11. CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
brENDEN
With the corporate retreat over, I can finally take a deep breath.
Only one though.
No time for more, because MayFest starts Saturday.
Travis is helping Addison get the menus ready for the new influx of guests plus the booth we’ll have at the festival.
But then he’ll be off the hook.
I feel guilty that I’ve monopolized all his time for the past week, between him helping out here and pretending to be my boyfriend.
Speaking of pretending.
.
.
It’s only been a couple days, but Travis has already been doing such a good job at acting like we’re a couple that he’s almost got me convinced.
When I woke up with him in my bed this morning, I had a moment—just one—where I forgot that he was only there as a favor.
But I can’t do that again.
I can’t forget for even another moment that this is all fake.
Because it is fake.
F.
A.
K.
E.
My newfound lust for Travis, on the other hand?
I’m afraid that’s unfortunately very real.
But I’ll survive that.
I’m no stranger to being alone and horny.
I’ve never been the kind of guy to go for a quick hookup.
I prefer dating, actually getting to know someone first.
It’s been a while since I’ve gone out with anyone though.
I got tired of meeting men who ended up disappointing me.
There have been a few guys who didn’t disappoint, who lasted a little while.
But even with them, it never felt entirely right.
Last night when Travis asked me what I wanted in a boyfriend, it was nice getting to imagine my ideal relationship.
In reality, though, I’m not expecting to ever have that.
It would take a special kind of man to truly fit into my life.
To want to fit in.
To accept a preteen daughter and a crazy work schedule, and not to mention, me .
I’ve got a lot of great qualities, I know that.
But I’ve also got some not-so-great ones.
I can’t cook, I hate cleaning, and I may be on top of things when it comes to my daughter and work, but when it comes to taking care of myself, I can be pretty scatterbrained.
And I put on a good front, but underneath that, I’m hiding plenty of insecurities.
“Brenden, who picked out these tablecloths? I don’t think they’re the best quality linens.” Elise runs a finger over the cloth as we sit at one of the inn’s dining room tables, waiting for lunch to be served.
I fight both the urge to roll my eyes and the urge to cower under the criticism.
It’s not hard to figure out where some of my insecurities stem from.
“I think they go well with the rest of the room’s décor,” I say, defending my choice.
Because it’s my choice.
It’s my inn.
That they helped pay for.
“Surely you could find someone to make these for you in the same pattern but with better material. It’s worth the extra expense.”
“I’ll look into it,” I tell her, even though I have no intention of doing that.
I subtly check my phone for the time, wishing May were here.
But unfortunately, she’s back at school today, meaning it’s up to me to entertain her grandparents on my own.
I tried to convince her to take a few more days off, ready to write her a note feigning illness, but my little smartypants wasn’t having it.
My excuse of having to work only gets me so far when Elise and Grant insist on coming here to have lunch with me.
Thankfully Addison appears before Elise can find something else to criticize, strolling out of the kitchen with three plates of food balanced on her arms.
She could’ve sent out a server, but I know she’s trying to make the best possible impression on these two for my sake.
Even through her own panicked state over everything going on, she’s already noticed how tense having them here makes me.
This morning when I lamented to her about how I’d have to take a break to eat with them, she actually stepped away from her food prep long enough to awkwardly give me a few pats on the back.
So I think I’m wearing her down on the friendship front.
Me being a mess has seemed to make her like me more.
I’ll take it as a win, I guess.
“This all looks wonderful,” Elise says, taking in the fancy lunches Addison whipped up for us.
I revel in the praise, even if it’s more a compliment for my chef than for me.
Already digging into his food the moment Addison leaves the table, Grant asks, “Will we be seeing Travis again tonight?”
“Yes, you told him he needs to come for game and movie night, didn’t you?” Elise says.
“He’ll be there. He’s looking forward to it.”
That last part is a big fat lie, but he did promise to get coverage for the diner’s dinner shift so he could make it.
Honestly, I didn’t expect us to have to do so much to keep up this ruse.
I expected that Elise and Grant would want to spend most of their visit alone with May.
And with me too, I guess, since May and I are basically a package deal.
I thought Travis would only need to pop in for a couple guest appearances.
But they seem determined to get to know him and treat him as part of the family.
Not that I’d actually call this weird thing the four of us have a family.
We eat in silence for a bit until Grant asks me, “So that event you had here went well?”
“Oh yeah,” I tell him, spearing a baby carrot with my fork.
Normally, I hate carrots, but Addison put some kind of glaze on these that made them deliciously sweet.
If only all vegetables could come sweetened.
Grant watches me a few seconds, and when I don’t elaborate, he says, “That’s good. Would you like us to move into a room here now that it’s over? We don’t want to keep putting you out.”
