Wanted: The Perfect Mom. T. McClure R.

make her a drink.”

      “She’s a simple woman, Holly. Just make her a double shot skinny vanilla latte. And don’t think I didn’t notice—you’re trying to get rid of me already. But I think I’ll enjoy the ambience of your little coffee shop before I head back. Valerie won’t be up for another hour, at least.”

      “Who’s watching the baby?”

      “Dad.”

      Grinning at Chris calling his stylish wife a “simple woman,” Holly set the cup on the counter. “One skinny amaretto latte, affogato style.” At the same time she wondered how her brother had persuaded her busy father to babysit.

      Chris reached for the cup, eyebrows raised. “Nice, sis.” He sipped the frothy drink. “Good job. Thank you.”

      Holly flashed her brother a smile and breathed a sigh of relief. Chris had traveled as much as she. His approval was a good sign.

      Chris wrapped his fingers around the brown mug and took another sip. “So, Mom, what do you suggest we do to get Holly out of her rut?”

      “Oh, for goodness’ sake...” Holly muttered, reaching for the peach tea bags.

      “It would be nice if you had a date with some young man but that doesn’t seem to be happening.” Rose sprayed the front of the display case with glass cleaner. Ripping off some paper towels, she attacked the glass.

      “Whatever happened to Nick?” Chris asked.

      Pouring milk into the pitcher, Holly glanced at her brother. “I told—”

      “He was such a nice man,” her mother continued as if Holly hadn’t spoken. “Polite and so handsome in his uniform.” She turned back to the display case and spritzed the other side.

      Chris strolled toward the bookshelves, his voice rising as he walked away. “I don’t think he tripped Holly’s trigger, Mom.”

      “Hel-lo-o. I’m standing right here.” Holly lifted the milk to the steamer wand and soon the burbling filled the room. Nick. He had looked good in his dress blues. Great build, dark brown hair, brown eyes, flashing white teeth. He could have posed for a recruitment poster. They both could have, which was the root of the problem. Nick wanted a military wife. Too bad she didn’t realize the truth until she had invested four years of her life. Men and their motives.

      “Maybe she can go shopping with Valerie while you’re home,” her mom said. “All she wears are air force T-shirts.”

      “All I need are air force T-shirts.” The burbling ceased as she pulled the milk pitcher from the wand.

      “My point exactly.”

      Annoyed at the ongoing discussion of her personal life, Holly ripped open the box and tea bags flew across the counter and landed in the sink. Throwing the destroyed box in the trash, she shot her mother a look. “Mother, stop. I don’t need fun. I don’t need dates. I don’t need clothes. I need to stay in business so Dad can’t walk in here and say ‘I told you so.’”

      Her mother stood openmouthed in front of the pastry case, paper towels in one hand and spray bottle in the other. Her brother leaned on the end of the counter, staring into his coffee mug.

      “Methinks she doth protest too much,” Rose said and disappeared into the kitchen.

      Gathering up the scattered tea bags, Holly added six to a pitcher of hot water and set the timer, irritation prickling between her shoulder blades. Maybe she shouldn’t have returned home. All this familiarity was getting on her nerves.

      Between her confusing reaction to having Mac’s hands around her wrists, her father’s lack of enthusiasm and her mother’s insistence that she have fun, Holly had had about all she could take.

      She reached for the nonfat milk for Valerie’s skinny latte. The sooner Chris went on his way, the better. Then her mother wouldn’t have anyone with whom to discuss Holly’s private life.

      Holly pumped sugar-free vanilla into the cup, pulled two shots of espresso and added the milk, steamed extra hot to survive the short trip home. “One double shot skinny sugar-free vanilla latte, extra hot, brother.” She set the cup in the center of the counter and smiled.

      “Okay, I’m leaving.” Chris waved a paperback novel in the air. “Borrowing.”

      “Bye.” Holly threw the bar towel on the counter and shook her head.

      Chris opened the door, then turned and threw her a sympathetic grin. “Hang in there, sis. You’ll be fine.”

CHAPTER SIX

      ON MEMORIAL DAY, Holly closed the shop at noon. It’s fine, she told herself, everyone’s having picnics or spending the weekend at the lake.

      Heading for her own family picnic, she shoved some stale cookies into a tin, hurried home and changed into a pair of old shorts and an air force T-shirt. Then she loaded her mother’s cooler packed with salads into the trunk of her tiny sports car.

      “Ready, Mom?” Holly stood at the kitchen door of the bed-and-breakfast. One thing about her mother: she didn’t hold grudges. Their earlier disagreement was forgotten as they gathered supplies for the afternoon picnic at the farm.

      Rose glanced around the kitchen and held up one finger. “Let me grab a book, in case I get a minute to myself.”

      Holly went out to the wide back porch and sank onto the swing. Bright green tufts of lettuce grew in her mother’s kitchen garden, along with a few shoots of just emerging onions. Brilliant pink peonies, blossoming in full glory, lined the paved walk leading to the gazebo in the far corner of the yard. Holly breathed in their heady scent.

      Book under her arm, Rose pulled the kitchen door shut and wiggled the knob to make sure it was locked. A bag of potato chips dangled from her fingers.

      “More chips?” Holly rose from the swing.

      “I had an extra bag. Those boys eat like vultures.”

      “The backyard looks nice, Mom.” Holly opened her car door and sank into the driver’s seat. Her mother placed the chips on the floor and then, holding tightly to the handgrip, lowered herself onto the passenger seat.

      “Thanks, honey. The gazebo your father built adds a nice touch. He’s working on a covered bridge for the little stream out back. That man works too hard.”