Page 65 of Phishing for Love
“You seem nervous,” Nathan points out, sparing me a quick, surprised glance.
I force a laugh. “Not really. Just unsure how it’s all going to play out.”
He reaches across the console to give my thigh a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
Fine. Such a bland-sounding word. Not at all what I imagine today will be like. Awkward. Uncomfortable. Tense. Those descriptions feel more apt.
Aaron has promised not to make trouble, and I’m holding him to that promise. But for two people who met for the first time two months ago, it feels as though we possess a significantamount of troubling history between us: The Cat Video. The Sleeping Incident. The Creative Room. Minion Day. Friday Night Drinks.
“Apparently, Kate’s also invited a friend,” I tell him.
“A friend? Like adate?” he asks in astonishment as he pulls into my parents’ driveway.
“She insists he’s just a friend.”
None of us have met Kate’s friends. She rarely mentions her work colleagues. And she’s certainly never brought someone along to my parents’ Sunday barbecue.
Nathan cuts the engine. “Wow, Kate has a friend she hasn’t chewed up and spat out.”
My voice holds a warning note. “Hey, she’s my sister.”
“Yeah, but even you have to admit she’s a ballbreaker,” he mutters.
Gripping the glass dish, I climb out the car, unaccountably irritated. I don’t want to talk about Kate. I don’t want Nathan to talk about Kate. He should know how sensitive I am about my sister.
Nathan takes the heavy dish from me and presses a kiss to my temple in a halfhearted apology. “I take back what I said.”
“Good.”
He grins. “But at least the day has suddenly become more interesting.”
Exactly what I’m afraid of.
“You look pretty, by the way.”
I soften at the admiration in his voice. I’m wearing my usual denims and a form-fitting, burgundy T-shirt, but I took a little extra care with my makeup today and my hair is sleek and straight.
We’re the first to arrive, which is how I planned it.
On my parents’ porch, I almost trip over the Google Home device lying outside the front door.
Opening the door, I call out, “Grandma, why is Google outside?”
Her small figure comes barreling down the hallway. “Hi, Tess. Nathan.” She glares down at the offending machine. “It’s in time-out.”
“Time-out?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It keeps testing my patience with its ‘Sorry, I didn’t get that.’ So, I’m teaching it a lesson.”
“But—”
Grandma plants her hands on her hips. “It wants the attention so don’t say any of those words that wake it up.”
I stare down at Google and then back up at my sweet old grandmother. “Google is unplugged, Grandma. It can’t respond to any voice activations.”
