by Amy Craig
Wylie sipped her chardonnay, wondering if the other roommates had to tiptoe around significant cultural issues when they ordered groceries, settled accounts payable and coordinated maintenance. Antonia’s probably the only one who interacts with real people. The rest of their roommate duties probably happen online. That’s a pity. You can’t spend your life hiding behind a screen. She considered thanking Patty for the vote of confidence but decided to focus on John’s proud and cautious grumpiness. “There’s not that much to figure out, but I have a lot of confidence in Nolan.”
“I had a lot of confidence in Price, too,” the older man said. “Look how that turned out.”
“Oh, you’re too hard on the man,” Patty said.
John shook his head. “And you’re too soft, my dear. There are a variety of reasons not to sell Nolan the kitchen. His venture could self-destruct and drag us into the news. His mother could sever her ties to our investment firm. It’s better to leave the kitchen in the portfolio as a property holding. Let our executors deal with the fallout when we’re gone.”
I don’t care where their families came from. She smiled like her conversations regularly touched on the pitfalls of personal wealth management. Rich people are weird.
“Chicken,” Patty said.
Her husband shrugged.
Wylie cleared her throat. “I haven’t known Nolan very long, but Price is one of my best customers. His yoga positions have gotten better in the last few months, so maybe he’s hit his stride and you have one less person to worry about.”
The older man looked at her. “I hope you’re right.”
Chapter Eight
The older couple took pity on her and transitioned their conversation to stories about the history of the hillside neighborhood. John took the lead on famous figures and the area’s Methodist history.
“It’s come a long way,” Patricia said, “but you’d rather hear stories of Nolan.”
“No, this is great. I love history,” Wylie said.
“There used to be trees for miles. Where did you grow up?”
Not my history. I grew up in one of those tract houses that displaced your trees. She munched on her grapes and tried to ignore the differences between their life experiences. “The views from the top of the hill must be spectacular. Does the fog block often your view?”
“Sure,” Patty said, who was polite enough to tout the weather and make it seem engaging. “The days are sunnier up here and less foggy than the coast, but we get it all when it comes to the weather.” She looked toward the Pacific. “I’m grateful the summer temperatures are cooler than inland Los Angeles, but catching a breeze can be difficult, given the current housing density. So many modern houses do more than block the view.”
Wylie smiled. So much for my public relations skills. “Like this one?”
John grunted.
“Still, I can’t imagine there’s much we can do about the weather.” She grinned. “Aaron Spelling might have a bit of magic up his Hollywood sleeve.”
“Patricia, he died in 2006,” John said.
The woman blinked and stared at her hands, but she shook her head and smiled at her husband. “Of course, dear. It’s not like I confused him with Jerry Lewis.”
Wylie had no idea who the woman meant. They could be my grandparents, but I have no idea what’s normal at this age. Is Patty losing it? Was the town that small way back when?
John took his wife’s hand and comforted her confusion. “Of course not.”
“Those old sitcoms were sweet,” Wylie said to bridge the moment. “I think the core broadcasters have a good lineup, but I enjoy watching the mockumentary family sitcoms.” When I watch network TV, which is like, never.
Patty laughed and they swapped opinions on the multi-generational sitcoms filling prime-time airwaves. Precious child actors brought their conversation back to common ground. “That show’s such a caricature! Don’t get me started on the number of inept realtors we’ve met over the years. Did you grow up nearby?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Wylie said with a smile, prepared to deflect the conversation away from her life once again. “It’s so interesting to meet new people”—her words trailed off as she heard the garage door open. Within minutes, Nolan appeared on the main level. He paused at the top of the stairs and she met his gaze, proud of her hosting ability and ready to introduce him to her newest best friends.
Instead of acknowledging her, he focused on the laughing couple and walked right up to them. “Patricia and Jonathan,” he said, “I see you’ve met my friend.”
Jonathan stood and shook Nolan’s hand. “Delightful. I’m glad to see your taste in women has improved since your college years. Wylie is as refreshing as your food truck’s business.”
She choked on her wine and started to object.
Nolan released John’s hand, turned and planted a kiss on her lips. “Please play along,” he whispered in her ear.
She opened her mouth to object, but her senses stayed focused on his rich, exotic taste. It went straight to her core and mixed with the crisp chardonnay lingering on her tongue. Sinking back into her chair, she considered pulling him into her lap and claiming what she deserved for the last hour of chit-chat.
Nolan winked and stole a second kiss. “Thank you,” he said.
“Hi, honey, welcome home,” she said as she took a deep breath. Hints of citrus, mint and spice lingered on her tongue. She cleared her throat. No more alcohol or you’ll lose control and jump him in front of the old folks.
Nolan grinned. “How’s the chardonnay?”
“Delicious.” She rose to get another glass and put space between them so she could process her thoughts.
John and Patty looked on and wore matching grins.
“Would you like some?” The roleplaying feels like a high school drama, but doesn’t every part of high school feel like a play?
He winked at her. “That’d be great, dear.”
