There’s no real choice. I never had any intention of being honest with her. But I can start a new lie to further muddle my cover story.
“No.” I tinge my tone with mild surprise. “I’m his uncle.”
Her face twists. “But at the school the other night, you said?—”
“I was there for Manny. His parents couldn’t go, so they asked if I could. I recently moved here after my divorce.” Gaslighting is best performed with the utmost confidence. “Family helps family.”
She gawks at me, clearly trying to reconcile this new information with her memories. I never explicitly claimed to be Manny’s father, but I never denied it either. Well, I may’ve said the worddaddy…
Uncertainty clouds her eyes.
Good. She should doubt her perceptions and question her recollection. Accepting everything at face value makes you vulnerable.
“But you… At the farmers market, you said?—”
“That I have him on weekends.” The lies compound, a house of cards constructed with the steady hands of someone who’s done this a thousand times before. “I do, sometimes. His parents both travel for work.”
Pursing her lips, she taps her nails against the stem of her wine glass. I’m rewriting her reality, and she suspects as much without quite grasping how.
Her disorientation fits my intentions perfectly.
“I just thought… Never mind. That’s nice of you to help your brother.”
“Sister.” I offer a simple correction just to throw another wrench in her attempts to make sense of things. “Roman is my sister’s kid.”
Before she can process that claim, the server approaches Chloe’s abandoned table, frowning between the cash and the bill left by her fleeing date.
She waves him over. “Sorry about that. He had to leave suddenly. I’ll cover the rest.”
He nods, placing the bill on the table. “No problem. Would you like your food to go?”
Chloe pulls her bag onto her lap. “Yes, please.”
This whole situation ignites hot fury in my chest.
Her date left her with the bill. Pathetic.
I pass my card to the server before Chloe can even open her wallet. “Add her tab to mine and close it out.”
Chloe purses her lips. “You don’t—” Her bag tips into her lap, and the contents spill onto the floor between us. “Oh, I’m so clumsy.”
“My fault.” With a rehearsed laugh, I bend down to assist. “Let me get that.”
We both crouch, gathering lipstick, keys, a small packet of tissues… My fingers brush hers.
She inhales sharply and tugs her hand away. While she’s distracted by my touch, I palm her phone with my other hand, slipping the device into my jacket pocket in one smooth motion.
As we straighten, her cheeks flush again. Whether from the wine, our proximity, or embarrassment, I can’t tell. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” I offer her the purse, minus one smartphone.
Despite her earlier doubt, she’s entirely too trusting.
The server returns with my card, the receipt, and Chloe’s meal. I sign quickly, adding a hefty tip, partly to impress Chloe, partly because it’s good practice to be remembered favorably by service staff. They see everything, recall faces, and overhear conversations. Better to be the generous tipper than the rude customer when descriptions start circulating.
Grabbing the doggie bag, I stand and offer my hand. “Ready?”
She hesitates before placing her small, soft palm in mine. A teacher’s hand, with traces of marker still visible along the side of her index finger. I wonder how those fingers would feel trailing down my stomach, slipping beneath my waistband until they close around my?—
