His eyes give away nothing as if this is the truth, and I’m shocked at how easy he’s improving with this and just going along with it.
He steps beside me and puts his arm around my waist, grinning at me. “What’s going on, honey?”
Honey?What the heck? Engaged? They’re both insane.
I practically choke on air. “Uh, well. This is Monica. She’s a CPS worker investigating me... er... us... for Owen.”
He reaches for my hand and squeezes it, firmly, grounding me. “Wow, investigating us for what?”
“Child neglect,” Maggie says dryly.
“Whoa, who would make a false report of that? Isn’t it illegal to make false allegations like that?” Ollie asks, genuinely confused.
Monica peeks down at her notes and says, “We can’t really say who made the complaint.”
I see Maggie discreetly peering over her shoulder at her clipboard, her eyes widening. Her mouth opens and closes, her eyesnarrowing. The worker pulls the clipboard closer and walks around, taking in my planner and laptop.
Ollie notices this and circles back to us. “Well, I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding,” Ollie says confidently. “Poppy and Owen are moving into the apartment above the shop. We were getting the new flooring put in and the walls are freshly painted. It’s looking great. You want to see it?”
The worker blinks in surprise and says, “I would.”
I would really like to see this, too. Because the last time I was up there, it looked like a frat house full of stale cigarette smoke, stains on the walls, carpet, and a moldy fridge. I rented it to Ollie for practically nothing, and he’s been cleaning it up. But I had no idea just how much he was cleaning it up. He made no mention of paint and flooring to me. He makes it sound actually livable. If she walks up there and sees how it was when he first took it over, there’s no way that’s going to fly with her.
He leads us all up the stairs, talking calmly about the apartment. This is all news to me as well, and I try to play it off like I already know all of this. I haven’t been up there. It’s his space and when we hang out, we usually hang out at my house, The Black Dog, or at Walker or Jack’s.
I stand there stupefied, Maggie and Mack beside me equally in shock, as we take in the upstairs apartment that looks nothing like the shit hole Ollie moved into last year. It’s spotless for one and doesn’t even seem like the same place. All the walls are painted a creamy white. He has fresh carpet laid throughout and the tile has been redone in the kitchen and bathroom. It’s not a big place, by any means, but it’s...beautiful. And it smells really clean.
My hand goes to my chest, and I take it all in, trying to blink back tears. I blow out a breath, and Ollie’s hand slides in mine. I try to act like I’m not surprised but fail. I’ve always been a terrible liar.
“I’m sorry. I just get so emotional when I see it,” I admit to the worker who is watching me as if I have a test to pass here. “Ollie worked so hard to make this beautiful for Owen and me. Thank you,” I say to Ollie and lean my head on his shoulder.
“Of course. Anything for my family,” he says naturally, as if this were normal.
But is it? Is it true? Because it feels true and dang I want it to be true. At this point, we have to keep this going. I give Maggie a look, and she’s taking all this in and watching us as if she were a proud parent.
“Well,” Monica says, making notes on her clipboard. “This is very nice.”
“What the hell?” I whisper, looking at Ollie with wide eyes.
He says nothing, kisses my forehead and continues with the charade. “We’re going to be so happy here, honey.”
We walk Monica back down to the shop, Maggie and Mack following us. Mack seems confused as well but it’s like she understood the assignment and isn’t saying anything.
“I’ll need to come back and speak with Owen. When would be a good time?” Monica asks.
“We could meet you one evening here around six,” I offer. “I have to look at his schedule.”
She nods. “That’ll work. I look forward to meeting him. I might call if I have any follow-up questions in the meantime.”
I nod, Ollie’s hand sliding into mine protectively. The warmth of it, already relaxing me. “Okay.”
She walks out the door, and I wait until I see her get into her car.
I whirl and look at Maggie, who is examining her nails and not meeting my eyes.
Mack sits in my chair at my desk and says, “Wow. You sure have some explaining to do, Maggs.”
“What? I was just trying to help,” she says with a smirk, pleased with herself.
