by Ellie Danes
“Let it be part of my payment to you for you helping me with this reunion,” I said.
Weston held my gaze for a long moment and then chuckled, shaking his head.
“If you insist, I’ll let you pay,” he said finally.
“And about where you’re staying. If you’re not staying at the same place as me--well, that will just bring up a lot of questions.” I got up and picked up the little folder with his bill in it. I could feel the blood starting to rush to my face and I ducked my head, opening the folder to look at the bill for Weston’s order.
“I can get a room at your hotel,” Weston suggested.
“That would open up a bunch of questions, too,” I countered. The idea I had still seemed crazy to me, but I thought it was the only way I could make the whole ruse work.
“What do you have in mind? I could share your hotel room, but that might get a little crowded, since I’m not actually your boyfriend.” His voice turned playful. “Unless you want the full ‘boyfriend experience.’”
The blush flooding my face deepened and my cheeks burned. I took out my card and slipped it into the little pocket, trying to regain my composure.
“You can stay at my parents’ place, with me,” I said quickly. “There’s a guest bedroom.” I took a deep breath and dared to look up.
“That sounds fine to me,” Weston said, and if I could see something in his eyes, I thought it was probably a good idea to ignore it.
“As soon as we’re all paid up here, you can follow me back to the house,” I told him.
“I’d be happy to,” Weston said.
Lucy brought me my own check and I made sure to pay both--giving her a good tip on each one. I signed both of the receipts and tucked the copies into my purse. It was only then that I really thought about what I was doing.
You’re letting a stranger stay in your parents’ house with you, to pretend to be your boyfriend for a long weekend, and compromising everything you’ve worked for, for what?
But even as I questioned my sanity, I thought about the counterpoint: I wanted to make as flashy an entrance at my reunion as possible, and Weston would complete the picture I wanted to give my former classmates of my life after high school. More importantly, I wanted to show the man who had absolutely crushed me and destroyed my ability to ever have a relationship that I was doing better than ever.
Derek. He broke up with me the night of prom. He didn’t give me a reason, but I’m sure he told a good story to his friends. Ghosting wasn’t even a thing back then, but that’s what he did. He stopped talking to me. He ignored me. He was the one I was supposed to be with forever. Instead, he was the one that I thought about forever.
I shook off the thought and focused on what I was about to do. Leave with Weston.
“I’ll follow you out to your parents’ house,” Weston told me.
I nodded and started for the door. A cold gust greeted me when I stepped out of the Green Leaf Diner, and I thought that the temperature had to have fallen at least another five degrees. I shivered and hurried to my car, glancing behind me to see if Weston was following.
I wasn’t sure what I expected a guy like him to be driving, but somehow the nondescript black car--a little sporty in its lines, but not a sports car properly--was exactly what I would have thought and nothing like what I expected. I waved at Weston and he sketched a quick return wave before climbing into the driver’s seat of the black car and starting it up.
I climbed into my car and turned the heater on high to get it going properly. I flashed my headlights as I passed by Weston in the parking lot and watched in my rearview mirror as he pulled up behind me at the entrance into the parking lot. “Let’s see if he actually follows,” I muttered to myself, driving back to the highway and toward my old hometown.
Chapter Four
Weston
I followed Ashley on the highway, thinking about the twist of fate that had brought us together. Who would have thought that I’d run into the exact person most able to help me out in my little private mission at a dingy old diner outside of a tiny, sleepy town?
I knew without having to think about it too hard that Ashley would come up with whatever excuses she could to put off giving me access to the information I wanted. I couldn’t blame her for that, not really. It was confidential stuff, really sensitive, and if she did get caught letting me access it, then she could absolutely lose her job.
But I had already planned on making things happen in such a way that there could be no way for Ashley to get caught. The information I wanted wasn’t likely to be widely searched, and the agency she worked for was one of the few places I hadn’t been able to get to, to look for what I needed. It was the best good luck anyone could have imagined for me to run into someone who would have the level of access I needed. If I hadn’t been able to get the information I wanted from in town, I had planned on tackling the agency itself in a couple of weeks, and trying to pay someone off into giving me access to the databases and files.
