Page 38 of Faking Romance

I feel my jaw clenching. “Difference of opinions on life.”

“Wow. Sounds intense,” she says as she curls a leg beneath her.

“It was. What about you?” I ask, trying to take her attention away from my past love life.

“Well, I have dated a bunch of guys, but only got super serious with one of them,” she admits with a shrug. I want to ask questions, but she continues. “You know about my three siblings. They are all a bunch of overachievers. My parents are just normal high-achieving parents. They live in the ’burbs. I went to college locally and studied literature. And then tried to have one serious boyfriend who I lived with for a bit and that backfired almost immediately. I ended back up at my parents’ house and then my grandmother died, left me money, and I decided to try opening my bookstore. That’s about it.”

“I’m sorry. Were you close with your grandmother?” I ask.

She nods and looks away from me. “Yeah.”

“So you lived with a boyfriend,” I state.

She laughs bitterly. “Rich was a dick. I mean, the sex was great. He said I should move in way too early in our relationship. I was an idiot and said yes. It lasted a whopping four weeks before I found out he was already cheating on me.” I feel my jaw clench again. “Anyhow, I packed up my things and moved home.”

“Wow, sounds like an asshole,” I manage through gritted teeth.

“If it talks like one and walks like one,” she sighs.

“What else should I know?” I ask as I pull up to a wealthy part of the city with giant homes.

“Oh, uh…my name,” she says in a low voice.

“I’m sorry, what about it?”

“It’s Roxbury,” she whispers.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Roxbury!” she says loudly.

I frown trying to make sense of the name.

She turns back to me and rolls her eyes. And I know there’s a story.

“I was…conceived at my parents’ old house on Roxbury Street. My full name is Roxbury Anne Benedict,” she mutters.

I laugh. “Wow. Well, good to know. Anything else I should know?”

“I like yoga, cats, obviously books, music, and going to planetariums,” she says in rapid fire. “You?”

“Uh, I like books, mostly fantasy and spy novels, obviously music, and I’ve never had a pet,” I say.

“What? Like never, never?”

“Yep. Never,” I reply. We drive a few blocks in silence as I feel her glance at me every few seconds as if she’s trying to see inside my brain.

“We’re here,” I announce as I pull over and park on the street. I turn to look at her. “What?”

“I’m still processing that you’ve never had a pet,” she admits as she opens the car door and gets out.

I shake my head as I follow her up the path to a well-kept mansion. It’s a stately English Tudor-style home. I take Roxy’s hand in mine as we reach the front porch.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

She nods as she presses the doorbell.

A minute later an older woman answers the door. “Mr. Porter?”

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