Page 19 of Confessions of a Smutty Romance Author

She rolled her eyes at him while Dad and I exchanged a look. Our wedding gift to them was going to be to move in most of their stuff while they were honeymooning in Montana so they would have less to do when they got back.

Mara asked, “You’re buying a house? That’s amazing.”

Tess grinned. That house was her pride and joy. “It’s a three-two on the west side of Emerson. Beautiful backyard, tire swing in the front.” She rested her head against Derek’s shoulder for a moment. “Perfect for little ones someday.”

“I love it,” Mara said, bending over to pour my drink. Her breast brushed my shoulder, and whatever blood was left in my head was suddenly redirected.

I quickly reached for the drink, knocking it over, and she moved to get the glass, pressing her body even more tightly against mine.

Good fucking Christ.

Mom laughed as though nothing were amiss, bringing a big kitchen towel to me. “You haven’t spilled glasses since you hit that growth spurt as a teenager.” As I wiped up the spill, she said to Mara, “He grew six inches in a summer, and his arms were so long he didn’t know what to do with them.”

Mara laughed. “I ran into things with my butt for an entire year for the same reason.”

That had Mom and Dad and Tess laughing.

I was thankful. She’d quickly deflected from my embarrassment, laughing it off. That was nice. Really.

I stood to place the rag in the sink, but Mara offered to take it, bringing it back with her. She put the lemonade in the fridge covered in magnets and photos and receipts, then rinsed out the rag just like she belonged here.

Maybe she did.

I immediately recoiled from the thought. Was my dick that desperate that I was already forgetting this arrangement was fake? Mutually beneficial, but ultimately shallow?

I shook my head as if that could clear it and took the platter of sliced meat being passed to me. The table was quiet for a moment as we began loading up our plates and took those first delicious bites of Mom’s cooking.

“Mariah, you have to give me this recipe,” Mara said, wiping at her full lips with a paper napkin. “It’s so good.”

Mom grinned proudly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Most people add cream of mushroom, but I add French onion soup to the broth. It flavors the meat and the vegetables so well, then you can use the broth for a really good gravy the next day.”

“Ooh, I love that idea,” Mara said. “How did you come up with that?”

“When you have two kids and limited ingredients around, you get creative. You’ll understand when you have littles of your own.”

Mara’s face fell slightly, but she took a bite to mask it.

Dad said, “Tell us about yourself, Mara.”

She swallowed and gave him an amicable smile. “What do you want to know?”

Dad shrugged. “Where do you come from? Any siblings? What do you do for a living?”

Mara glanced down at the table, her brown eyes hidden by a thick fringe of lashes. “My family’s from a small town outside of LA, but we don’t really keep in touch anymore.”

Dad frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s for the best, really,” Mara said, flashing him a reassuring smile. “And I’m a romance author.”

My mom’s mouth fell open. “No. Way. What’s your last name?”

“Taylor,” Mara said.

Mom’s face split into a grin, and she pushed up from the table, hurrying to one of the stacks of books in the living room. She pulled off the top ten or so, then grabbed a paperback that had been very well-loved.

“Swipe Rightby Mara Taylor,” Mom said, grabbing a pen from the coffee table. “You have to sign it for me.”

Mara smiled, her cheeks filling with color. “I can’t believe you have one of my books!”

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