“Yes, we’re sorry. We didn’t realize we were coming at such a bad time,” Elise adds.
“But I am glad we’ll be here to see this spring festival May’s been telling me about.”
It occurs to me now that they haven’t given me an end date for their stay.
It makes sense that they’d want to stay for the festival, but I assume they’ll be leaving right after.
They never like to slum it here for more than a week.
Unfortunately, because of the festival coming up, the inn is still booked solid this week.
I mean, that’s not unfortunate for the inn.
Only for my mental state, since I can’t move them here.
When I tell them as much, I make sure to hide my feelings about the situation.
Elise apologizes again, while also assuring me they’re happy to stay at my house.
“And we’ll find things to do on our own,” she adds.
“We won’t keep bothering you at work.”
I’m not sure if she’s intentionally using reverse psychology on me, but her implying that they’re bothering me actually makes me feel bad, so I wind up saying, “Oh no, you’re not bothering me. I can always make time to have lunch with you. I’m the boss, after all.”
Elise looks happy, while I try not to cringe at my own words.
This weekend can’t come fast enough.
I’m not going to let them ruin my fun at the festival with May.
And then after it, they’ll be gone, and my life can go back to normal.
No more faking, no more sleepovers with Travis.
As I chew another carrot, the sweet taste turns almost bitter in my mouth.
For a second, the thought of going back to my normal friendship with Travis disappoints me.
Only for a second, though.
May is too good at board games.
When she was a kid, I used to let her win.
She was around eight when I realized I was no longer letting her win—she was just beating me at everything.
You might say most board games are primarily about luck, but I don’t know.
It seems like she finds a way to outsmart me every time.
After winning two games of Clue, she asks if anyone wants to play Scrabble.
Thankfully, Grant is happy to take her up on it so the rest of us can bow out.
She really makes me look like a dummy when she kicks my ass at that one.
I should stop letting her read so much.
Elise stays to watch, but Travis and I sneak off to the kitchen to take care of the cookies we’re baking for the movie later.
Well.
The cookies Travis is baking.
From scratch.
I might not cook, but May and I are big fans of sweets, so I do know how to pop some pre-packaged cookie dough in the oven.
I even remembered to stop at the store to buy it.
But when Travis saw, he scoffed and ran out to get ingredients to make his own cookies.
Show off.
I watch him as he takes the bowl of dough he mixed out of the refrigerator and finds the cookie sheet in the right cabinet on his first try.
He looks particularly good today.
His jeans seem tighter than usual.
Or maybe they’re not.
Maybe now that I’ve let myself acknowledge how hot he is, my eyes are just more drawn to his ass.
God, the things I could do to that ass if he’d let me.
No.
Nope.
Not going there.
As if that would ever happen.
Meanwhile, I’m over here looking like a bum in maroon lounge pants and an old Skyler James concert tee.
May insisted we both get them when I took her to his show years ago.
I’m not that obsessed, I swear.
After he scoops out the cookie dough and sticks the sheet in the oven, we hang around here.
He grabs himself a water bottle out of the fridge—and no, I didn’t know I had those in there—while I get a pot of coffee going.
“You know drinking coffee in the evening really isn’t good for your sleep,” he says.
“It won’t keep me up,” I tell him, filling my mug.
“My body’s so used to it.”
He raises an eyebrow at me.
“That’s not how bodies work. Even if you don’t have trouble falling asleep, it’s still in your system and it will affect the quality of sleep you get.”
“Should I start calling you Doctor Grumptopus?” I tease.
He lets out a long-suffering sigh.
“Fine, I’ll keep my mouth shut and not worry about your health.”
He’s turned away from me, taking a seat at the table, so thankfully he doesn’t catch the way I get stuck for a few moments, frozen in place, hand around my coffee mug.
His words hit a strange place inside of me that I wasn’t aware of.
A place that might appreciate having somebody actually worry about me.
Somebody besides my daughter.
Last night I told him I wanted a partner I could depend on.
Maybe he’s just playing the part.
Worrying about my health kind of falls into that category, right?
I shake myself out of it and join him at the table.
Quietly, I tell him, “In case I haven’t said it enough, thank you. For doing all this.”
He chuckles.
“You’ve thanked me about a hundred times.”
“Well, consider this one hundred and one.”
Leaning in closer to me and keeping his voice down too, he says, “I’m still not sure I understand where your anxiety with the two of them comes from. They seem nice. Different than you, sure. But they obviously love you and May.”
“They love May.”
His eyes peer into mine, making me feel like he can see all the way inside me to the vulnerable squishy parts.
“You don’t think they love you?”
“I think...” Unable to articulate what I think, I take a sip of coffee instead.