Now all that extra effort wouldn’t be necessary, and I might even get a chance to do some additional research in town, if there was free time between whatever events Ashley wanted to go to. I followed her car off of the highway at the exit and thought a bit about the fact that she was willing to pay tens of thousands of dollars for someone to pretend to be her boyfriend for a handful of days.
She was gorgeous and successful, so why would a woman like that even need to hire a fake boyfriend? Too wrapped up in her work for any kind of social life, most likely. Ashley had blushed more than once during our little chat at the diner, but I didn’t think she was a virgin, or inexperienced.
The house she pulled up to was neat and tidy, even in the darkness. Someone had left a porch light on--or maybe it was on a timer--to illuminate the yard, so I could see the pruned-back trees and the well-maintained grass and the stripped-down gardens covered in mulch. Ashley’s parents would probably be out there as soon as the ground thawed before spring, planting the beds back up so they’d be all color and flowers by Easter.
It was a white house with dark trim, a low, rambling porch, and a huge front window. The driveway seemed to have been renewed with fresh concrete within the last year or so. There was a little pathway from the drive to the porch, with brick pavers and a few low lights--probably on the same timer as the porch light--picking it out of the early winter darkness. I pulled in behind Ashley’s car and shut off my engine, feeling weirdly drowsy in the heat of my car’s interior.
I got out and the cold air hit me, waking me right back up. I took my backpack from the back seat, slinging it over my shoulder, and then I watched as Ashley hauled a suitcase out of the trunk of her small car.
I followed Ashley up the pathway and to the front door and watched her unlock the house. “It should be pretty warm, since I think my parents probably set the heat to come on automatically a few hours ago, for when I got into town,” she said.
“Not bad, remote temperature control,” I said, eyeing Ashley up and down quickly.
She rolled her eyes at me and opened the door. Sure enough, the house was a good ten degrees warmer than outside, maybe fifteen. It was just as normal-looking, neat and tidy on the inside as it had been on the outside, and I wondered if Ashley’s family was house-proud or if they’d hired someone to take care of everything while they were out of town, just so that they would come home to a nice place.
“They set it just so the house wouldn’t be freezing when I came in,” Ashley said, shrugging it off. “Besides, remote access is energy-efficient.”
“I’m sure,” I agreed, following her into the house. The furniture in the living room didn’t look brand new, but it did look like someone took very good care of it, along with the rug on the hardwood floor.
“The guest bedroom is right over here, next to the stairs,” Ashley explained, gesturing to a door. “My parents’ and my rooms are both upstairs.”
“That doesn’t seem all that convenient for you,” I pointe
d out. Ashley shrugged.
“They figured that whoever was over as a guest would be better off in the downstairs bedroom. More privacy, their own bathroom access, all that,” she said absently. “I’m going to go change out of my work clothes and into pajamas. The kitchen is over there if you want something to drink, the bathroom is right here on the other side of the stairs...and just, um, I guess make yourself at home.”
I nodded and watched her hurry up the stairs for a moment before turning my attention back onto the house itself. I wandered into the kitchen and looked around a bit, taking in the fully-stocked fridge, the organized pantry. I immediately got the impression that Ashley’s over-organized life probably came from her mother. There were two sets of dishes in the cabinets, one pretty obviously the “company” dishes and the other set, with one or two plates bearing chips, the pattern a little less complicated, was likely the “family” dishes. Same with glasses, and when I found the silverware drawer, it was the same there, too.
The guest bedroom was clean and neat, and I was pretty sure Ashley’s parents--or their maid service--had gone through right before they left town. The bed was made with a matching duvet and thermal quilt and pillow covers, and I could smell the kind of fabric softener-like smell of carpet cleaner, mingled with the candy-lemon smell of wood cleaner for the dressers and tables. There wasn’t anything overly cute about the room, but it was still rather feminine in its own way.
