Chapter 4
FOUR
BIANCA
Waylon said this engagement party was casual, but how do I even do casual? Like Jepsen casual?
I looked at what everyone else was wearing at the grocery store the other day, and I just don’t have clothes like that. No flannel. My denim looks too new. My blouses are too snug or too fashionably loose.
“Okay, Sadie. Which outfit?” I ask her, tossing two different options on the bed in front of her. She does a cute little head tilt before yawning and stretching.
An unexpected benefit of a dog: I can talk to her and not feel nuts for talking to myself. So far she’s been just as easy as Waylon said she’d be.
I waffle between two dresses, then pull out some shorts and an off-the-shoulder blouse. Maybe shorts will work more? My phone pings and it’s a text from Waylon, saying he’ll be here in five minutes. I throw on the shorts and blouse, double checking that I didn’t mess up my hair and makeup, then grab Sadie.
I step outside right as Waylon steps out of his car. My stomach flips up into my chest. He’s wearing a green button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his muscled forearms, and shorts. I’ve never paid a lot of attention to men’s legs before, but his thighs and calves are thick and muscled too.
“Hey, you look beautiful,” he says with a soft, polite smile. But his eyes travel up and down my body, a little heat in them.
“Thank you.” The way he says it hits differently than it does from everyone else. “You look nice too.”
Now that I’m not ogling him, I let out a tense breath. We actually look like we’re going to the same place, which takes a mountain of stress off of my shoulders. I always hated it when Kyler would be wearing sweats and a t-shirt — both designer, but still — when I’d be wearing a dress. It made me feel like I was trying too hard for no reason when in reality, I was just dressed for the occasion.
“You ready to go?” He opens the passenger side door for me. It could come across is ridiculously corny, but it feels sweet from him.
“Yep. Thank you.” I slide into the front seat and immediately feel something damp on my shoulder — a dog’s nose. Duke is in the backseat, buckled in with his harness, and wags his tail when I look at him. I pet him between his ears.
Waylon slides behind the wheel and starts the car again, a podcast coming through the speakers. He pauses it before I can hear what it’s about.
“There’ll be a ton of dogs, by the way,” Waylon says.
“Your family are animal people too?” I give Duke one more pet.
“Oh yeah.” Waylon backs out of the driveway with ease. “They’re definitely the reason why I love animals so much. We always had at least two dogs — they have two right now. Speaking of, how’s Sadie so far?”
“Good. I think?” I pet her inside the bag. “She follows me everywhere and takes a lot of naps, so I bought her a few more beds.”
“Yeah, she loves a good nap. Sleeps pretty deeply too,” he says. “When she lived with me, I had to wake her up to go for walks, and even then, she’d be a little annoyed that I wasn’t carrying her the whole way.”
I take a peek at his hands on the wheel and try to ignore how good his forearms look as he controls the car. We’ve only been on the road for about a minute but I can tell he’s a good driver. Or at least a way better driver than Kyler, who drove like he was intentionally trying to be an asshole.
Waylon just seems like a nice, rule-following type of guy. Seems . But hey, I’d prefer him seeming some kind of way with a superficial relationship like we’ll have.
“That kind of reminds me that I don’t know anything about you and we’re supposed to be…on a date? A one time date?” I ask. “I just know you’re the town veterinarian and you like dogs.”
“Right. And all I know is…” He trails off. “You’re from California. And you’re Miss Gloria’s great niece.”
“Yeah. I’m from LA,” I say. “Lived there my whole life. Up until now, of course.’
“What do you do for work?” He gently slows to a stop at a sign.
“I’m a model and influencer.” I don’t mean to sound like I’m saying I have to fight babies for a living, but it comes across that way. My distaste for modeling has only grown since I basically quit six months ago. I barely wanted to be an “influencer” but social media and modeling go hand in hand these days.
“You are?” He doesn’t look particularly surprised.
“Yeah. I’m trying to get out of it, to be honest. My friend and I want to open a spa so we’re working on that.” I fidget with my bag. “But for now I’m just laying low. Dealing with the house and taking a break.”