But he doesn’t stop looking at me in that imploring way, so I have to continue.
“They care about me in the sense that they know I’m raising and loving their granddaughter. I don’t think they approve of a lot of my choices, though, and in the beginning, they wanted to fight me for custody. But April, May’s mom, had all the paperwork done up legally, and I had the money to support a child from my parents’ deaths, so they knew they didn’t have enough of a case. They let it go and tried to be civil because they were probably afraid I’d cut them out of May’s life entirely.”
Travis reaches out and takes my free hand, the one not gripping my mug like a lifeline.
“That sounds tough. But I don’t think it means anything negative against you. I’m sure most grandparents in that position would’ve done the same thing. It’s unusual for a mom to choose a non-relative to raise her child, but it shows how much your friend trusted you, how she knew you’d be everything May needed.”
April knew I’d need May just as much as she needed me.
And she was right.
I keep that thought to myself.
Even if I’ve already shared it in a moment of weakness with him before, I don’t need to remind him how pathetic I am.
Instead I stare, transfixed, down at our hands.
Giving mine a squeeze, he says, “I’m sure now that you’ve all been in one another’s lives for so long, they love you like family.”
“But I’m not family,” I whisper.
“I think they see you that way. Maybe you just don’t realize it because you’re too caught up in the assumptions you’ve made about them.”
Yikes, that kind of makes me sound like a jerk.
I’m at a loss for how to respond.
It’s possible there could be some truth to what he’s saying.
But how would he know?
He doesn’t know them like I do.
He hasn’t experienced years of these awkward visits.
Hasn’t watched the way they criticize everything I do.
But he’s been around a lot these last few days, and maybe it takes an outsider’s perspective to see things clearly.
Or maybe he’s wrong.
I don’t know.
“Well, isn’t this cozy?”
I jump at Elise’s voice, tearing my hand from Travis’s on instinct.
Although, we’re supposed to touch, so I don’t know why I feel like I got caught doing something scandalous.
“Sorry,” I say.
“No need to apologize, hon,” she replies.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt. It just gets boring watching those two play that game. They take it so seriously, both staring at their letters so hard I’m afraid they’ll set the tiles on fire.”
“May’s obsessed with Scrabble,” I tell her.
“She’s so smart, I can see why.”
A tiny burst of pride swells in me.
As if I can really take any credit for May’s brain.
If anything, her intelligence comes from her mom and grandparents.
“Brenden’s always been great about her education,” Travis says.
“He used to sit at the diner with her when she was a kid and help her with her homework. And he gets her all the books she asks for, which is a lot. He’ll probably need to add an addition onto the house soon in order to fit them all.”
Elise smiles.
“It’s wonderful that she’s such a big reader. She gets that from her mom.”
See?
The oven timer dings, and Travis says, “I’ll get the cookies.” But I jump up first, banging my knee on the table in the process of beating him there.
Trying not to wince at the pain, I hobble over to the oven as quickly as I can.
My clumsy, unnecessary eagerness is embarrassing, but I just want to put an end to that conversation.
I already know Elise and Grant think I’m unintelligent.
They think that, because I run an inn for a living, it means I wasn’t capable of doing anything more.
But I love what I do.
I chose this.
I may not be saving lives like a doctor, but I provide a service which makes people happy.
The most important thing, though, is that I work hard so I can ensure May will have the opportunity to pursue whatever career she chooses, because she’s capable of doing anything.
In my frazzled state, I open the oven door and reach inside with my bare hand.
My fingers make contact with the hot metal cookie sheet before my brain catches up to me.
“Shit!”
I yank my hand away, stumbling backward.
I probably would’ve fallen on my ass, making an even bigger fool of myself, if it weren’t for the solid body right behind me.
Both of Travis’s arms circle my waist and I sag in relief, letting him brace me for a second.
“Are you okay?” he asks, so close his breath tickles the side of my neck.
I try to tell him yes, but then the burning in my fingertips registers, and a tiny whimper escapes me instead.
“Come on.” He keeps me in his hold as he steps over to the sink, forcing me to go with him.
He turns on the tap, and his hands are gentle as they guide mine under the cold water.
His chest remains solidly pressed against my back as he takes care of me.
I feel like a child.
And who knew he had these nurturing instincts?
I’m the parent here.
I’m supposed to be the one who’s good at this stuff.
I guess I am with May—just apparently not so much with myself.
“Now I understand why you don’t cook,” he says, his chuckle vibrating against me.
I’d turn around and shoot him a glare, if only I could move.
He’s not holding me that tightly.
But I seem to be under some sort of spell that’s made me lose control of my motor functions.
I think I like being taken care of.
Or maybe it’s him specifically.
Maybe I like Travis taking care of me.
