Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
ABBY
I eye the living room for approximately the ten millionth time this morning, making sure everything is just so. The throw blanket folded along the back of the couch and trio of unlit candles on the side table lend added touches of warmth without being overbearing. The open curtains make the room bright and inviting. The charcuterie board on the coffee table will tempt Grayson to stay longer.
I bite at my thumbnail, eyeing the spread. It’s too much, isn’t it? What if he doesn’t like prosciutto? Is it too pretentious? Should I have put out breakfast items instead? It’s nearly eleven-thirty, though.
Rubbing at my temple, indecision wars within me. I should scrap the whole thing. It’s giving trying way too hard vibes. But as the doorbell rings, the decision is made for me.
I smooth my palms over my jeans. “Be cool,” I mutter to myself. “Just… don’t be embarrassing.”
My smile must look normal as I answer the door because Grayson doesn’t run for the hills, giving me a returning smile.
He takes off his aviators, his unshaven jaw looking more modelesque than scruffy. “Mom hasn’t kidnapped you yet?”
My brows draw together. “Kidnapped?”
“When I broke the news to her last night that you were my date for the wedding,” he explains. “I thought she might’ve snuck over here to kidnap you and hold you hostage the next week so you won’t change your mind.”
My stomach makes a slow turn, unsure how to feel about that. “So Operation Trick Your Mom is a success so far?”
His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Think we can get that trademarked?”
“Might ruin the whole keeping it a secret thing.”
He nods, still smiling. “True. See, you’re always two steps ahead. This is why you’re the perfect fake date.”
Heat touches my cheeks, and I step aside, ushering him in the house. Okay, things are good so far. We’ve got some banter going and I’m not freezing up like an idiot… I can do this.
“Are you having people over later?” he asks, gesturing to the charcuterie board.
My blush intensifies. “Oh, no. It’s for you,” I tell him lamely. “Just some stuff I had in the fridge, in case you’re hungry.”
I knew I shouldn’t have put that together. It was way too much effort. He probably thinks I’m crazy for—
“Awesome, I love this.”
He helps himself and I breathe a sigh of relief. Overthinking things as usual, Abby.
“You liked the one I brought a few Thanksgivings ago,” I say, taking a seat on the couch.
He pauses, his mouth full of meat and cheese. “You remember that?”
“I…” Sweat blooms under my arms. “My brain’s funny like that.” I tap the side of my head. “I’ll remember what we ate for Thanksgiving years ago, but couldn’t tell you what I had for breakfast yesterday.”
I tack on a nervous laugh, resisting the urge to fan my armpits.
He returns my smile, apparently accepting my explanation, and sits in the overstuffed armchair. “I think I’m the opposite. No problem with the short-term stuff, but my long-term’s shot. At least, it seems that way every time I come back home. Everyone’s always talking about things from when we were kids I swear I don’t remember.”
I study him for a moment. “You were so intent on leaving here. Maybe you were so focused on the future, you forgot to experience what was happening around you.”
He sets down the cracker he’s holding loaded with salami and cheese, and stares at me.
Oh, crap. I did it again, didn’t I? Making it obvious how much I pay attention to him.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “Ignore my psychoanalyzing.”
“No,” he says slowly. “You might be on to something.” He seems lost in thought for a moment, then shakes it off, focusing back on me. “Anyway, Mom completely bought our story. Said she’s always sensed something special between us.”
The words would carry more weight if they weren’t accompanied by an eye roll.
“And she didn’t question why things have changed now?” I ask. “Considering how long we’ve known each other?”
He shrugs. “No, not really. I laid it on thick that it’s a casual thing, though. And that I don’t want her to put pressure on you.”
I nod. Good. When Cheryl gets an idea in her head, she’s like a dog with a bone.
“So when she inevitably gets pushy,” he continues, “it’ll be her fault for ruining our relationship.”
“Hmm.” I lean back against the cushions, getting more comfortable. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you’re pretty devious.”
“Come on, that’s brilliant,” he argues. “She’ll have no one to blame but herself.”
“You’re kind of setting her up to fail.”
“Hey, whose side are you on?” he asks with good humor. “If she wasn’t so hell bent on me having a date to begin with, this wouldn’t be an issue.”
“Fair enough.” I trace my finger over the couch cushion, making a figure eight pattern along the soft fabric. “Why is she so insistent on that?”
He rolls his eyes again. “She keeps saying I need to settle down. That I’m turning thirty soon and need to get started building a family. As if I’m some Regency-era spinster on the shelf.”
My brows pop up. He’s familiar with that kind of stuff?
He must notice my surprise because he waves a hand in explanation. “Mom and Kristen made me watch Pride and Prejudice about a million times. Anyway, she thinks it’ll make her look bad if I show up dateless when she’s talked me up to everyone she knows.” He heaves a sigh, annoyance flashing over his face. “This is so dumb I have to even get you involved to begin with.”
