Page 7 of Daddy's Naughty Author

I nod. “Slipped. Nearly face-planted, actually. Would’ve broken my tailbone if KC hadn’t caught me. I am a bit accident prone, and I promise you, I do not fall gracefully.”

KC, the absolute menace, chuckles. “That’s an understatement. RJ has a habit of not paying attention to where she’s walking. She brought me cookies the next day to say thanks and we got to know each other better.”

It’s mostly true. I had brought him cookies and we’d spoken from time to time but not in the way he was suggesting. I wonder briefly if we would have hit it off back then…

Margaret’s expression softens. “Bringing him cookies was sweet of you. He has quite the sweet tooth.”

“Cookies I bought from a bakery and put in a Tupperware container,” I add, because honesty is important and adding some believable details might help out. KC doesn’t know that detail and looks at me with raised eyebrows. I’m sure he’s wondering if I am embellishing or telling the truth.

Margaret laughs, delighted. “Resourceful. I like that.”

KC shakes his head. “She’s full of surprises.”

“Well, that’s a wonderful story. And I’m thrilled to finally meet the woman who’s stolen my son’s heart. It sure has taken him long enough to find one.”

I smile, willing myself not to react to that little exaggeration. “I’m so glad we got to finally meet; KC has told me much about his family. He has some hilarious stories about growing up. I don’t know how you did it outnumbered by a house full of boys.”

Just keep up the act, RJ. You’ve got this. Ask questions about KC’s childhood. Play the doting girlfriend.

As the conversation flows, KC's arm drapes casually over the back of my chair, his thumb brushing the bare skin where my neck meets my shoulder. It's nothing, really, but somehow, it's everything—the kind of touch that speaks volumes without aword being said. The chemistry between us is real, at least for me, and I wonder if he feels it too.

“I hear you are an author,” Margaret is saying. “What kind of books do you write?”

Here we go.Will she judge me for writing romance?Look down her nose and snub me? Is this a situation where I’ll need to defend myself and my genre? It is the biggest revenue generating genre in the entire world.

“RJ writes romance,” KC answers, pride lacing his voice in a way that sounds too real for comfort. He needs to get a side gig acting at our local community theater. If I didn’t know better, I’d believe every word he was saying. “She's got quite the fanbase. Her readers adore her.”

“Romance, you say?” Margaret leans across the table. “I love a good romance. Back in my day, I read a few too many bodice rippers myself, if you know what I mean. Are your books the type with the half naked men on the covers? Do you have Fabio on your covers?”

I feel the tension draining from my shoulders with her validation. She’s not going to judge what I write.

“Something like that,” I say, deflecting with a shrug. “But enough about me. KC tells me you're the queen of community events back home. I heard your annual block party is legendary.”

Margaret beams, happy to divert the spotlight, and as she regales us with tales of neighborhood shenanigans, KC’s hand squeezes my shoulder and we exchange a glance. So far, so good.

The rest of dinner goes shockingly well. Margaret is sharp, funny, and a little nosy, but I like her. KC, damn him, is effortlessly charming, playing the perfect doting boyfriend with casual touches— fingers brushing mine, rubbing my back, and little gestures that feel way too natural. I swear he’s doing it just to mess with me. He’s literally the type of man I write romancenovels about. The number of green flags mixed with the edge of danger has me squirming in my seat.

And then, after the check comes and I think we’re in the clear, Margaret drops the bomb.

“I’ve decided to extend my stay,” she announces as the waiter clears our plates.

KC straightens slightly. “Extend?”

She nods, taking a sip of her wine. “I was only planning on staying the weekend but as you know, your Aunt Monica moved here recently and lives about twenty minutes away from you. Of course, I want to spend more time with my baby boy and spend time getting to know Rebecca better.” She pats his cheek, and I bite back a laugh at the way his jaw clenches. “After all, the way you talk, she could be my future daughter-in-law. Two weeks is all the time your dad will allow me to be away. Don’t worry, I’ve booked an adorable place in your town. I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Two. Weeks.

I nearly choke on my drink. KC, to his credit, barely flinches, though I can feel the tension rolling off him in waves.

Two weeks of fake dating. Two weeks of keeping up this charade.

Two weeks of KC’s hand on my back, his teasing smirks, his lingering glances.

I’m so screwed.

The drive home is quiet at first, the city lights flashing past as I stare out the window, processing. Then KC clears his throat.

“So… still in?”

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