He keeps my hands under the water longer than probably necessary.
Until I murmur, “It’s cold,” and then he lets go of me to turn off the tap.
But he doesn’t step away.
I find myself leaning back simply to test if he’ll hold me up.
He does.
One of his hands rests on my hip now, the other on the counter.
I turn my head to look at him, and his face is so close.
Tilting my chin up, I press a soft kiss to his lips and whisper, “Thanks.”
When he opens his mouth to reply, I realize what I just did.
Oh, crap.
I struggle to get away, but his fingers curl tighter into the material of my pants, preventing my escape.
We agreed that kissing is okay to sell the relationship, but we haven’t done it since that practice one.
And I didn’t even do this for Elise’s benefit.
In fact, I completely forgot she was in the room.
I did it because it felt natural.
Craaaap.
Travis brings his free hand up to my face, thumb brushing along my jaw.
Then he kisses my temple and says softly, right by my ear, “Any time.”
When he releases me and takes a step back so I can move, I turn to find that Elise has removed the cookies from the oven and is now fixing herself a cup of tea, seemingly minding her own business.
I grab a large plate and a spatula and begin plating up the cookies, trying to appear unaffected by what just happened.
“Are you okay, Brenden?” Elise asks.
It takes me a second to realize she’s referring to how I burned myself.
Not to how I kissed Travis, which was arguably even more stupid.
“Yup, all good,” I tell her.
“We should put some burn ointment on it,” Travis suggests.
“Who the heck keeps burn ointment in their house?” I ask.
Elise tsks .
“You should always keep a fully stocked first aid kit in the house, especially when you have children.”
Great.
She’s found another way in which I’m a failure as a father.
Travis gives me an apologetic look.
“I’m only used to having it around because burns happen all the time at the diner. Hazard of the business. I’ll bring you some to keep here.”
He’s moved on from me kissing him like it wasn’t at all weird.
Maybe he’s a better actor than I would’ve suspected.
“Should we go pick out a movie?” Elise asks.
“Hopefully their game will be finished soon.”
In agreement with her, I grab the cookies to bring into the living room.
Before I can make it two steps, though, Travis swoops in and takes the plate from me.
“For safety,” he teases.
“I’m perfectly capable of carrying one plate,” I insist, doing my best to look annoyed.
“I know you are, baby,” he says patronizingly.
I want to continue this bantering, but my mind gets stuck on the word baby .
Then I notice Elise watching us with a smile on her face, and ohhh .
Boyfriend.
Fake boyfriend.
Duh.
He’s only playing his role.
Of course.
Obviously.
Silly of me to forget.
Letting him carry the cookies, I backtrack to refill my coffee mug, then join everyone else in the living room.
Travis is already sitting at one end of the couch, looking like he’s squashed himself as far against the arm as he can, and Elise is at the other end.
May and her grandfather must have finished their game, because Grant is now sitting in the armchair, and May is stretched out on the floor in between the couch and the coffee table.
I survey the room as if some more seating will magically appear.
“Come sit,” Elise says, patting the empty space in the middle of the couch.
“There’s plenty of room.”
There’s not plenty of room.
Enough room for me to fit, sure.
But that would put me a lot closer to her than I’m comfortable with.
My eyes flit between her and Travis, until Travis smiles at me and holds out his arm along the back of the couch like an invitation.
Not left with much choice, I go to him, carefully stepping over May’s legs.
I sit down so that I’m closer to him, leaving more space between me and Elise.
He puts his arm around my shoulders as soon as I’m seated, and I let myself lean against him.
His fingers start traveling up and down over my shirt sleeve in a very comforting way.
For someone who doesn’t do relationships, he’s really good at this.
His touch soothes my anxiety, and by the time the opening credits of the movie appear on the screen, I’ve sunk into him so much that I’d fall over if he decided to get up.
Turning his head toward me, he whispers in my ear, “How are your fingers?”
The question takes me a second to process, because being held by him honestly made me forget all about the burns.
Now that I remember, they do hurt a little.
Instead of admitting that, though, I just shrug in response.
He gives me an appraising look, like that wasn’t a good enough answer.
And then he reaches for my hand, brings it up to his mouth, and slowly presses a soft kiss to each burnt fingertip.
I’m holding my breath the entire time.
Are Elise and Grant watching us?
Is this all a show for them?
Surely, it must be.
But then why does it feel like it’s really for me?
When he’s done, he gives me my hand back.
Although it doesn’t feel like mine anymore.
Pretty sure he owns it now.
Also pretty sure I need to get myself the fuck together.
I’ve been friends with Travis for a decade without lusting after him.
I can get through another week of this without jumping him.
Probably.
Maybe.
Hopefully.