I lift a shoulder as if the answer is obvious because to me, it is.
Her jaw drops a little as she pieces together my meaning.
“Withyou?”
I press my lips together. “Too wild?”
She snags her bottom lip between her teeth as she tilts her head and thinks it over. “It might be the only way to get them to back down so we can just have a relaxing, fun day and enjoy our turkey in peace.”
“It’s the perfect solution, right? We fake it for the day for their benefit,” I say.
And maybe, just maybe, I’ll get to kiss her again.
I don’t push it, instead turning toward the fridge to grab the green beans once I’ve peeled all the potatoes. I start to wash and cut those, too, and I survey the mess on the counter.
It’s a complete and total disaster. My kitchen has never seen a mess like this in all the years I’ve lived in this condo.
It’s creativity at work, and I think I love it.
I love having a mess in here when I’m used to everything being neat and orderly. I love that Tatum breatheslifeeverywhere she goes.
I loveher, and I’m not sure what the fuck to do about it, so I’m waiting for her to twist that knife a little harderand tell me yes so I can at least act on my feelings for one day in the name of pretense.
“Let’s do it,” she finally says.
I school my expression despite the thrill racing through me, and I nod. “Okay, then. Let’s do it.”
I finish prepping the green beans, and I start cleaning the creative disaster without a word while she continues to work. Ten minutes before her family is set to arrive, she quickly changes her clothes and meets me in the kitchen once again.
She’s stunning in a brown dress, her long, blonde hair tied up in a twisty thing, her blue eyes the color of the ocean on a sunny day, those freckles peppering her nose and cheeks adorably sexy even from across the room.
“So…exactly how are we doing this?” she asks.
“You tell me.”
“I don’t know. Just act natural,” she suggests.
That shouldn’t be too big a challenge.
My doorman calls up to let us know we have guests, and I tell him to send them up. A moment later, we hear a knock at the door. We exchange a glance, and I let out a breath while she smooths down the front of her dress.
And then we open the door.
Mr. and Mrs. Barker stand there with Tatum’s brother, sister-in-law, and nephew behind them.
“Hey!” Tatum squeals, and the hugs and hellos commence.
“Ford, man, it’s good to see you,” her brother, Colton, says to me, giving me a bro-style hug. “This is my wife, Layla, and our son, Maddox.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, shaking Layla’s hand. “How old’s your boy?” I ask.
“He turned one last month,” Layla says. She looks at the boy and makes a silly face at him. “Such a big boy!”
He giggles, and it’s clear they’re a happy little family.
I greet Mr. and Mrs. Barker next, dressed in a matching floral dress (her) and button-down shirt (him), and they insist I call them Caroline and Larry.
The place seems to have filled with joy with her family here, and it’s the sort of childhood I always wanted.