I can’t keep the wariness out of my voice and I hope he doesn’t pry. I’d rather not rehash my whole messy relationship and the reasons why I’m here to a near stranger.
“What do you want our story to be?” He asks. “Like how we met?”
“I guess through the estate lawyer would make sense. Maybe we’ve been talking and just hit it off.” I shrug and look out the window. “The simpler the story, the more believable it’ll be.”
“Yeah, agreed. And to be honest, people might not even ask.”
His parents’ house isn’t much further. We turn down a private side road, which is lined with trees, and eventually end up in an open clearing. The massive, sprawling ranch-style house is gorgeous, with a big garden and yard in the front. All my Googling told me his family had to be well-off, but they’re more well-off than I even thought.
“We’re still good on everything we discussed?” He asks as he parks in front of a massive six car garage.
“Yep, all good.” My heart is about to pound out of my chest, though.
“Don’t get out yet,” he says, putting a hand on my shoulder. “There are about to be a ton of dogs out here. Hang onto Sadie so she doesn’t get trampled.”
Like they were on cue, two dogs, both Labrador retrievers, come rushing out of the front door and down the path, making Duke start to howl out the window. Waylon hops out of the car and rushes over to let Duke out. Duke flings himself out of the car and howls at the sky again like a little wolf.
“Does he do that a lot?” I ask after stepping out. The other two dogs sniff me, excited, then go back to sniffing Waylon.
“Yeah, he’s chatty,” he says. “Also, if you hear a woman screaming outside your house, don’t worry - it’s him.”
I blink, waiting for him to say he’s kidding, but he doesn’t.
“That sounds like something someone with a murder basement would say,” I say with a smirk.
“I know, I know.” He laughs and starts petting the two dogs who ran outside. “But I swear, I’m not making it up. If he’s being particularly saucy, he’ll just start yelling. And it happens to sound like a woman.”
“Uh-huh.” I look him up and down. “I wouldn’t have guessed you were the murder dungeon type.”
He grins. “I’ve upgraded from a murder basement from a murder dungeon? Sounds fancier.”
“Waylon!” A woman calls from the front porch, pulling our attention away. “What are you doing down there?”
My heart leaps into my chest. That has to be his mom. Even from this distance, I can see the resemblance between the two of them — tall, with dark hair.
Waylon glances at me, tension around his eyes. His mom showing up right away feels like jumping straight into the boss battle in a video game when I need the tutorial.
“Be there in a second,” Waylon calls out. “I mentioned I was bringing someone, but she doesn’t know the details.”
I nod. Should he have mentioned the details?
He finishes petting the dogs and shoos them to go in front of us. The dogs rush up the stairs to where Waylon’s mom is waiting, a warm smile on her face.
She’s extremely beautiful, exactly what I’d think of if someone told me to imagine a slightly older southern belle. Nothing about her is out of place – not her professionally colored hair, her classic makeup, or her nice-but-casual dress.
“And who is this?” she asks, opening her arms to me for a hug.
I’m not a hug person at all, especially with strangers, but rejecting her hug would be the worst way to start this off. I hug her — awkwardly — and she pulls back, her hands on my shoulders.
“This is Bianca,” Waylon says. “Bianca, this is my mom.”
“You can call me Delia.” She beams — Waylon has her smile. “I’m so happy that Waylon is finally dating again. And such a beautiful girl, too.”
I open my mouth to say that we aren’t really a serious thing, but she looks so thrilled that I keep my mouth shut. We can clarify things later.
“Come in. Let me get you a drink,” she says, opening the door for me.
The inside of the home is tasteful, but almost to the point where it’s too manicured. Every bit of decor coordinates in a purposefully rustic kind of way. Each room flows into the other, with a huge kitchen on the far back. Beyond that is their huge back yard, where most of the party seems to be.
“What would you like to drink?” Delia asks, opening the fridge once we get to the kitchen. “We have a little bit of everything. A moonshine cocktail? Rose and Wes created these canned ones and they’re selling like hotcakes.”
“Sure, I’ll try one.” I’ve never had moonshine in my life, but I might as well try it today. Doesn’t this stuff blind people, though?
“I’ll have one too.” Waylon rests his hand on my back.
