Free Dreamer (The Seeker Series Book 2) by Amy Reece Page A

top-to-bottom housecleaning torture my grandmother had devised years earlier, my mom dropped a small bomb of her own.
    “Oh, by the way,” she said with studied casualness, “I’m having a friend over for dinner this evening. I would appreciate if you were both here and on your best behavior.” She didn’t even look up from her chore list.
    Grams and I met each other’s surprised gaze, which quickly morphed into evil grins. “So, we finally get to meet your boyfriend, Mom? It’s about time,” I said.
    “Yes, Jen. I was beginning to think you had invented him,” Grams said breezily.
    “Or maybe,” my mother said as she ripped off the list of chores and handed them to each of us, “I wanted to make sure I was serious about him before inflicting you two on the poor man. Don’t embarrass me tonight.” She pinned each of us with a sharp look that probably scared the crap out of the little kids at the school where she was the principal.
    Grams and I howled with laughter as Mom gathered her list and left the room.
    “Well, Grams, as tempting as it is to devise ways to have fun at her expense tonight, I really think we should be on our best behavior. She’s never brought a guy home before and we don’t want to scare him away.” I looked at her sternly. “So, no wigs, tea parties, or anything else weird. I need you to be normal, or whatever passes for normal around here, all right?”
    “Fine. Spoilsport,” she muttered.
    “Grams, did she really say she was serious about this guy? I don’t know what I think about this. Have you seen him yet?”
    “Nope. She’s been keeping him on the DL for sure.” Only my grandmother could pull off such a comment. “I’m going to go pump her for some more info so I can cyber-stalk him before he gets here.”
     
    ***
     
    When the doorbell rang promptly at 6 p.m., Grams and I were in place, both looking normal, but armed with the 411, as Grams put it, on one Brian Keller, 20-year decorated veteran homicide detective with the Albuquerque Police Department. I think she was actually disappointed not to find anything juicy about him.
    Mom led him into the living room to meet us and I had to hand it to her: he was pretty cute for an older guy. He looked to be somewhere near 40, but I have to admit I’m not good with ages of people older than about 25. They all kind of look generic middle-aged. He was a lot taller than my mom and had light brown hair with a hint of gray around the temples. He had bright blue eyes that crinkled at the edges when he smiled, like maybe he knew how to laugh. For his sake I hoped so, since his day job was dealing with murderers. He shook hands with both Grams and I, looking us in the eye and not seeming awkward or stand-offish. So far, so good. He seemed nice and I got decent vibes from him, so I relaxed and decided to see how the rest of the evening went. Mom had prepared a great dinner of her signature pasta Puttanesca, making a special dish of it for me without the anchovies, capers, or olives, all of which are disgusting and which pretty much left tomatoes and garlic, but Brian seemed to be enjoying it.
    “This is delicious, Jennifer. What’s it called?” he asked. It was strange to hear someone call my mom ‘Jennifer.’ Everyone else called her Jen.
    “It’s called Puttanesca,” Grams jumped in, “which means ‘streetwalker.’” She watched him carefully for a reaction. “One story goes that the ladies of the evening would put it on their window sills to entice clients in with the smell.”
    “My favorite story is the one where the ‘ladies’ would fix it after a busy night at work to replenish their energy. Carb-loading, you know?” I added.
    Brian smiled and said, “Well, it would definitely entice me. I don’t think I’ll even attempt to address your story, Ally.”
    Grams and I both laughed. Mom rolled her eyes. “What did I say about not embarrassing me? Honestly, you two!”
    “So, Ally, your mom says you’re a