Page 53 of That Fake Feeling
“We’vehad a chat withSterling,”Walkersays. “Hewas going to come here with us, but he’s stuck trying to untangle an issue with the brewery’s ad campaign.”
“Atleast something’s going our way then,”Imutter asIpace back across the patio.
“Anyway,”Walkercontinues. “Wethink you should bringRosehome.”
Istop in my tracks and turn to face them.Myeyes must be bulging out of my face. “What?”
Roselooks like she’s just been asked to sell her own mother.
Shelooks atWalker. “Youwant me to meetConnor’sparents?Isn’tinvolving them taking things a bit far?”
“Theydon’t mind,”Maxsays. “We’reoverdue a family get-together anyway, soMom’shappy for the excuse.Wecan all go this weekend.”
IfIwere closer to the table,I’dslam my fists on it. “Youmean you’ve already talked to them?Beforeme?Areyou fucking kidding me,Max?”
Rosedrops her chin to her chest. “Thissounds awful,” she says softly.
Istep toward her and rest my hand on the warm skin of her shoulder.Herneed for someone to make all this go away fills me with the urge to protect her.
“Stoptaking over,Max.Andit’s pretty fucking low draggingMomandDadinto it.It’snot fair.”
“Thismight be the thing that does the trick, though,”Walkersays. “Noone takes someone home to meet their parents unless they’re dead serious.”
Rosepats my hand, sniffs, and looks up at me.
“He’sright,” she says, with an air of defeat. “I’lldo whatever it takes.”
Thedoorbell rings in the distance.
Rosemoves out from under my hand and looks atMaxandWalker. “Youguys are just in time for pizza.”
14
ROSE
“Theonly reasonItook the blame was so you wouldn’t look foolish toMaxandWalker.Iwas covering for you.Tryingto do you a fav—”
Myextremely valid point comes to a sudden halt in a gasp as the gates in the stone wall in front of us swing open to reveal a long circular driveway leading to a three-story stone house with a green door at its center.
“Oh, my goodness,Connor.Thisis beautiful.”
“And, more importantly, it stopped you telling meI’man ass,” he says as he drives us through the gates.
TheearlySaturdayevening sun coming through the windshield lights up his smirking face.
ButIcan’t let myself be distracted by an elegant country house orConnor’shandsome and mischievous features.
“Onlyfor a second,”Iwarn him. “Seriously, you could have told them you behaved like a dick in that interview and deliberately tried to wreck it.”
“Doesit really matter that much?” he says calmly with a slight shrug, showing it clearly doesn’t matter a jot to him.
GoodGod, this is frustrating. “Istill don’t understand.Whywould you try to screw up something that’s foryourbenefit?”
We’vebeen bickering for the last thirty minutes.Thefirst four and a half hours of the drive fromManhattanto this idyllic spot inNewHampshirehad been great, though.
Welaughed a surprising amount.AboutSterling’sendless supply of colorful attire, the faceConnorpulled when he thought the branch was going to pull him intoCentralParkLake, and about his squirrel-feeding neighbor.
Hetold me how he and the “brousins” bought this house as a wreck a year ago, spent six months renovating it, and his parents moved in early this year.Itold him aboutAuntJen, her semi-off-the-grid lifestyle inWashingtonstate, and how proud she is of her new rain barrel.
