Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Rhett
The door jingles when we step into the restaurant, and immediately a wave of warmth and tasty smells hits me.
It’s the kind of place that makes you feel at home instantly.
The walls are lined with wood paneling, and there are little potted herbs on the windowsills.
Candles in glass jars and handwritten menus on blackboards complete the cozy look.
When Pippa and I arrive, my parents are already seated at a corner table, tucked out of the way of the main room.
My mother is dressed in a pastel cashmere sweater, but it looks like she has not been able to persuade my father to dress up.
He looks like an absent-minded professor in his old tweed jacket.
They both look up and smile broadly the second they see me, and it warms my heart to see how genuinely happy they look.
“Rhett, it’s so good to see you,” Mom says, standing up to give me a hug.
And then my dad reaches up and ruffles my hair.
Yes, fucking ruffles it like I’m five years old, before sitting back down, a grin plastered across his face.
Thanks, Dad. I glance at Pippa, and she can barely keep her lips straight.
“Mom, Dad, this is Pippa,” I introduce. “Pippa, this is my mom, Lois, and my dad, Wayne.”
Pippa lifts her hand slightly in greeting and smiles at them, a warm, disarming smile that somehow seems to make both my parents quite besotted with her. “Hello. So lovely to meet you both.”
I turn and pull out a chair for Pippa. She smiles up at me and slips into her seat, and I slide into the remaining one.
“Rhett has told me a lot about you,” Pippa says confidently.
There is lie number one, and she pulls it off effortlessly. She’s going to pass with flying colors if she keeps this up.
My dad raises an eyebrow and smirks. “All good things, I hope.”
Pippa laughs, and it’s the kind of laugh that is so full of genuine warmth and joy that it makes me stare at her. Wow! She’s a better actress than I gave her credit for.
“Mostly good. Some of it exaggerated,” she says, glancing at me with a mischievous tilt of her head.
My mom’s eyes light up immediately, and she leans forward eagerly. “Exaggerated, you say? That doesn’t sound like Rhett.”
Pippa opens her delectable mouth and weaves her magic.
I actually see it working. She’s charming them, and they’re both falling hard.
She’s quick on her feet, and somehow, she manages to enthrall them without trying too hard.
Already, they’re leaning into her, asking questions about her work, how she knows me, the kinds of small, personal things that usually make first meetings awkward. Not this time.
“I work as a graphic designer,” Pippa says, settling snugly into her chair. “I’m freelance, so my schedule is flexible. I get to choose the clients I like, which is dangerous for my bank account, but very good for my sanity.”
My dad chuckles. “I like a woman who values sanity,” he says. He looks at me, his expression deliberately bland. “I, for instance, haven’t had a day of sanity since … Oh, I don’t know … 1982.”
My mom shakes her head. “Wayne!” she scolds. “Don’t believe a word he says, Pippa. Rhett was a good baby. He frowned a lot for a baby, but he always slept right through the night.”
“A frowning baby, huh? Do you have any photos of him as a baby?” Pippa asks innocently.
I groan inwardly. She’s already read my mother perfectly. I glance at her, and she looks totally harmless, but I can see the mischievous sparkle in her eyes. We’ve been here for less than ten minutes, and she has already got my parents eating out of her hand, literally.
“Of course. Here, let me show you. He was an adorable little thing.” My mother takes her wallet out of her purse and shows Pippa, who makes the appropriate ohs and ahhs.
A waiter materializes at our table, and we order drinks first. I get a good bottle of wine and sparkling water for the table, and my mom asks for her favorite honey and lavender lemonade. My dad, predictably, goes straight for strong black coffee. The waiter withdraws.
“What made you decide on this place?” Pippa asks as she unwraps her napkin. “It’s really nice.”
“This was Wayne’s suggestion,” my mom says, giving my dad a look. “He said something about it being quiet, cozy, and perfect for meeting people you want to like.”
My dad shrugs. “That, and mostly, because I have good taste.”
Pippa laughs, and I swear something inside me shifts. “Good choice. This place has the kind of atmosphere that makes the space feel intimate, like the world outside doesn’t exist.”
