‘It’s a little bit tougher out there nowadays than it was when we were that age.’ Besides, she didn’t wrap her kids in cotton wool—she would if she could, but hers were too independent. One had jumped feet first into a relationship and became a single mum and another was happiest flitting around the damn globe. God only knew what grey hairs Chloe was going to add in the coming years.
‘It’s all comparable. Everyone’s just gone too soft. It’s no tougher than it used to be.’
She was no statistician, but she was fairly sure that wasn’t entirely true. ‘I actually don’t mind having my children and grandchild living back home. I like the company.’ It was nice to have the empty rooms filled with the daily sounds of family life once more.
‘I downsized the house so that wouldn’t happen,’ Derrick said dismissively. ‘So, classical music?’ he continued, leaningback in his chair and eyeing her over the top of the wine glass as he swirled it idly.
‘Sorry?’ She was still processing his authoritarian parenting practices.
‘You mentioned in your profile that you enjoyed classical music.’
She had? Why on earth would her profile say that? Her kids knew for a fact she only listened to eighties music and a bit of nineties country. Obviously this was all part of Operation: Give Mum a Makeover. ‘That was a mistake. It was meant to be … well, to be honest, anything else.’
He frowned. ‘So youdon’tlike classical music?’
‘Not particularly, no.’
‘Oh,’ he said, sounding far more disappointed by the idea than she thought he should be. ‘There’s a concert coming up in the park. I was thinking that would have been a nice next date.’
‘You didn’t even know ifthisdate was going to work out and you were planning the second one?’
‘Well, your profile had sounded promising,’ he said, clearing his throat.
‘Do you do this often? Meet people on the app?’
‘When there’s anyone interesting on there. It’s sometimes difficult to find women of a certain … standard.’ He sipped his wine.
‘Standard?’
‘Sadly, the majority of these apps are designed to find a quick hook-up.’
‘Oh. I see.’
‘You will,’ he assured her blandly. ‘If you spend enough time on there, you’ll understand.’
‘Yes. Well. I don’t intend to be spending much time on there.’
‘That’s what I keep telling myself, too.’
‘Are you ready to order?’ a tall blonde asked, coming to a stop beside their table.
Jenny looked up and smiled, vaguely recognising the face but unable to put a name to it. The waitress appeared to be around the same age as her two eldest girls and she suspected that’s where she knew her from. Yes, she wanted to order—the faster they got through their meal the sooner she could get back home again. She picked up the menu, scanning the items quickly. She found herself quietly impressed. This was a huge step up from the rather bland pub food that had been on offer previously. ‘I’ll have the bacon-wrapped pork tenderloin, thanks.’
‘Is the barramundi fresh?’ Derrick asked, without lifting his gaze from the menu.
‘It is. We have it delivered daily.’
‘That’s what they all claim,’ he said curtly, and Jenny narrowed her eyes slightly at his tone. ‘I’ll have the cacciatore,’ he finally decided, but held on to the menu as the waitress reached out to take it. ‘Is it freshly cooked?’
‘Any fresher and the chicken would still be clucking,’ the blonde answered with a straight face.
‘That will be all,’ Derrick said dismissively without so much as cracking a smile.
Jenny chuckled and the waitress smiled as she collected the menus and sauntered away.
‘You’d be surprised how many so-called restaurants use frozen meals.’
‘Well, I heard they’d gone to a lot of trouble to employ the new chef, so I’m sure they cook everything on site.’