If I keep swapping kisses with you, I’m going to have to skip the 1950s black-and-white sitcoms and head straight to the premium cable subscriptions.
Nolan engaged the older couple. He patted the small of her back and his hand brushed the top of her ass.
She shrugged it off and eyed their cozy trio, her cheeks coloring in embarrassment as she chided herself for first opening the door to Mr. and Mrs. Abramowitz. Why did I assume I could bring something to the table by making friends with the neighbors? Of course they know each other. Why else would the two old people just pop in on a random weekday afternoon?
“Are we out of wine?” Nolan asked with a wink.
His teasing gesture set her off. When thoughts of revenge and sabotage seemed more interesting than domestic harmony, she turned to fetch his wine. Then she pivoted and met his green eyes, prepared to put him in his place for assuming she would go along with his schemes. Who gave you the right to kiss me like that? To touch me when I don’t want to be touched?
Nolan raised his eyebrows.
Or do I?
He glanced at the older couple with a pleading expression.
The sign of vulnerability softened her outrage and she realized something big underpinned his request to play along with the sitcom affection. Admitting she would seek him out under other circumstances, she shook her head and walked into the kitchen. Memories of sleeping in the SUV’s front seat steadied her hands as she pulled supplies from the refrigerator. It’s my job to separate the pleasure of stealing kisses from my fierce insistence we remain friends. I started this mess, but what are the rules of this game and how long do I have to play along? She grabbed a fresh bottle of wine, a hastily assembled cheese board and a glass for Nolan before she walked back to the pool.
John rose to take the board from her hands.
At least someone’s a gentleman.
Patty smiled at Nolan. “I can’t believe I got the date wrong for our appointment. Age must be catching up to me.”
John looked at his wife, his expression settling into famil
iar worry lines.
“Not a problem,” Nolan said, his arms wide along the back of the chair like he had all the time in the world to hang out by the pool and chat with his neighbors.
What happened to running your food truck? She set the second bottle of wine on the table. “Is that all, dear?”
He nodded, opened the bottle and refilled everyone’s glasses. “Mr. and Mrs. Abramowitz, the date of our appointment doesn’t matter. Too much time has passed since I’ve seen either of you. I’m glad you came by when you did and had a chance to meet Wylie. She’s a gem.”
Wylie thought about sticking out her tongue.
“You know us older people,” John said. “We have our moments of spontaneity.”
Nolan laughed. “We all have our moments.”
Master of the house, Wylie mused, shaking her head. It’s almost fun to watch.
“How’s the food truck coming along?” John asked. “What’s the profit margin on a three-dollar taco?”
Wylie lingered on the edge of the conversation, wondering if Nolan’s 1950s alter ego would direct her back to the kitchen for hors d’oeuvres. She thought about the times her mom and dad had let her stay up late on Friday nights if she promised to let them sleep in on Saturday morning. Scenes of annoying neighbors, repeated catchphrases and serious episodes lingered in her memories like well-known friends. Something about this situation just feels sweet, but the rhythm of a twenty-two-minute episode can feel too familiar and the protagonists hardly change from one episode to the next. Patty’s right about times changing. I have little interest in playing the 1950s housewife, so I can either ride out this episode or make a quick exit. Although her lips tingled with the memory of Nolan’s kiss, the pleasure of sipping white wine beneath a hot spray of a shower won out. “It was so nice meeting you both,” she said.
Nolan and John stood.
“You too, Wylie,” Patty said, her head dipping in a small nod.
Wylie inhaled and looked at Nolan. “I’ll catch you later…dear.”
Instead of letting her escape to the white-tiled bathroom at the top of the stairs, he strode forward and caught her hand, pulling her close.
She wondered if he would kiss her goodbye. Make it a good one. Then she bit her lips, determined to keep them to herself. A second later, her body overruled her mind and she imagined the feel of his touch on her skin. Damn feeling vulnerable. I want this attraction between us to be real.
He glanced at her lips and took a deep breath, shaking his head like his thoughts had outpaced his capacity for words. “I’ll explain later,” he whispered in her ear, “but it means a lot to me that you’re willing to play along.”
The air between them simmered with unexplored needs. She nodded and straightened to break the connection between them. If this is the second act, it’s a script I’ve never read.
Nolan failed to release her hand.
She looked at him and saw the sincerity in his jade-green eyes. Her shoulders softened and the urge to reprimand him fled. I started this game of make-believe, she admitted to herself, but maybe that’s because I never wanted it to end.
Nolan winked and released her hand. “Go get a jumpstart on dinner.”
“Jerk,” she whispered.
The man laughed.
She shook her head and put some space between them. Neighborly relations be damned. Whatever is going on, it had better be important.
The white-tiled bathroom shared by the top-floor roommates felt like a refuge, but she half-expected Nolan to stride into the room and throw back the curtain. When the tiled room remained her domain, she left her mind drift, stroking her clit as she imagined what would have happened if she’d left the Social Club with Nolan. Exploring the tension of their first kiss gave her a reason to end her shower with an audible release. She smiled. Maybe I should spend more time in the bath.
