Page 57 of Man Hands
He gives me a soft smile. “That is very nice of you to say, especially since you’d never heard of my show untilwemet.”
Whoops. I was not about to confess that I’d gotten all turned on binge-watching it today. “I’m a very loyal fakefiancé.”
“You are.” His smile warms, and he strokes my hand with his big Man Thumb. And that Man Thumb makes me all quivery. Throbby. That’s not a pretty word, but by god, it’s thetruth.
From my handbag comes a ring tone loud enough to be heard over the crowded restaurant.Classy. I grab the phone andsilenceit.
“Anything important?”Tomasks.
“That’s just my mother calling.” I roll my eyes. “Definitely not a good reason to interrupt this feast we’rehaving.”
“Shit.” Tom sits back in his chair. “Is your mother having a hardtimewith…”
“Her daughter’s porn career?” I shrug. “Honestly, I think she can’t decide whether she’s embarrassed, or whether she’s enjoying the extra attention the other retirees aregivingher.”
My motherhadchewed me out for showing the world my sex face. But in her next breath she’d admitted that she’d been invited to four extra bridge parties and that every speck of her tuna casserole had been eaten at the Sundaypotluck.
She stopped short of thanking me,though.
I grab my phone out of my bag and show himthetext.
Mom: I’ve been thinking since seeing that video, you might want to try a body buff to take care of dead skin. These things matter more as you getolder.
“See?” I say. “Clearly not a big deal. She’s not too traumatized to remind me that I’m getting older. Let’s just hope the universities feel the same way. That they’re more concerned about exfoliation than the morality of their potential writingprofessor.”
Tom puts a big hand over his face. “I’m so sorry. The job thing is bad enough, but it never occurred to me that I’d embarrassed you to yourfamily.”
It hits me that he’s said something a little odd. “Don’t you have a family toembarrass?”
“Nope.” He stabs his fork into the barbecued beef that’s just landed on ourplates.
This is puzzling. “Everybody has some family,right?”
“Not everybody.” His face shuts down, and it’s obvious that he doesn’t want to talkaboutit.
I don’t even know why I push. “Are you estranged? Or aretheygone?”
“Gone,” he murmurs, and doesn’t look me intheeye.
“Oh.” I’m stunned. There’s something so warm and easygoing about Tom, and I would have bet cash money that he’d grown up in a big, loud family. I don’t know what to say. So I cover one of his hands with myfreeone.
My other hand is busy shoveling food into my mouth. The marinated pork tenderloin shows up, and it’s amazing. As are the grilled prawns. And the grilled salmon. And more steak. We eat until I’m sure were going to burst. I don’t press on the family thing. I can tell it’s a sensitive spot, and I’m not sure we’re ready yet for those tenderplaces.
An hour later we stumble out onto the sidewalk. My wrap dress is tight. So naturally someone shoves a camera in our faces. The flashblindsme.
“Hey! It’s Mr. Fixit Quick! Can I have aselfie?”
“Um, sure,” he says. “But just quick, because my fiancée is waitingforme.”
There’s a shrill, female squeal. And when my eyes start working again, I spot two tourists posing with Tom, who looks annoyed even through his I’m-posing-for-a-photosmile.
“When’s the wedding?” thewomanasks.
Tom’s gaze meets mine, and we realize at once that we haven’t worked out that part of ourstoryyet.
“It’s top secret!” I say quickly. “We don’t want wedding crashers. But we’re going with an exotic cocktails theme,” I babble. “Mai tais and caipirinhas. Drinks with lime! And, uh, citrus-colored bridesmaidsdresses.”
“I thought you said seafoam,” Tom argues. Then he winksatme.
