“We should go over each other’s backgrounds one last time,” I announce.
“Boss, relax. We have it covered, went over it a million times.”
“Also, you need to stop calling me ‘boss.’ When we’re with my family, I’m Nikki.”
“Or I could tell them I call you ‘boss’ for how bossy you are.”
“I’m not bossy.” I hand Diego his cheat sheet of information about my family and keep the one about his. “So, backgrounds.”
“Bossy.” He grins.
I scowl. “Be serious, we can’t make mistakes. My family really needs to think we know each other.”
Diego leans forward, dropping his elbows on his knees. “But we do, and better than most couples. We’ve been together all the time for two weeks.” Never this close, though. His nose is only a few inches from mine. “Doesn’t matter if you forget my third uncle’s name.”
“You think you know me?”
“I do.”
“Prove it,” I challenge him.
“Name: Nicola Addison Moore. Birthday: April 24. Born and raised in Old Saybrook. NYU graduate with a degree in Marketing and Visual design. Father: Jason Moore. Mother: Dora Moore, maiden name Appleton. Only one sibling, Julia, soon to be married to Paul Collins. And it doesn’t matter if I don’t remember your Aunt Laurel’s middle name”—he pauses to peek at the sheet—“is Clara, and that she’s the one allergic to nuts.”
“It matters! You could offer her the wrong cookie and kill her,” I say, somewhat annoyed that he’s basically memorized the whole sheet, while I still struggle to remember all of his nephews’ names.
“No, it doesn’t. This list isn’t that important; not when I’ve learned everything else about you.”
“Like what?” I cross my arms pettily.
“You only have a few friends, but the ones you have, you would die for. Harry Potter is your favorite series, but you refuse to pick a single favorite book like everybody else because the story wouldn’t exist without all seven novels. You never leave the house before spraying yourself head to toe in Flower by Kenzo, the same perfume you’ve used since you were sixteen…”
I gape at him. “How do you know that?”
“Blair told me.” He winks.
Oh, so the two buggers talked about me behind my back.
“Anything else?” I ask.
“Yes. You like to paint your nails in the most obnoxious, shocking colors.” I stare down at my fingers, and the tips are in fact neon pink. “But you’d never use a lipstick shade other than nude. Pity, because a bold red would look killer on you, if I may say.”
“You may…” I mock-scold him.
Eyes never leaving mine, Diego continues, “You refuse to dress more casually at the office, even if your boss has probably told you a million times you could lie low on the suits…”
He has.
“…When you’re concentrating, you reach out to twirl a lock of hair around your finger, only to lower your hand, disappointed, because you’ve forgotten you’ve chopped it all off…”
As he keeps talking, it’s hard not to notice how green his eyes are, or how close our faces are hovering. Also hard to ignore is that, in just two weeks, he’s mapped me out better than any boyfriend I’ve ever had. And I don’t like the kind of fuzzy sensation his words are putting in my stomach, so I interrupt him, “Okay, you’re very observant. Noted.”
He leans back on the couch, arms behind his head, leaving a huge bubble of empty space in front of me. “Comes with the job,” he says. “Every good actor needs to notice how other people behave.”
Right. Remember, this is only a job for him. Also, I might need to take a cold shower.
I lift my butt from the coffee table and, pointing at the list in his hands, I say, “Just read it one more time before you go to bed. Blair will be here super early tomorrow morning.”
“Aye, aye, boss.”
“And stop calling me ‘boss.’” I scowl again and am rewarded with a devilish grin.
Definitely need that cold shower.
***
At eight sharp the next morning, Blair walks into the apartment, Chevron in tow. Diego and I are just finishing a quick breakfast of coffee, milk, and cookies, when I’m assaulted by sixty pounds of enthusiastic dog.
“Yeah, yeah.” I stroke Chevron behind the ears as she yaps away frantically, shaking her tail in a mad frenzy and trying to jump in my lap. “Good girl, I’ve missed you, too.”