“It’s okay,” I murmur.
“And seriously, if she gets pushy about anything to you, you tell her you want to keep things between us private and she should talk to me about it. I don’t want her hounding you.”
My stomach flutters at his intensity. “Well, that’s very chivalrous of you.”
He snorts. “I’m the one who roped you into this. The least I can do is keep her off your back.”
There’s a beat of silence, then he rubs his palms on his jeans. “Guess we should go over some ground rules,” he says.
“Right.”
“I figure we just need to be a little flirty with each other in front of Mom. Make her think we’re interested, but not too crazy. I don’t want her planning our wedding or anything.”
That flutter in my stomach pulses stronger and I ignore it. Get a grip, Abby.
“And how often will we be around her?” I ask, reaching for my phone on the coffee table. “Let me pull up the itinerary.”
Grayson shakes his head. “I still can’t believe Harper made that.”
“Well, she has a lot planned for the week.”
“Why is she jam-packing everyone’s schedules, anyway? What if I wanted to relax?”
My lips tip up at his disgruntled expression. “She wants to make sure everyone has a fun time while they’re here. Her friends from Chicago haven’t visited yet and you’re hardly ever here. It’s kind of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
“I guess,” he mutters. “So what is it we’re doing again?”
I open the attachment Harper emailed last week. “Tonight’s the dinner in Kirkwood.”
“Yeah, Mom’ll be there for that.”
“Tomorrow is the hike, then Monday during the day we’ll go horseback riding. Monday night is game night at Owen and Harper’s place, then Tuesday she’s spending with Elena and Kelly. But Tuesday night we’re all going to Harry’s Bar. Wednesday is the trip to the winery. On Thursday the girls are getting manicures and pedicures and you and Owen are going fishing. Friday we’re setting up for the wedding during the day and having the rehearsal dinner at night. Then Saturday is the wedding.”
“Holy fuck, that’s a lot.” He scrubs a hand down his face. “Is Harper some kind of masochist?”
I press my lips together to keep from laughing. “She likes being busy.”
He wisely doesn’t comment. “Well, what other ground rules should we have?”
I tuck my hands under my thighs so I don’t fidget. “I guess it all depends on how far we’re willing to go with the ruse. If there will be touching or…” I swallow heavily. “Kissing or something.”
His eyes widen. “No, we won’t go that far.”
I nod in agreement, even as disappointment splashes in the pit of my stomach.
“I might put my hand on your arm or your lower back or something,” he says. “Is that okay? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“I trust you, Grayson.”
The words slip out unconsciously, and I don’t think it’s only my imagination that I put more emphasis than I needed into them, based on the way his eyes widen.
“I mean, yes, of course it’s okay,” I add. “And it’s all right if I do the same? Or hold your hand?”
He nods, shifting in his chair, his gaze moving away from me.
Did I go too far? Is holding hands too much?
A thick kind of tension fills the air between us, but there’s nothing sexual about it. More… awkward.
Lovely.
“Well, as long as we’re on the same page, everything will be fine,” I say brightly, in an attempt to get things back on track. “And we can always readjust our plan throughout the week depending on what happens.”
He looks again at me, his discomfort gone now. “Right. And again, I appreciate—”
I hold up a hand to stop him. “You don’t have to keep thanking me.”
“Is there anything I can do for you in return? I feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”
A wave of heat rolls through me as that daydreaming part of my mind wishes he’d take advantage of me in a different way.
No. Bad Abby.
“I could pay you,” he continues. “What’s a fair rate for being my fake wedding date?”
I hide my wince, not liking turning this into a transactional arrangement.
“It’s fine,” I tell him. “Seriously, I don’t need anything. I’m happy to help a… a friend.”
He’d commented earlier that he didn’t think of us as friends—which hadn’t been a blow to the ego at all—even if he had a fair point. He’s right that I’ve always been his sister’s friend, not his.
But I want him to notice me now. First as a friend, then maybe something… more.
“Okay, well let me know if anything comes to mind I can do to even the score.” He places his hands on his knees, then stands. “I’ll get out of your hair. Give you the rest of the day to yourself before dinner.”
I nod and follow him to the front door. “Do you need a ride to Kirkwood?”
“Kristen’s taking me. Jamie and Jenny begged me to ride with them in her Mom-mobile.”
“It’s hard to say no to them.” I smile, thinking of Kristen’s precocious twins.
“Yeah, especially since I missed their birthday last month.”
“You’re still a good uncle.”
He gives me a half-smile, rubbing at the back of his neck. “See you tonight.”
“See you.”
After shutting the door behind him, I lean against it, my forehead touching the cool surface. That could have gone worse, I guess. Could have gone better, too, but it’s a start.