Page 23 of Maybe We Can Fake It

Grant moves in to hug me as well, though it’s really more of a quick, one-armed pat on the back. “I told her it’d be better if we gave you a heads up.”

“Don’t worry, it’s totally fine,” I lie through my smiling teeth.

“Do you mind showing us to our room?” he asks. “I’m a bit tired from the flight and the drive. We can rest for a while and let you carry on with whatever work you’re doing.”

The way he says “work” grates on me just a tad. Like he doesn’t necessarily equate what I do here—running this whole damn inn—with what he traditionally considers work.

Then the first part of what he said hits me.

Oh, crap, I didn’t even tell them they wouldn’t be staying here like they normally do.

“So...” I start nervously. “I don’t actually have a room for you here. I’m fully booked. If I’d known you were getting in now, I would’ve had you meet me at the house.”

This situation, having them stay with me and May, is less than ideal. For me, and surely for them. But with the corporate retreat not leaving until tomorrow evening, and MayFest next weekend, there’s no way I can give them a room here. Tourists come early for the festival.

Surprisingly, Elise looks delighted at this news, her face lighting up like I offered her a free upgrade from coach to first class. Not that she’d ever fly coach. “Well, that’s no problem at all. We’ll get to spend more time with you and May this way!”

Yeah. More time with me, May, and my fake boyfriend.

When I came up with the brilliant idea of faking a relationship, I imagined Travis wouldn’t need to spend that much time around Elise and Grant. Maybe we’d all share a meal or two, just so they could meet him. Easy-peasy-someone-squeeze-me.

But I forgot to take into account the fact that they’ll be staying at my house instead of the inn. They’ll be there all the time. All. The. Time. And they might expect Travis to be around a lot too. Since my dumb ass told Elise that my boyfriend and I practically live together.

Travis and I haven’t even had time to work out the details of this mess I’ve created.

Jesus, maybe Ishouldlook into May’s suggestion of therapy. That’s an issue for another day though. After I survive this visit.

“I can head over there with you two now and get you set up,” I tell them. “I only need a minute to make sure I’m covered here.”

Before they can reply, Travis comes barreling around the corner from the kitchen and almost slams into me. He grips myshoulder to steady himself. “Sorry. Can I have the key to the linen closet? We need more rags. A lot more rags.”

“Everything okay?” I ask.

He grimaces. “It’s fine. We just need to come up with another dessert that can be made quickly for the dinner service.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. I don’t want to know.

Travis notices the Richardsons, who are watching this interaction as if it’s a show, and he grimaces again. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were with guests.”

“Oh, we’re not guests,” Elise offers. “We’re—”

She cuts herself off, leaving the sentence hanging uncomfortably. Because how do you define what they are to me? They’re the grandparents of my daughter. But technically, to me, they’re nothing. They’re not... family.

I attempt to turn my grimace into a smile and tell Travis, “This is Elise and Grant, May’s grandparents.” My eyes send him a quick apology, because this wasn’t how I pictured the introductions going.

He blanches and glances down at the not-so-white-anymore apron he’s wearing. It looks like a crime scene, covered in splotches of dark red. “Nice to meet you,” he says. “I’m Travis.” His eyes flit to me questioningly, and at my subtle nod, he lowers his voice and adds, “Brenden’s boyfriend.”

The lobby’s mostly empty, but I understand the caution. If someone local overheard, it would spread like wildfire through Mayweather and reach his dad out of town by the end of the day. And I’dhatemyself for getting him outed.

“Oh!” Elise says. “We’ve heard about you. Hello! It’s wonderful to meet you.”

Grant’s expression darkens. “Your boyfriend is your employee?” he asks me.

“No! He’s not.” Do they really think so little of me to think I’d date an employee? “He owns the diner in town. He’s only helping me out in the kitchen for a bit with a couple big events.”

“I see,” Grant says curtly. Admitting that I need my boyfriend to help me run my business probably doesn’t make me look much better in his eyes.

I hold back my groan of frustration. All of this could’ve been avoided if they had arrived when they were supposed to.

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