Diego leans against the kitchen bar column and eyes Chevron skeptically. “Is this supposed to be the trained attack dog?” he asks Blair.
“Hey,” she says apologetically. “You were a perfect stranger living with my best friend. I had to use every possible form of intimidation.”
Diego lets out two low whistles in sequence to attract Chevron’s attention and crouches down.
Blair’s dog, never one to shy away from cuddles or to be wary of strangers, responds to the call right away. She yaps happily and barrels into Diego with renewed enthusiasm, almost knocking him on his butt. Chevron keeps yapping for a while and then rolls on her back, paws in the air, offering her belly for Diego to pat.
“Well.” Diego laughs. “If her strategy is to kill strangers with cuddles, she might succeed.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re in the car, me driving, Diego sitting shotgun, and Blair and Chevron in the backseat. We’re heading north on FDR Drive toward Old Saybrook, and the traffic doesn’t seem bad. We should get there in good time.
“So, Blair,” Diego says, after a stretch of road spent in silence. “Are you, at least, happy to go home for the holidays?”
“Fifty percent,” Blair replies.
Diego throws her a questioning look from the rearview mirror.
“I’m happy to see my dad,” Blair explains, “but dreading seeing my mother.”
“She a tough cookie?”
“More an insufferable snob, and she’s not very happy with my latest life choices.”
“Like?”
“Like quitting a career at a glossy magazine to work at a startup. And she’s still trying to convince me that my cheating Manhattan lawyer ex was better than my perfect Brooklyn startup-owner boyfriend.”
“Really? Why?” I insert myself into the conversation. “How can she?”
“Oh, you know Mrs. Walker, queen of suburbs living. Gerard is New York WASP old money elite, my mother’s son-in-law wet dream.”
“You should tell her Richard is royalty,” I say. “That should shut her up.”
“It probably would, but then she’d also expect to have tea with the Queen sooner or later, so you see how that could backfire.”
At that moment, Blair’s phone chimes, and she says, “Speaking of the devil, it’s Richard.”
“He’s taking off?” I ask.
“No, says his flight is an hour late, and that he’s ordering a coffee from my former suitor.”
“What former suitor?”
“No idea,” she says, and types away into the phone. “Ah,” she yelps after a few seconds. “He’s talking about Mark.”
I’ve never heard of a Mark. “And who is this Mark guy?”
“A cute bartender who works at JFK.”
“Walker, you kept secrets,” I mock-complain. “Why does Richard think this guy was your suitor?”
“Remember when we went to California last summer?”
“To Christian Slade’s charity gala? Hell yeah. You flew off to meet the sexiest man alive and left me at home to take care of the furball.”
“Woof,” Chevron comments.
“You know Christian Slade?” Diego asks, visibly impressed. Guess that kind of fame is like the oasis mirage in the desert for him.
“My boyfriend does. They went to boarding school together back in England. Anyway, Richard and I weren’t together at the time,” she explains to Diego, “and I was so nervous about going on a trip with my boss—”
�
��Who she had a huge crush on,” I intervene.
“Who I had a huge crush on,” Blair confirms. “That I poured my heart out to this bartender guy, and we became sort of friends, and Richard—”
“Who was in denial about not having feelings for her back then,” I helpfully supply.
“—who was in denial about not having feelings for me back then, thought I was flirting with the guy. Should I tell him the whole discussion was about him?”
I say, “No,” just as Diego says, “Yes.”
“Explain yourselves, both of you,” Blair orders.
“Keep Richard on his toes,” I say. “Make him see how lucky he is you’re with him.”
“Diego?” Blair asks.
“You guys are in a serious relationship?”
“Yeah.”
“He loves you, and you love him?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“No need to play games, then. For a guy, what you say is what you mean. If you say you were flirting with this dude, Richard will believe you. He won’t think you were really obsessing over him the whole time, and only telling him it was a flirt to keep him on his toes…” Diego throws me an overcritical side stare. “He’s not going to realize how lucky he is to have you; he’ll just assume you weren’t that into him at the time of the trip. My suggestion is to tell the truth and give the guy’s ego a little boost. You’ll send him to London happy with a big, goofy smile on his face.”
