We reach my room—now the guest room, while Rachel’s bedroom is still a shrine to her adolescence—and I push the door open. Festive quilts cover the queen-sized bed, and a clean litterbox is in the corner, which I appreciate, as I’m sure Powerfluff does, too.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I can’t believe our fake dating went this far. Don’t you have plans for tonight?”
He laughs softly. “It’s okay. I’m not expected at my grandparents’ house until tomorrow. I was planning to stay in a hotel tonight and catch up on work. Playing pretend is much more fun, though your sister seems to like to talk about herself.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You think?”
He laughs again, and I find myself smiling.
“Look.” His tone turns serious. “We can come clean if you want. I’ll follow your lead.”
I consider it. The thought of admitting the truth, of facing my family’s disappointment and Rachel’s smug looks, makes my stomach churn. And a small part of me enjoys this fantasy, even if it’s only for tonight.
That gives me an idea. “Let’s get through dinner. We’ll figure out the rest later.”
“That’s worked so far for us. Partners in crime, then?”
He holds his hand out, and we shake. A spark of electricity that has nothing to do with a static charge from the carpet and everything to do with the way he’s looking at me runs up my arm.
“Partners in crime,” I agree hoping this doesn’t blow up in my face.
CHAPTER FIVE
Abby
As I remove the pan from the oven, heat rises from the baked-to-a-golden-brown stuffing I made. My mouth waters at the smell. It’s all I can do not to eat a spoonful now. Anything to settle my nerves while Rachel sits in the living room, bragging about her latest work triumph. Do I care that her CEO pulled her aside and told her she was the future of this company?
No, I don’t, but I’m sure she’ll repeat what happened many times while I’m here. She always tosses her triumphs in my face. Why else would she invite Jake to spend Christmas with us? He never did that whenwedated.
I eye the stuffing. No one would notice a bite or two missing, right?
“How’s it coming along?” Mom leans against the kitchen doorway as if hanging on Rachel’s every word. Mom should go into the living room before she hurts herself. Neck strains are no joke.
“Ready to go.” Which means no drowning my sorrows in stuffing now that Mom has noticed the stuffing is finished. I cover the pan with aluminum foil. “I’ll put it in the warming drawer so it doesn’t get cold.”
“Thanks. You can make the salad next. It’s a kit, so it won’t take long.” Mom sighs, and I perk up, thinking she’ll say something about how well my stuffing came out. “Isn’t your sister just amazing?”
Her arrow—I mean, words—pierce my heart. A direct hit, and it’s all I can do not to take a step back. Forget any recognition of my culinary efforts making the stuffing. I should’ve just used the instant kind that was in the cabinet.Still, I’ve been in this position many times before. “Mmmm. Amazing.”
Mom doesn’t notice my lackluster tone. Of course not. She barely notices me. Why would tonight be any different?
I place the stuffing into the warming drawer, forcing myself not to shove the casserole dish too hard, even though that might feel good. I remind myself that eating the stuffing will be better than picking out shards of glass. Nothing beats chunks of cornbread, butter, celery, onion, and butter. I already mentioned butter, but it’s the best part.
John—hey, I got his name right this time—comes up to me sans suit jacket. “Need a hand?”
I eye him suspiciously. “You cook?”
He grins, and a dimple I’ve never noticed appears on his left cheek. It makes him look younger and more approachable.
“I’m full of surprises,” he says in a lighthearted tone.
No kidding. The list of those surprises keeps growing longer. “That’s what I’m discovering.”
“There’s lots more. Point me to a task. You’ll see.”
I motion to the large pot on a rear stove eye. “The potatoes have been peeled and boiled. They need to be mashed. Think you can handle it?”
He rolls his sleeves up, giving me a nice view of his forearms, something I’ve never seen before. Even during the summer months, he wore long-sleeved dress shirts and suit jackets. “Just watch me.”