Delia opens up the cans and pours each of them into a glass. It just looks like iced tea to me, and when I taste it, it’s like lightly boozy tea with lemonade.
“This is really good,” I say, hopefully not sounding too surprised. I thought it was going to be like drinking battery acid.
“Isn’t it?” Delia leans her hip against the counter, looking between me and Waylon. “Do you live in Crescent Hill? I’ve never seen you before.”
I vaguely remember signs for Crescent Hill University on the drive over.
“No, I just moved here. My great aunt Gloria passed —”
“Oh, you’re Miss Gloria’s great-niece,” she says, putting her hand to her chest. “I’m so sorry for your loss, honey.”
“Thank you.” I take a larger swig of my drink than I probably should.
“So you’ve moved into her house?” Delia asks. “Is that how you two met? Through arranging things with Sadie?”
“Yep.” Waylon slides his hand up my back to squeeze my shoulder. Tingles erupt up my back along the path his hand took. “We’re going to head outside, actually.”
“I’ll walk with you. Come this way,” Delia says, waving us away from the sliding glass door and toward a little hall. “We’re trying to keep the dogs out of the kitchen. They’ll rush this door if we open it.”
“Wait, Mom…” Waylon hesitates.
“Here’s our family photo wall,” Delia says as we round the corner.
The long hallway is absolutely plastered in photos — family photos, individual photos, paintings of labradors.
“It’s more or less in chronological order,” she says, slowing down and blocking us from going out the door. “Look at how adorable Waylon was.”
“Mom, please,” Waylon says, his cheeks red. “This is Bianca’s first time here.”
“There’s no reason to be ashamed of your accomplishments.” Delia shrugs as if Waylon didn’t say anything at all.
I look at the wall because Delia is looking at me expectantly.
At first there are wedding photos of Delia and Mr. Stryker. The wedding fashion is aggressively of the era, but she still looks stunning. I can see where Waylon got his strong build and the rest of his height, now that I’ve seen his dad.
Over the years, his two older brothers are born, then eventually, Waylon and Wes. Once Waylon hits kindergarten, it’s like a parade of achievements. Delia must have saved every single award he’s ever gotten, and there are a ton . They crowd out his brothers’ achievements by far.
Academic awards. Recognition for volunteering. Ribbons for winning some animal husbandry competitions, whatever that is. Football trophies. Everything from when he was little all the way through veterinary school.
Holy shit. Is he good at everything? Thank god this is just a single date or everyone would question why a guy like him would be with a low-tier model who was an average student at best.
“C’mon,” Waylon says, taking my hand and guiding me past his mother. “We’re going to say hi to people, Mom.”
Someone calls Delia’s name down the hall and she looks over her shoulder.
“Okay, fine.” His mom finally moves. “It was so lovely to meet you, Bianca. I hope we can get together again soon.”
“Nice meeting you too,” I say.
Waylon pulls me outside onto the huge back patio, tension leaving his shoulders but his cheeks still flushed.
“Sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t think she’d whip out the photo wall right away.”
I have so many questions now — like how did he have the time to do all of that, and why does his mom have a whole ass shrine to him, basically, when he has three other brothers — but I can sense his discomfort and stay quiet.
The party outside is in full swing already, with a few grills going on one side and some seating and tables peppered throughout. Dogs are hanging around too, some laying down with their humans and others playing in empty spots.
“Waylon!” a woman yells, her voice traveling way over the sound of the crowd. “C’mere!”
I spot the source of the voice — a black woman wearing a super cute printed jumpsuit and cat-eye glasses, who’s waving at us. Next to her is a black man who seems to be just as tall and muscular as Waylon, who nods, then looks at me in confusion.
“Those are my best friends, Jada and Jeremiah,” Waylon says in my ear.
I nod, taking another long drink of my drink. The warmth of a buzz is starting to spread through my veins, thank god. I need something to loosen me up.
“Jada, everyone at this party heard you,” Waylon says with a smile when we get to the table. “No need to point at us like we’ve committed a crime.”
“It’s loud out here!” Jada protests, adjusting her glasses. “What if you didn’t hear me?”