I hear Blair tapping on the phone and narrow my eyes at her in the rearview mirror. “Are you taking his advice over mine?”
She shrugs. “He’s a guy.”
Her phone chimes back a second later.
“So, what did Richard say?” I ask.
“Sent me the ‘cool’ emoji with the sunglasses, and a shower of kisses, and says he loves me.”
“I’m getting diabetes,” I say, smiling, and change the subject. “Before we get home, you need to be up to date on our narrative.”
“What narrative?” Blair asks.
“How Diego and I met, our first date, how long we’ve been together, and so on…”
“Oh, so we’re not telling people you picked him off a catalog?” she jokes.
“Blair, be serious, you have to memorize everything we tell you, and we only have about two hours.”
She pokes her head between the front seats to speak to Diego. “Don’t you hate her when she’s this bossy?” she asks him.
His only response is to throw back his head and let out a throaty laugh.
This is going to be the longest week of my life.
Eleven
There’s No Place Like Home for the Holidays
Too soon for my cranky nerves, I’m pulling onto my street. The neighborhood in which Blair and I grew up resembles the perfect Christmas dream fairy tale at this time of the year—or nightmare, depending on one’s feelings toward the holidays. Rows and rows of perfectly-curated townhomes and gardens coated in dusty snow, mercilessly decorated to the death.
My house, in particular, could win the go-absolutely-nuts-with-fairy-lights competition. There isn’t a single tree or shrub that isn’t supporting some kind of illumination contraption. And on the lawn, they’ve scattered sparkly reindeers and a huge light-up sleigh. Even in daylight, the house is blinding, I wonder what it’ll do at night. Guess my mom ran off the bat with her daughters bringing home a fiancé and a new boyfriend, respectively.
I kill the car’s engine and turn back toward Blair. “Here we are.” She lives just across the street. “Are you coming over tonight after dinner?”
“Definitely,” Blair says, clipping on Chevron’s leash.
“All right.” I button up my coat, and we all get out of the car.
Diego helps Blair unload her bag and does the same with ours.
“Say hello to your parents,” Blair says, hugging me. “See you later.”
I watch her cross the street and then turn back toward my house, filled with dread.
I look up at Diego. “Ready?”
He nods.
“Let’s do this.”
I hook my travel bag over my shoulder next to my regular bag and walk up the driveway to the porch. My gloved finger has barely touched the doorbell when the door swings open to reveal Mom, Dad, and Julia crowding the threshold. If Diego was a real boyfriend, and not one paid to endure my family, I’d be dying of shame at their ill-concealed eagerness. Mom and Julia look like wolfhounds with the scent of a bone fresh in their nostrils.
Mom is poring over Diego in awe. I don’t think she even notices how hot he is; she’s just overwhelmed he’s the first boyfriend I’ve brought home since high school. Julia, on the other hand, is staring at him slightly slack-jawed. Ah, ah. Bet she was expecting me to introduce them to someone boring and possibly balding, not Mr. Tall, Dark, and Mysterious. Take that, little sis.
“Hi, everyone,” I greet them, walking inside and taking notice of how the interior of the house is no better than the outside. Looks like a Christmas Tree Shop has opened in here. Every square inch is covered with a decoration, wreath, or Christmas light, and the tree they bought this year is so massive it almost touches the living room ceiling. “Mom, Dad, this is Diego,” I make the introductions. “Diego, this is my mom, dad, and my sister, Julia.”
They all do the “nice to meet you” handshake dance—or, at least, my parents do. Julia just stares at Diego, speechless, as he shakes her hand.
Something brushes against my legs, and I bend down to pick up the only being I’m actually excited to see over this break: Mr. Darcy, the family tomcat. Dad found him hiding under his truck when he was just a tabby kitten in my junior year of high school. Even if we only lived under the same roof for two years, I still consider him my cat. In fact, the moment he’s in my arms, he starts purring and bumping his head under my chin.
