Which was why he’d invited Caroline and Mrs. Riley to his favorite restaurant in Alexandria. Only yards from the harbor, it boasted an exceptional variety of fresh seafood dishes. While it didn’t have crystal chandeliers or a connoisseur’s wine cellar like the finer restaurants of Washington, he liked it here. The food was good, the atmosphere relaxed, and the picture window overlooking the harbor was spectacular.

Mrs. Riley seemed a little less than thrilled with the dining. She poked skeptically at her parmesan-crusted cod served over a bed of sautéed spinach and artichokes. “What a shame when cod is overcooked. It turns rubbery so quickly.” She went on to recount the time she had served pan-seared cod for a crowd of one hundred during election night. “The chef must always begin the sear with the skin-side down, then a quick finish on the other side with a splash of lemon. It will be perfect.”

Only a few months ago, Gray would have agreed with her. The cod was a little overcooked, but Mrs. Riley’s critical eye was a disappointment after Annabelle’s fresh enthusiasm for everything around her. Perhaps it would just take time to become comfortable with Mrs. Riley. She had high standards, but he did as well. He’d sunk a fortune into developing cold-press brewing for vanilla extract because of the slight difference in the flavor profile. He ought to appreciate Samantha Riley’s insistence on fine food.

He flagged down a waiter, gesturing him in close to speak quietly. “Let’s exchange the cod for three plates of lobster salad,” he whispered. He’d dined here enough to know that their lobster salad, with plenty of feta cheese and a rich oregano dressing, was always exceptional. He tried to be discreet, but Mrs. Riley noticed.

“My mother always said any establishment should be given two chances to make a good first impression, because none of us are perfect,” she said.

He raised a glass to her. “Here’s to your mother,” he said. “She sounds like a font of wisdom.”

“Ha! Maybe when she wasn’t tippling in the hayloft. Mother could outdrink a crew of sailors any day of the week.”

He met Caroline’s gaze with a quirk of his brow. Samantha Riley’s fussy palate wasn’t a problem, but jesting over the failings of her own mother before a virtual stranger was.

It turned out the lobster salad wasn’t to her taste either.

“Kalamata olives completely overwhelm the flavor of the lobster,” she said as she used her fork to delicately separate the olives and bits of bacon from the rest of the salad. “Lobster is such a delicate meat. It can’t be dumped in with this avalanche of flavors.” She shook her head in disappointment.

It was time to see if there was some way to salvage this disastrous dinner.