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His mother had done more than put out a few flowers in the apartment above the kitchen. She’d placed vases in several places. Folded back the sheets on the bed. Slid the gauze curtains into place so that there was light as well as privacy. In the bathroom, fresh towels and a new bar of soap—and more roses.
“I think my mama likes you.” He turned to Lola, who hadn’t moved from the center of the cozy living room. “It’s not much. We don’t use it often.”
It had a living room big enough for a couch, chair, television, and a bookcase of cookbooks and trashy novels. Two bedrooms, neither big enough for more than a queen-size bed and a dresser. No real kitchen, but with the restaurant downstairs, a couple burners and a mini fridge were plenty. He pulled the fridge door open to see fresh juice