In the three seconds I’ve been distracted by Mr. Darcy, my mom has closed in on Diego and is bombarding him with questions.
“Mom,” I interrupt her, saving him. “Let us at least drop our bags before you start with the third degree.”
Then I make the mistake of using my cat-free hand to pull my beanie off.
Mom gasps. “Darling, your hair!”
Oh, I forgot they haven’t seen my new haircut yet.
“Yeah.” I ruffle it up to remove the flattening effect of the hat. “New style.”
“But your hair was so pretty.”
Mom uses the same tone she’d strike up if someone in the family had died.
“Well, I wanted something different. I need to drop these off,” I say, tilting my chin toward the bags dangling from my side. Between them and the cat, who’s no feather-weight, my arms are getting heavy. “Can we discuss how I ruined my hair later?”
“That’s not what I meant, honey, of course you look gorgeous.”
Dad takes the opportunity to give me a side hug. “Love the new cut, baby.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I kiss him on the cheek. “So, we’ll pop upstairs and be right back.”
“Great,” Mom says. “Lunch is almost ready. You two go freshen up and come back downstairs whenever you’re ready. But don’t take too long,” she adds in a shrill voice. “I’ve made mac and cheese, and it needs to come out of the oven soon.”
Diego gives her the perfect future-son-in-law answer. “Can’t wait to taste it, Mrs. Moore. I’ve been told your cooking is the best in the entire state.”
He’s worth every single penny.
Mom blushes, and coos, “Oh, please, it’s just something I threw together in five minutes.” She’s lying. Her secret recipe for mac and cheese requires at least five different cheeses and a complicated double-baking timing. And sometimes, besides baked breadcrumbs, she also adds shrimp or lobster, which of course she has to cook separately first, and then add later in the oven. Hardly a five-minute meal. “And please, call me Dora,” she concludes.
“I will.” Diego flashes her a bright
smile, making his conquest final and absolute.
Mom scurries back to the kitchen happier than I’ve seen her in years.
“This way.” I guide Diego up the stairs, still holding Mr. Darcy in my arms.
On the landing, my heart almost stops as I find myself face-to-face with Paul.
“I heard some noises,” he says, smiling, his blue stare piercing a hole through my soul. “Thought you might’ve arrived.” Then his eyes widen. “New haircut, huh? Looks great on you.”
I try not to blush, and keep a detached, sister-in-law-appropriate tone. “Paul,” I greet him, and give him a quick hug, squishing Mr. Darcy between us. My nostrils immediately fill with his cologne; he was wearing CK One the first day I met him, and I’ve never smelled anything else on him. Guess we both stick to a perfume when we find one we like. “You guys got here last night, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Have my parents scared you off already?” I joke.
“Nuh-uh.”
“Not even the princess bed?”
Paul grins. “That almost did it, but IKEA saved me. We shipped a bed and mattress here before leaving New York, and we assembled everything yesterday.”
“Oh, I never thought Julia would give up her pink castle.”
“Your dad and I brought it down to the garage. The decision on what to do with it is still pending.”
“What are the options?”
“Your parents want to give it away to charity, but Jules point-blank refuses. She wants to keep it in case we have a daughter.”
Ice courses through my veins. “You guys are… mmm… expecting?”
“What? No!” Paul laughs the question off, and I can breathe again. “She’s just thinking future tense; way future tense.”
“Err-hem,” Diego clears his throat behind me.
I had completely forgotten he was here.
“Oh, right.” I turn sideways in the hall to give him room to climb the last two steps. “Paul, this is Diego, my boyfriend. Diego, Paul, Julia’s soon-to-be husband.”
Another handshake, and Paul is on his way downstairs.
So far so good. Operation “Fake Boyfriend” is proceeding well. Nobody looked at Diego and me and screamed “Imposters!”
A Christmas Date Page 9