“Has there ever been a moment when I haven’t heard you? Ever? Since third grade?” he teases. Jada’s eyes narrow, but she smiles too. “Exactly.”
“Excuse my sister. She’s only semi-feral,” Jeremiah says to me.
“Rude, I’m mostly domesticated. Like a house cat.” Jada tucks some of her locs behind her ear. They’re cut right at her shoulders and are dyed pink at the ends.
“Aren’t semi-feral and mostly domesticated kind of the same thing?” Jeremiah asks, taking a sip of his drink.
“Whatever, it doesn’t matter.” Jada turns to smile at Bianca and extends her hand. “Sorry, I swear I’m an actual human with actual human manners. I’m Jada, that’s my twin brother Jeremiah, and Waylon didn’t say a damn thing about him bringing a date .”
She seems amused, thankfully, and not overly suspicious.
“Nice to meet you. Both of you. I’m Bianca.”
“Bianca.” Jada studies me, tilting her head to the side a little, like she’s trying to figure me out. “So, where’d you and Waylon meet? And when?”
“We met arranging things for Sadie a few weeks back.” I move my bag so Sadie will pop out, but she’s still napping. “She’s asleep.”
“Sadie is pretty much always asleep. She’s the chillest Pomeranian on the planet,” Jada says. “Anyway, so are you and Waylon…?”
I kind of appreciate how straight to the point she is, even though I need to look to Waylon to answer the question in the best way.
“It’s casual,” he says, resting a hand on my lower back again. It’s warm and grounds me from flying off into an anxiety spiral.
Jada and Jeremiah look at him, then each other, seemingly speaking in an unspoken language. It’s a little unnerving, but I’d prefer to be in the dark about whatever they’re thinking.
“We’re just surprised,” Jeremiah says. “But not in a bad way.”
“Oh.” I nod because I don’t know what to say to that. Plus, I can feel Jeremiah’s skepticism already. Unlike his sister, he’s much less cheerful.
But Jada already looks like she’s moved on. She and Waylon quickly catch up — she’s getting her PhD, though I don’t know in what, and her and Jeremiah’s family run a historic hotel where she gives tours. Jeremiah is a high school math teacher, which sounds hellish, and the school’s football coach.
I try to file every little detail away just in case. I’m keeping quiet in the conversation but I don’t want everyone to think that I’m zoned out. Every once in a while, a dog wanders up to Waylon, tail wagging, and he pets them before they move on. It’s like a processional where they’re all getting a little blessing from the dog pope. Is this man like Snow White, just summoning dogs?
Soon Waylon brightens a little more when a pit bull mix comes trotting up to him.
“Hey, Murphy,” Waylon says, squatting down and putting his forehead to the dog’s big blocky head. He glances up and nods in greeting at someone behind me.
“Hey.” I follow Waylon’s gaze and spot who I’m guessing is Wes, based on the photo wall. They’re fraternal twins, so I can see the brotherly resemblance without them looking the exact same.
Behind him, holding his hand, is who I assume is Rose — a petite black woman with long braids and a nose ring. She gives off cool girl energy, genuinely cool girl energy and not the manufactured stuff so many people try to create on Instagram. Like she knows where the good bars and restaurants that aren’t overrun with people are.
Everyone greets each other before Waylon introduces me to Wes and Rose. Wes’s eyebrows shoot up for a second, but he smiles and shakes my hand.
“This is pretty damn new, isn’t it?” Wes asks, not taking his eyes off Waylon’s.
“Yeah.” I hope my hands aren’t too sweaty. I shake Rose’s hand too.
“Things just sort of clicked,” Waylon adds.
Rose and Wes don’t push it — they just invite us all over to eat with them.
The party has a ton of guests, and there’s more than enough food for everyone to take home leftovers in a sectioned off area of the yard. The dogs that followed us stand outside of the barrier, looking forlorn that they aren’t allowed to eat all the human food.
“Since this was kind of last minute, I was only able to find out what stuff is dairy free versus having something made for you. And I wasn’t sure if you were just dairy free or if you were vegan, so I asked about both,” Waylon says. “There are a few options, but not a ton when it comes to desserts or anything.”
