Page 15 of Honkers Under the Holly

As I dragged Tommy toward the stairs, I heard Dad say to Mom, “Remember when we were that age and thought we were subtle?”

The next day, it felt very weird to show up with just a couple of duffle bags of stuff at the front door of the mansion I was going to call home for the next few months.

“Our master suite has the best morning light for shoots,” Magda said, leading us through the rooms of the house. “I often use it when we’re trying different lighting setups.”

I hadn’t realized that the house sitting would also involve people coming and going all the time. It meant a lot more work keeping up our fake engagement charade. No way I was letting Sara Jayne lose any of Magda’s confidence in her because of reports that we weren’t... I don’t know, engaged-acting enough.

“These other rooms are all set up as styling stations and equipment storage,” she explained. “The schedule for whose using which room and when is posted on the doors so no one disturbs anyone else’s set up.”

Sara Jayne and I exchanged a quick glance. We’d planned to take separate rooms—but it seemed like every one of the bedrooms, even in a house this size, were all going to be occupied with the modeling and photography business.

Magda continued her tour, breezing past closed doors without opening them, and it would be way too risky to try to stay in any of them.

Sir Honksalot waddled past the French doors out in the garden, as if he’d already claimed the entire estate as his domain. Through the windows, I could see his luxury pet house being assembled by Jones’s personal assistant. It had a fountain. An actual fountain.

This goose sure was good at winning hearts and minds.

“Now, the main house alarm codes,” Magda continued, but I was distracted by Sara Jayne’s subtle shifting beside me. She’d been quiet since we’d arrived, and I wondered if she was as overwhelmed by all of this as I was.

We’d been on exactly one and a half dates. While I’d spent plenty of time fantasizing about having her in my bed, I doubted either of us thought we’d actually be stuck with only one bed for the both of us like this.

A bed that, as we discovered when Magda threw open the double doors to the room that was designated as ours, dominated the room like a cruise ship had docked in a sea of sea-colored carpet.

The theme song from “The Love Boat” popped into my head.

“Brand new memory foam especially delivered for you two this morning,” Magda said with a knowing smile that made my ears burn. “Jones insisted all the beds in the house be ultra-comfortable, supportive and durable.”

She winked at Sara Jayne. “Have fun breaking it in.”

Sara Jayne made a sound that might have been agreement or possibly just pure panic.

“I had everything in here reorganized last week, so there’s room for both your things. Though Sara Jayne, darling, we’ll need to clear some space for the wardrobe from tomorrow’s shoot.” Magda said, checking her phone, which she grimaced at.

“Well, dears, it looks like you’ll have to put up with Jones and I another two days. She showed us her phone briefly, not that I caught what was on the screen. But Sara Jayne’s eyes went wide. “Illustrated Sports just won’t wait for me to get back from the Amalfi coast to wrap up casting.”

She typed something, sending off a rapid fire message, then looked at me. “You don’t happen to have any clients nearby that could do a test shoot at four, do you, Mac, darling?”

Did I? “Would an L.A. Bandits running back work?”

“Oh, perfect. I always forget Tommy is here. Sometimes it’s hard for me to remember he’s all grown up. Call him will you, while I break the news to Jones that we can’t leave, at least untilMonday.” She air-kissed us both. “Don’t worry about unpacking now. Plenty of time for that after the shoot!”

She swanned out, leaving us alone in what was apparently our bedroom. Our very much singular bedroom. With its very much singular bed.

“So,” I said intelligently.

“So,” Sara Jayne agreed.

From the garden, Sir Honksalot’s triumphant honk suggested he’d discovered his fountain.

“I can sleep on the floor,” I offered.

Sara Jayne turned to me, her expression fierce as she glanced down at my knee. At least, I think it was my knee she was looking at below my belt. “We’re adults. We can share a bed for a little while without it being weird. Can’t we?”

The problem was, everything about Sara Jayne made my pulse race in a decidedly non-platonic way. Sharing a bed, even just for sleep, seemed like an exercise in exquisite torture.

A hint of pink bloomed up her cheeks, and she looked at the doorway, lowering her voice to a whisper. “If Magda and Jones are here for two more days. We have to make this look convincing.”

She was right. And I was in so much trouble.

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