Page 10 of Her Counterfeit Christmas
“My mom would love that.”
My phone chimes in my purse. Normally, I’d ignore a text, but I need a distraction from Owen. His hand is so comforting. In another minute, I might lean over the center console and snuggle into his chest.
“Sorry,” I say. “It might be my roommates. Just a second.”
His hand drops from my shoulder, and I shiver.
It’s not Meg or Livy. It’s Spencer again. I forgot to text him back earlier to say I wouldn’t meet him for dinner.
SPENCER:Meet me at L’oie Bleue. Our table is reserved for 7 p.m. I like you in the blue dress with the open back.
Spencer is great in some ways, but completely oblivious in others. I move to slip my phone back in my purse, when I’m hit by a profound thought: Spencer is wealthy.
I can ask him for a loan. Banks have turned me down. As have Visa and Mastercard. But Spencer’s generous. He might say yes.
It’s a crazy idea, but it’s the only one I have.
I type out a quick text.
LAYLA:See you there.
I don’t want to go. I’d much rather stay here than have a fancy dinner with Spencer. But Nana. She comes first.
“I’m sorry, Owen. I need to be somewhere. It’s important.”
His expression turns from disappointed to worried in a nanosecond. “Is everything okay?”
“It will be. Thank you so much for the fries.”
Owen leaves the tray outside and turns on his ignition. Lucky me, there’s a break in traffic as soon as he reaches the curb, and we’re across the street and next to my car in less than thirty seconds.
He puts the car in park. “Could I get your number? I’ll be back in Utah next Saturday, and I’d love to take you out on an actual date.”
I can’t recall an hour that I’ve enjoyed as much as this one, but I’m still hesitant to let him into my life. Even if Spencer gives me a loan, it doesn’t solve my money problems. My fear of Owen finding out what a mess I am hasn’t disappeared. If anything, it’s grown. He might not know what to do with his life, but he owns a business. Hiscar isn’t overdue for a visit at the mechanics. He’s put together; I’m a disaster.
I glance at Greta, who is gnawing on her bone at the back of the car, then smile goodbye at Owen.
“I’ll see you around. Merry Christmas.”
I’m out of his car and into mine in record time. It’s like tearing off a bandage: a quick goodbye is better than a lingering one. Besides, if I’m going to make it toL’oie Bleueby seven, I need to speed back to my apartment to get ready.
Chapter Three
LAYLA
I don’t havemuch time to look my best, but I do what I can to revive my hair by re-curling the limp strands and dousing it in hairspray. I refuse to wear the blue Veronica Beard dress Spencer requested because I’m not an accessory, and this isn’t a date. This is a business meeting between friends, even if he doesn’t know that yet.
Instead, I wear the L’Agence black wrap dress. It’s simple, but elegant. Before Nana lost all her money, I went consignment shopping every weekend and found some amazing designer pieces. I adore a gorgeous, well-made piece of clothing and a reason to dress up.
I pair the dress with my lucky red Gianvito Rossi boots. They belonged to my mom, a small splurge to keep her spirits up when she first became sick. They kept her alive for four years past her doctor’s initial prognosis.
I need their luck tonight.
I’m on my way out the door when Meg comes through it. Her green scrubs are sweaty and dirty. By the way she collapses on the armchair, her nursing shift at the hospital must have been arduous.
“You’re back early,” I say.
When I arrived home and neither of my roommates were here, I hoped I could get out before they got home. It would be a lot easier to explain in a text than in person that I’m missing our movie night.