I only briefly mentioned I can’t eat dairy to him, but he thought to mention it to whoever arranged all this food? Kyler literally never remembered, even though we had a lot of moments where I accidentally had dairy and broke out in horrible cystic acne that took weeks to clear up.
He always remembered to point that out, though. As if it wasn’t painful and actively bad for my career. He had to go and say shit like “well, it’s not like it’ll kill you.”
“Thank you. That’s really thoughtful,” I say. “And I’m just dairy free. It’s not an allergy but eating it isn’t good for me.”
“Oh, good, because there’s exactly one vegan option,” he says with a sigh of relief. “If you like barbecue, then you’re set.”
I’ve never had it, but saying that out loud when there are at least five different types of barbecued meat spread out in front of me, buffet style, feels blasphemous.
We fill up our plates and find a table with everyone else. The food is outrageously good — smoky and juicy and flavorful meat, plus a ton of good sides I can safely eat. Once everyone gets the edge off their appetite, an easy flow of conversation comes back.
Thankfully, Jada and Wes are chatty in a way I like, so I don’t have to talk that much and make things awkward. And as far as I know, they don’t think I’m some awful ice queen.
I let out a breath. It’s okay . Everyone is nice. No one is sitting down and interrogating me or Waylon either.
But I can’t help but notice how everyone who walks past us looks at us, like we’re making a fuss even though we’re just sitting there. Their eyes even follow us when we get up and go get more of the moonshine iced tea.
I guess Waylon having a date is more of a big deal than he was letting on.
But why do people care this much? Maybe he’s just popular, which I can easily see too. People keep saying hi. Still. It makes sense for his mom to care about who he’s with, but for half the town to care? Weird.
Being in a small town is really fucking odd in a lot of ways.
“And there’s Waylon’s girlfriend,” Delia says, beaming as she passes by us with a whole fleet of women who look like they might be related to her. “Hi, hun.”
I wave because what else can I do? I resist the urge to look at Waylon. They keep moving, though, like we’re a dull exhibit at the zoo, and head to the table where we were just eating.
“I’ll correct her later,” Waylon says to me, his voice low.
My phone buzzes in my purse yet again, waking Sadie. She pops her head out of my bag like what the fuck is it this time?
I quickly check the message. Kyler. Of course. From a different number, once again hyper-fixating on whether I’m seeing someone. It’s getting creepy.
But things suddenly click into place in my head. How did I not think of this before?
“Wait, no,” I say, my voice low even though no one is around us. “This is perfect. We should keep this fake relationship going. My ex is blowing up my phone, asking me if I’m seeing anyone. If you play my boyfriend on Instagram, he’ll stop calling me. Probably.”
Kyler probably wouldn’t push further if I had evidence I was dating someone.
“Is he harassing you?” Waylon asks, frowning deeply.
“He’s harmless.” I wave as if I’m dismissing Kyler the way I wish I could. “Just a little creepy and a lot annoying, like a bug. But even after a while, you want to kill a fly, you know?”
He slowly nods, apprehensive. A flare of panic at the idea of him saying no lights up in me even though this idea has only been in my head for less than a minute.
“We don’t even have to show your face - just your back or your side or something,” I add. “And I moderate comments, so people won’t be too awful. Well, mostly.”
Kyler’s fans would be awful to any woman he dated, but they were particularly shitty to me. They thought I was “too bitchy” for him, mostly, which only fueled (completely unsubstantiated) tabloid fodder that I wasn’t nice.
But Kyler is a C-list celebrity at best, mostly known to his fans and people who like his flavor of pop music, so it could be a whole lot worse.
“Plus you mentioned those other events you need dates for. Like Rose and Wes’s wedding. You wouldn’t have to find another excuse,” I add.
He glances around, pensive.
“Okay, let’s do it,” Waylon says after a long pause. “But you’ll have to let me fix up the rest of your house or something to even this exchange out.”
“Seriously?” I grab his shoulder and scan his face to see if he’s kidding. “Thank you. You have no idea how much you’re helping me.”
“It’s no problem.” He shrugs. “Plus, I don’t think we can put this whole dating thing back in the bag anyway.”