chatted and played rummy.

Reagan knocked on the door frame. “Need another?”

Her dad’s eyes softened and he smiled. “Always. Grab a seat. Have a good lunch?”

She took the ottoman her mom wasn’t using and slid in between the two chairs. “It sure was something. Deal me in and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Her mom shuffled the cards and dealt them out before settling in her seat and crossing one leg over the other. “What happened?”

As they played, Reagan recounted everything that had happened at lunch—the hostility, snide comments and eventual silence.

“Sounds like an ugly woman if you ask me,” her mom said as she laid three sevens on the table.

“Not on the outside,” Reagan mumbled.

“Excuse me?”

Reagan cleared her throat. “I mean, her personality and manners need a little work. Okay, a lot of work. But it wasn’t a bad view from my side of the table, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Ahhh,” her dad replied with a grin. “You liked her, didn’t you?”

Reagan blushed. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Sure, dear,” her mom said as she patted her knee. “Did you at least get her number?”