The late-afternoon sun sparkled over the Pacific as she padded into her bedroom to trade her towel and wine glass for soft jeans and tennis shoes. I have a feeling shifts at the food truck aren’t high on sit-down breaks.
When someone knocked on the door, she opened it and found Nolan standing in the hallway. She leaned against the frame, crossing her arms, and decided to focus on the limits they had defined on the small deck. “What was all that ‘Hi, honey, I’m home’?”
He raised his eyebrows and glanced at her lips.
She arched her eyebrows, wondering if a blush lingered from her shower.
“What? You’re the only one who decides when we get to kiss?”
“I was saving your butt,” she said, defending her actions at the club.
Nolan nodded. “Well, you might have just done it again. Patricia and Jonathan own a commercial kitchen that’s sitting empty at the bottom of the hill. They’ve got everything I need to expand the food truck and reach a wider audience.”
“So rent it.”
“They won’t budge,” he said.
“Find another space.”
“Why? Their space meets local health and safety code requirements for preparing food, but it’s sitting empty while they strategize with their accountant.”
“So?”
He ran his hand through his hair. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of their property for years, but I’ve been going about it the wrong way. None of the commercial factors matter if they decide they like you, and a steady girlfriend might be the sign of maturity they’ve needed from my end.”
“But I’m not your girlfriend. We’ve known each other, like…three days.”
He shrugged. “How hard can it be to pretend to like someone?”
How hard can it be to pretend not to like someone? She thought of Dottie and frowned. “I need to spend less time pretending and more time accomplishing something good in my life.”
“So go on a real date with me.”
“Not ready for that yet,” she said.
“I know you like my kisses.”
Grinning, she stepped back before he could prove his point. “You’re confusing the traditional order of operations.”
He ran his hand through his hair. “So we’ll draw a line in the sand. Stick to the fake relationship when we have face time with the Abramowitzes. I’ll be a devoted partner and you’ll get chaste, guilt-free kisses. You’ll know the winks mean nothing until you’re ready to cross that line.”
“You have more willpower than me. Don’t you like my kisses too?” she asked.
“Oh, I like them very much.”
She stepped away from the sudden intensity in his gaze. “That’s why this is a bad idea, Nolan. This attraction between the two of us? It’s too close to the surface for a fake relationship. We’ll get confused.”
“I’m very good at following rules. The minute John and Patty sign the purchase agreement, you’re off the hook. We’ll sort out the real attraction between us when you’re ready.”
And in the meantime, we pretend? She grinned, imagining the size of the reset button they would need to untangle their script. “We can do dinner, but no more lip-to-lip PDA in front of the cute old folks. I have my limits and I’d hate to embarrass them.”
“So touching your ass is still in play?”
She rolled her eyes. “Keep your hands to yourself. I’ll play along with your stories and tout your brilliance, but at the end of the day, we go to our separate beds.”
“It’s a big house. Lots of surfaces—”
“Nolan!”
He held up his hands. “Agreed. The Abramowitzes see me settling down and I’m eternally in your debt. Mini Mako gets free sweet potato fries for life. What could go wrong?”
I could fall for you and get my heart broken. She kept her mouth shut as misgivings rippled beneath the surface of her thoughts. She came up with additional reasons the Abramowitzes could hold out on him. Then she wondered if Price and a lifetime of John’s suspicions stood between Nolan and his dreams of stainless-steel appliances. This might have more to do with market conditions than he thought. �
�I don’t understand why you need that kitchen space. You already make food for Modesto. What’s the difference between their kitchen and what you have now?”
“Scale,” he said. “Right now, we use a commissary where food trucks and other food service providers prepare and store food. You can’t imagine the chaos and logistics of that kind of shared space.”
Sharing a space with you has already left my thoughts in chaos.
“The commissary also offers facilities for cleaning, servicing and parking food trucks.”
“That sounds ideal.”
He shook his head. “It sounds like one day I’m accidentally going to end up with a cooler full of taco fillings and no way to incorporate them into my menu.”
She laughed but touched her lips to remember the stakes of the conversation. “I don’t see what my presence has to do with convincing John and Patty. It’s a property transaction.”
Nolan reached for her but pulled his hand back at the last minute. “I’ve shown them my business plans and made them a competitive offer, but they won’t budge and accept it. You managed to charm them. They liked you and they like the idea of young lovers.”
“Everybody likes me after a free glass of white wine.”
He smiled. “Maybe you should add cocktail hour to your yoga classes.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Stick to running your own business.”
He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair to you. I saw what you did on the beach during your class and you were great—calm and attentive to everyone who needed you. You see the subtleties of what people need to be comfortable.”
I’m listening.
“I’ve been sucking up to Mr. and Mrs. Abramowitz for months. They’ve known me since I was a kid, but they’ve told me they won’t budge on their property until they believe they’re moving in the right direction. They might need to see me as a stable community member before they’ll sign a contract. If that’s it, then so be it. What’s the difference between a friendship and a fake relationship?”
