Jane smiled weakly. "But they taste okay. Throw some on a plate and let's make ourselves sick on them. I couldn't possibly let anyone else see them."

“I can't move," Shelley said. "My feet are stuck to your floor.”

Jane nodded hopeless acceptance of this criticism. "Corn syrup. I dropped the bottle and the lid came off. I've already washed the floor twice and Willard's licked up as much as he could. Just leave your shoes there."

“Thanks, but I'd rather have my shoes stick than my feet." Shelley tossed some cookies on a plate, her shoes making a sound like Velcro being pulled apart, and sat down across from Jane. She nibbled a cookie cautiously and smiled. "They do taste okay. So, tell me about Mel's mother and why she'll hate you."

“Because he's her only son. He's a successful detective, up and coming, all that. And I'm a widow with three children, one already in college, which is a dead giveaway that I'm older than he is."

“So?" Shelley said.

“So she's going to see me as a predatory old hag, trying to trap her dear boy."

“Jane, you don't know that. She's going to adore you. Well, if you get this disgusting kitchen cleaned up, that is. And do some major repairs to your hair.”

Jane shook her head. "Nope, she's not. Mel's already said so."

“He told you this?" Shelley said with amazement.

“Not in so many words. But he keeps mentioning how he's sure she's going to like me and my family. And how he's told her how terrific I am and how he's really, really sure we're going to get along great. I can tell he's desperately trying to convince himself of this.”

Shelley frowned. "Oh, that doesn't sound good."

“It doesn't. The more a man reassures me that everything's going to be fine, the more suspicious I become. And he's almost to a fever pitch about how well his mother and I are going to hit it off."