Our waiter returns, and we order our food.
Mom goes for the roasted lamb with herbs, Dad chooses a beef stew, it’s grilled salmon salad for me, and Pippa hesitates just a fraction before settling on the wild mushroom risotto.
The waiter notes it down with a friendly smile.
Within seconds, he’s back with a bread basket.
He puts it down, and the smell of freshly baked bread fills the air almost immediately.
We start chatting about the city, about our favorite restaurants, and before I know it, Pippa has launched into a hilarious anecdote about the sightseeing morning, telling my parents all about the wind, the ferry, and the gurgling toddler behind us.
“And to make matters worse,” she says, glancing slyly at me. “Rhett somehow manages to look like he’s auditioning for a shampoo commercial while I’m clinging to the railing for my life, fighting my hair like it’s trying to kill me.”
“He does have infuriatingly nice hair,” my mom agrees, nodding.
Pippa grins and turns to my father. “He claims it’s all down to coconut shampoo, but I think it’s just pure genetics.”
My dad laughs. “I think I like her already.”
I swallow hard, feeling an unfamiliar tug of guilt somewhere in my chest. She’s wonderful, they adore her, and they have no idea that I have involved them in an elaborate lie.
I suddenly realize just how much they want me to settle down and give them grandkids.
I look down at the napkin on my lap so no one will see the guilt in my eyes.
A little voice in my head chimes up, ‘but this could be real’.
Yes, it could, and that is what I’m counting on.
If I can win Pippa away from undeserving, wet George, then, my parents never need to know that we began with a lie.
The conversation drifts naturally to family stories, New York life, and some of our favorite childhood memories.
Pippa laughs at my dad’s puns, even though they are terrible for the most part, and teases my mom about her honey lavender obsession, which my mom insists is the new pumpkin spice.
They’re relaxed, joking with her as if she’s always been a part of the family, and I watch it all, my heart feeling both proud and guilty.
The meals arrive, all of them steaming hot, fragrant, and perfectly plated. Pippa’s risotto steams gently, the aroma earthy and rich. I watch as she takes the first forkful, and her eyes light up.
“Oh wow,” she exclaims in an impressed voice. “This is incredible.”
My mom leans in towards her. “I’m glad you like it. The Chef here is wonderful. He is European.”
“Well, the food is really comforting,” Pippa says, smiling warmly. “Not just the food, but the whole place.”
“Exactly,” my dad adds proudly. “That’s why I suggested it. I wanted a place that didn’t feel intimidating for an English lass, you know?”
“I do,” Pippa says. “And I appreciate it. It was very kind of you to think of me.”
For the next fifteen minutes, the conversation flows like water. We talk about travel, more of our favorite childhood stories, and of course, my mom brings up the worst of my embarrassing college exploits. Throughout all of it, Pippa is engaged, attentive, and charming.
And then, like a perfectly timed moment in a play, she excuses herself to use the Ladies. The second she’s gone, my parents rush to lean in closer, their voices dropping to conspiratorial whispers like Pippa can somehow hear them all the way from the bathroom.
“She’s really nice,” my mom says, her eyes shining. “Not like the others you usually run around with, Rhett. She’s so grounded. So thoughtful. I think she’ll be good for you.”
My dad nods. “She’s different from the airheads you usually date. This one’s a keeper.”
Another guilt pang shoots through me. I swallow it down and clear my throat. “I know,” I say quietly. “I know she’s different.”
My mom smiles approvingly. “Don’t let her get away, Rhett.”
“I don’t intend to,” I admit, and that at least is the truth.
When Pippa returns to the table, she smiles sweetly and slides back into her seat. And just like that the room is whole again, filled with her radiant warmth and laughter. I watch her settle back in, her dessert fork poised, and I know I’ve made the right decision.
Yes, I’ve bent the truth I’ve presented to my parents, but watching her now, seeing how perfectly she fits in, how alive and charming she is, it cements the one truth I can’t deny: I want her.
Not just for a fleeting affair. But forever.
Now, even the thought of George makes my insides burn with jealousy.