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To distract myself from all these thoughts, I focus on scrawling my name over the forms. There’s no witness here, so signing it is more symbolic than anything else. Still, there’s a weight to the moment as Patrick takes it himself, turning it around and signing his own name right under mine.

When the signing is done, Patrick stands and leads me into the first living room, which is sunken into the floor like a pond, the couches arranged in a square shape, all facing the television.

It’s the biggest TV I’ve ever seen in my life, and it’s set to the starting slide of a presentation called The Moreno Family—Acquiring Moreno Toys—Believable Engagement Project.

Sitting down on one of the large couches, I half expect it to be as rigid and cold as the rest of the house. But it’s actually very comfortable, and I sink into it as Patrick moves to the end and perches on one of the armrests.

I feel another pang of missing my family, practically hearing my father say, “Nope! Butts go on cushions!”

Forging ahead, Patrick moves through the slideshow.

“Moreno Toys,” he says, glancing at me. “Second largest toy conglomerate in North America. Flame Ride line is obviously their highest-selling toy, but Holly Hairnet and Ocean Sand come in a pleasantly close second and third. A good diversification of income across product lines. Chris and Gloria Moreno are taking an early retirement and selling off pieces of their holdings—Moreno Toys being the one we want.”

He clicks through the slides, showing me pictures of the Morenos, of the toys produced by their company. I was too old by the time that stuff came out, but I know how popular their toys are.

“My nephew, Liam, is obsessed with Flame Rides. He’s the kind of kid who even keeps them in the box.”

Patrick raises his eyebrows appreciatively. “Smart—they’ll only increase in value if they’re kept in mint condition.”

“You sound just like him.”

“It’s good that you know about the toys, and you can play up the angle with your nieces and nephews.” Patrick pauses, considers, then turns to me. “Write me up a report about them? I should probably know at least the basics. I assume I would have met them if I’m your fiancé.”

I swallow, instantly picturing Jeremy with Liam and Amelia, their laughter echoing through the house as he played airplane with them and pretended not to see their obvious hiding spots during hide-and-seek.

He was great with kids.

I want to tell Patrick that I could just tell him about my nieces and nephews, about my sisters and their partners, too, but he’s already moving on. And, plus, maybe it’s a good idea to keep this as professional as possible.

“Now, let’s go over the Morenos. Obviously, you haven’t met them before, but I thought it might help us be more personable if we went over their family structure. Chris and Gloria are at the top here, both co-owners of Moreno Toys. That’s important, as it means he can’t sell to me without her signing off on it, too. Together they had four kids.” He says it like it’s a lot, and I stifle a laugh, imagining his face when I tell him I have three sisters. “From oldest to youngest, they’re David, Elena, Mary, and Theo. It was thought that David would take over the company. Apparently not.”

“I wonder why not,” I muse, and Patrick turns around to look at me, his face bright. This is what he looks like when he’s engaged.

Handsome. Dynamic.

“My assumption is the tale as old as time—kid raised to take over the family business chafes against the responsibility.” Turning back to the slideshow, he clicks through the rest of the photos, rattling off names I’m definitely not going to remember. Which is probably for the best. It would be weird for me to know them before I met them.

“Sebastian, Raymond, and Bailey are the sons- and daughter-in-law. Bailey is pregnant. Elena and Seb have three kids: Ben, Stacey, and Georgia. Mary and Ray have little Claire and Araya. Theo and Bailey have a one-year-old, Stella, and like I said, another on the way.”

“Wow,” I mumble, staring at the elaborate chart Patrick has made. “Reminds me of my own family.”

He turns to look at me over his shoulder again. “That’s perfect. You can draw on that.”

I want to ask him if he can draw on his family experience, but he’s my boss.

And this entire situation is already so weird. So I just lace my fingers together, sink into the couch, and listen patiently as Patrick describes my contributions—holiday cheer, namely, along with the convincing performance of wanting a family with him.

And, for some reason, Patrick makes it seem like it’s going to be a difficult task.

Watching him as he enthusiastically reads off notes for each slide, I get the feeling that it’s actually not going to be that difficult after all.

CHAPTER 9

PATRICK

It’s strange to have Cami in my house.

I can’t remember the last time I had someone over here. Maybe a plumber. Maybe the real estate agent, bringing a gift after closing the sale.