Potter Springs Read Online Free Page B

The
     scent of perfection.One she’d never quite been able to mimic. As a girl, she’d doused herself from the heavy bottle on Katy’s
     vanity, but it wasn’t the same. On Amanda, the fragrance had become loud and clumsy and she’d taken a steamy bath with deodorant
     soap to hide the embarrassment.
    If Mother noticed her daughter’s theft, she never said so. But a week later, Amanda found a pretty gift set on her own bathroom
     counter, full of beautiful soaps and a small vial of fresh scent. When Amanda tried it, it suited her.
    She still had one of the soaps tucked in a drawer somewhere, knowing even as a child not to waste it all.
    At the brunch, Katy dressed in fabulous shades of taupe and burgundy red, which offset her golden highlights. An unobtainable
     high-end form of panty hose, known only to Junior League presidents and sometimes favorite underlings, encased her slim ankles.
    “Amanda.” After air-kissing her daughter’s cheek, Katy Thompson gave her a cool once-over, then sat down and stirred coffee.
     Not cappuccino, but the blackest roast with the heaviest cream.
    A dark-haired waiter, wearing an oxford shirt under a white apron, brought a breadbasket with muffins and biscuits. He took
     their order and gave Amanda a warm look, more personal than customer service required.
    I’m pregnant and the waiter’s flirting with me. He’s ogling a mommy, and doesn’t even know it.
    She smiled impersonally into his Tabasco-print tie and grabbed the biggest muffin. She was starving, and the dense carbs might
     help settle her stomach.
    While they waited for their food, Katy released a slender cigarette from a metallic case. “So, how’s your preacher friend?
     Mark, isn’t it?”
    Preacher friend.
Somehow the woman spoke condescendingly of both Mark’s chosen profession and his relationship with her daughter in two callous
     words. Highly irritating.
    Amanda forced a smile, marveling how her mother could smoke a cigarette and look like a 1940s silver-screen diva. Her own
     attempts at the habit in high school, practiced in front of a mirror, had made her look more like trailer trash.
    “Mark’s great. And you know his name.” Amanda spun the slim ring on her finger, left hand hidden under the heavy tablecloth.
     She nibbled her muffin and watched her mother smoke.
    The silence seemed heavier in a room filled with chatterers. Katy’s complacency reminded Amanda of an old Western, the proud
     and beautiful Indian chief high on a horse.
    An impasse,
she thought.
We are at an impasse.
    Careful not to let the stuck-together ice slap back in her face and soak her shirt, Amanda wet her mouth with the chilled
     water. “Actually, that’s part of the reason I wanted to have breakfast this morning. To talk about Mark. And me,” she clarified,
     clearing her throat. “Mark and me.”
    “And here I thought you wanted a pleasant brunch with your lonely, old mother sheerly for the sake of my company.”
    Amanda let that slip by. “He’s really wonderful.” She hated that she had to promote Mark, to soft sell him to anyone. Mark
     was better than wonderful-he was glorious, tender and brilliant. If Katy Thompson couldn’t admit that, this might be the quickest
     brunch in history. “You just need to get to know him.”
    Katy blinked curled eyelashes, singly defined with jet-black mascara. No comment.
    “We’ve been spending a lot of time together,” Amanda added. “I want you to like him, Mother. I need you to accept him. For
     me.” She fought the urge to plead, hating that sound in her voice. The mama-won’t-you-approve-of-me whine that accompanied
     every boyfriend, every dress she ever picked out, every new job or life choice.
    Amanda pressed on. “He’s the one.”
    “The one?” Katy’s brows shot up. “How could you possibly know if he’s the one? You’ve been dating for less than a year.” She
     ground out her cigarette for emphasis and removed another from the case, snapping the lid