He scowled. “Ma, this is a surprise.”
Velma shot him her best I-told-you-so look.
“If you called your mother more often, I wouldn’t have to surprise you,” Pam replied.
Brek had her blue eyes. They were as striking on her as on him.
He crossed his arms. “We had lunch together yesterday. You hungry?” He grabbed a piece of bacon from the plate. “Velma made pancakes and some French thing.”
“Quiche,” Velma corrected.
Speaking of… Velma checked the quiche and tugged on two kitchen mitts in the same pattern as her paisley apron.
“If you call it baked eggs, he’ll eat it.” Pam made herself comfortable on a barstool across the counter.
“I made baked eggs.” Velma held up the pie plate and beamed at Brek.
His eyes crinkled at the sides. “Mmm…eggs sound great. You know what goes great with eggs?” He waited a beat. “Coffee.”
“Drink more juice, Brek. Get that blood sugar up to get rid of the crabbies.” Velma set the quiche on a black metal trivet.
“I’d offer you coffee, Ma, but Velma threw it all out. Juice?”
“Juice would be lovely. Why on earth would you throw out the coffee?” Pam asked.
“She read a dissertation on the problems with caffeine,” Brek replied before Velma could answer. “Ma likes to learn stuff, too. You should tell her about it while I get dressed.”
He grabbed another slice of bacon and left.
“You want to hear about the article?” Velma asked Pam as she cut into the quiche and served up the pancakes.
“Not if it means I won’t like coffee afterward.” Pam smiled politely and sipped at her juice. “How is the roommate situation?”
“It’d be great if your son would wear pants more often.”
Pam snorted an incredibly unladylike sound. “He’s a work in progress, that boy.”
“Brek says you’re a matchmaker?” Velma asked.
“Indeed I am. Are you seeing anyone?” Pam tilted her head to the side, clearly assessing Velma’s potential as a mate for one of her studs. Velma had been through every online dating site, been on blind dates, regular dates, everything—but she had never tried a matchmaker.
“Ah, no. Not right now.” Velma pulled off her oven mitts and hung them on their hook beside the stove. “You know how hard it is to meet the right person.”
“Velma’s got a system, though. You’d be impressed.” Brek had tugged on some jeans and a formfitting black T-shirt with a skull on the back and what she assumed was the name of a band on the front.
“How does the match thing happen?” Velma moved her attention to Pam, away from Brek’s triceps.
Brek groaned and loaded up his plate. “Why’d you have to go and ask that?”
His mother sat taller. “It’s simple. I have a gut feeling when two people are meant to be together.” She glanced between Velma and Brek, her face going blank. “Always have. I made my first match when I was eight. I matched our golden retriever with the neighbor’s German shepherd. When I was in high school, I set up all my friends. I’ve been doing it ever since.”
The spiel was clearly well rehearsed.
“Ma’s got an excellent track record for getting couples engaged. Now, staying married? That’s a whole different story.”
“Hush. My job is to help them find each other. What they do after that is up to them.”
Velma topped off Pam’s juice.
