“Don’t you look handsome.”
“Thank you,” I say, not looking away from Alex.
We’re stuck in another one of those eye-contact contests, but unlike when Alex glares at me, her gaze slowly hazes over. My fingers twitch beneath hers.
“Give Alex a minute to put on another dress,” Mags says.
“Yes.” She backs away in a daze before giving her head a little shake. “One sec.”
Then the door slams, and the absolute chaos, audible from the hallway, makes my entire day. The sounds of someone sprinting around like a maniac is peppered with fragments of hushed conversation.
Shoes hit the wall—or maybe the back of the door?—as Alex whispers, “Iamhurrying.”
There’s more shuffling before she groans. “Please don’t use the term ‘smokeshow.’ You’re nearly seventy.”
At this point, Mags doesn’t even attempt to lower her voice. “My vision is still twenty-twenty. Don’t forget you got those good genes from me.”
There’s hopping, and then a crash of some sort, and a murmured, “Sonofabeesting, that hurt.”
“Maybe I should offer him a water sinceyou’re—”
“No!” Then a whispered, “Just wait.”
I relax against the wall with the biggest grin on my face, nodding to a middle-aged guy who’s carrying a toddler to their room. Apparently, I’m not alone in being excited for this supposedly fake date.
When Alex opens the door a few moments later, in a slinky dress the color of the night sky, I nearly swallow my tongue. It has a high neckline and cascades down to her exposed toes, but the silky fabric fits her like a second skin. I stand straight, tugging at my cuffs before slipping my fingers through my hair.
“You—” I blow out a breath. “Wow.”
Alex’s smug smile graces her lips as she steps over the threshold in black slingback heels. “Will this work?”
My hand rubs my jaw as I take her in again. “That will absolutely work.”
Mags appears in the doorway, handing Alex a small black purse. “You kids have fun.”
“Thanks, Mags.” I can’t help myself; I swallow her into a hug.
I know I’m supposed to be keeping things calm, or chill, or low-key, or whatever the opposite ofToo muchis, but I’m bursting with gratitude for this sweet woman for caring about her granddaughter so much that Alex invented a fake boyfriend—without which, I’d never have this opportunity to take Alex out to dinner.
Mags rubs my back before releasing me.
“Smells good too,” she tells Alex.
“Grandma!”
She throws her hands up. “Oh, I’m in trouble now. I got called by my proper title.”
I chuckle as Alex shoots daggers at an unashamed Mags.
Extending my elbow to Alex, I give Mags a parting smile. “Thanks for letting me borrow her tonight.”
The tension crackling between us on the elevator, as I help her into my truck, and while I drive us to the restaurant feels capable of shutting down the power grid. We chat amiably the whole time—mostly about today’s game and how the relief players did, but I seem incapable of keeping my eyes on the road. Whenever I steal a furtive glance, Alex’s gaze is fixed on my hands, or throat, or chest. As much as I’m glad I reined in the flood of over-the-top plans for tonight, clearly, a three-piece suit is never a bad idea.
Alex’s brow quirks when we forgo the valet stand, continuing around the back of the restaurant, before she releases a low hum of understanding.
“Right. We can’t be seen together.”
I try—and fail—not to feel overjoyed by her disappointed tone.
