He considered himself a relatively easygoing guy who could handle any crisis, but she was starting to make him uncomfortable. What could she possibly want to tell him? Not that she was pregnant—they’d never been on a date, let alone slept together. He doubted she needed money. The store was successful and if she did need a loan, why would she come to him? While they knew a lot of the same people, they didn’t hang out together, so an issue with a mutual friend seemed unlikely.

“I saw your mother today.”

Jake held in a groan. Those five words always meant trouble and mostly for him.

Camryn met his gaze, her brown eyes filled with sympathy and concern. “She invited me to the house. I didn’t know why but hoped it was to buy custom wrapping paper. We can design nearly anything and have it printed. In fact, I have some ideas for custom paper for the resort. I’ve been playing with the logo and there are—”

“Camryn?”

She blinked. “Yes?”

“My mother.”

“Oh, right. That.” She swallowed and looked at him. “She wants to find you a wife. She had a plan. It’s called Project: Jake’s Bride. She’s interviewing women as potential candidates. Apparently, she’s done waiting for you to find someone on your own.”

He stood, then wasn’t sure what to do. Pace? Run? Shout? His mother had always been a meddler, but this was bad, even for her. Project: Jake’s Bride? Seriously? Seriously?

“She wants grandchildren,” Camryn added helpfully.

He sank back on the sofa and resisted the urge to rest his head in his hands. “She’s losing her mind.”

“I don’t think so. She’s very lucid and completely in control. I wasn’t sure if you knew.”

He stared at her. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, I can tell by the look on your face.”

“Horror and murderous rage?”

She smiled. “You’re not mad. Resigned, maybe. You love your mom, so you can’t hate her. But I get this isn’t ideal.”

Jake collapsed back against the sofa. “The woman is trying to find me a wife, Camryn. I think not ideal undersells the moment.”

He swore silently as he realized he had no idea what he was going to do about the problem. Telling his mother to back off was the equivalent of looking at the sky and discussing the weather. The exchange was frequently unsatisfying and ultimately futile.

“I’m shipping her off to Bali. She enjoys tropical weather. I’ll buy her a nice condo, supply a staff. She can take up painting. Like that painter.” He paused. “What’s his name? Oh, Paul Gauguin. But that was Tahiti, not Bali. Which is fine. They’re both beautiful this time of year.”

“What makes you think she’d agree to go?” Camryn asked. “Your mother seems highly invested in your personal life.”