“She had a stomach ache.”
“I know that now. You could’ve called me when you left the zoo,” I said. Not that it would help now.
Mom stared at me like she wasn’t sure whether to scold me or check me for a head injury. “Who is she?”
I didn’t answer fast enough. Her eyes narrowed.
“Hunter,” she said in the tone that made my skin crawl. The tone she used when she wouldn’t back down until she got what she wanted. In this case, it was a name.
“I need you to go into Isla’s room,” I said instead.
“What?”
“Go into Isla’s room, close the door, and keep her busy for two minutes. Please. I’m begging you.”
She crossed her arms. “You want me to help you sneak a woman out of your condo?”
“Yes. I’m a grown man, and I don’t have to explain myself to my mother, but I do have to explain myself to my daughter. I’m not ready to do that yet. So please, just help me.”
She blinked. “Maybe it’s time Isla meets someone.”
“This is not how I introduce her to someone I’m seeing. She isn’t feeling well.”
“So you’re seeing her.” It wasn’t a question. I took a breath to gather my patience. “You brought her into your home when Isla could come back at any point.”
“I thought she was with you until dinner.”
Mom’s eyebrows lifted. “You’re getting snippy because you got caught.”
“I’m getting snippy because the woman in my bedroom is probably having a full-body panic attack, my daughter is fifteen feet away, and you’re choosing this moment to become a detective.”
“I have always been a detective. You simply used to be better at hiding things.”
Before I could respond, Isla called from her room.
“Grandma?”
My mother pointed a finger at me. “We’re not done.”
“Good. Great. Wonderful. Please go to Isla and keep her bedroom door closed.”
She walked toward Isla’s room, muttering under her breath. “My son. Thirty-three years old. Acting like a teenager with abs.”
She disappeared into Isla’s room and shut the door. I grabbed the two waters and moved down the hall as quietly as a six-foot-three professional hockey player in crisis could move. When I pushed open my bedroom door, Catherine was dressed pacing my room with messy hair and wide eyes.
“Your mother?” she whispered.
“And Isla.”
Her face lost all color. “Isla is here?”
“She had a stomach ache. My mom brought her home early.”
“Shit.” Catherine paced some more. “Shit. Shit.”
“I know. I’m so sorry.”
She looked at me like a deer in headlights.