I took off my belt and shoes and took my wallet out of my pocket, and then decided to just go all the way and put on a pair of pajama pants. There were two pairs of slippers next to the guest room door--one obviously for a guy and the other obviously for a woman. I chose the men’s slippers and stepped out of the bedroom to see if Ashley had come back down yet.
She had, and looked kind of adorable in a pair of fuzzy, thermal pajama pants and a tee shirt, along with slippers, standing in the kitchen over the electric kettle.
“You guys are really into slippers, aren’t you?” I asked.
Ashley turned around to face me and I saw that even without makeup she was gorgeous.
“Mom’s and my feet get cold,” Ashley admitted, smiling slightly as if she’d just confessed something shameful.
“It’s thoughtful to have some extra pairs of slippers for visitors,” I said.
“Mom wants to cover all the bases. When you go into the bathroom, you’ll see it’s fully stocked, too,” she told me, shaking her head. “I never really have visitors so I don’t have anything like that at my place.”
“I would never have guessed you don’t have visitors,” I said drily.
Ashley blushed and turned back to the kettle. “I was making some tea if you want some.”
“Nah, not much of a tea drinker these days,” I replied.
“There’s beer in the fridge, I think, if you’d rather have that. And bottled water, and other stuff,” Ashley added.
Why is someone as cute as she is so incredibly awkward? It just didn’t make any sense.
“I’ll get some water in a bit,” I said.
I watched as Ashley moved around the kitchen, making tea, trying to figure out the awkwardness she was putting across. Surely she wasn’t like this in her work life? She couldn’t have gotten so high up in the agency hierarchy as she apparently was if she was this awkward.
“Sorry I’m being a little weird,” Ashley said then, as if she’d been reading my mind. “I just…” She shrugged and turned to face me, blushing slightly.
“You just what?” I had to admit I was getting more and more curious about her by the moment.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been alone with a guy and I wasn’t really thinking that part of things through,” Ashley said. “Besides, it’s just occurred to me that I invited a stranger to stay at my parents’ house for a long weekend, and I feel like I probably should have done some more intensive background-checking before taking the plunge.”
I laughed. “I swear to you I’m not some drifter who hooks up with random successful women in the hopes of murder-raping them in their parents’ homes,” I said.
Ashley’s blush intensified and she bit her bottom lip, and I could tell she was torn between laughing at my comment and feeling offended by it.
“Whatever. Just don’t make me regret making this choice, okay?” She raised an eyebrow at me and smiled slightly, and looked, for a second, like she was all of sixteen again: cute, fresh, young, and sweet.
“I am not going to trash the house and I’m not going to do anything illegal,” I said, more seriously. “I’m actually familiar with the area.” I slowly looked at her, waiting for a reaction, but there was none. “And I’m not some drifter, I’m actually pretty successful, I have a real job, a real place to live.”
“Good to know,” Ashley said. “And sure, whatever you say.” She giggled a little like I was making everything up.
I snorted, shaking my head. “Go drink your tea and get some sleep,” I suggested. “You look like you’re running on caffeine and nerves and that’s not a good way to go into your big reunion weekend.” I stepped out of her way and Ashley gave me a quick look before walking past me toward the stairs.
I looked in the fridge again, and made a mental note or two about what was on hand. Ashley’s parents clearly had good taste; there was plenty of good stuff to eat and drink available, and I had to think they hadn’t necessarily gone out of their way. Or maybe they had, hoping that their daughter would have friends over at some point? Whatever the case, I thought I had a good idea for breaking the ice in the weird situation I had put myself in.
Chapter Five
Ashley
I woke up the next morning with the instant apprehension that I’d made a huge mistake. Had I really invited a person I’d just met to stay in my parents’ house, after trying to hire him to pretend to be my boyfriend for several days? Is the reunion really worth that kind of a risk? Was it that important to show up an ex who didn’t even know I existed? I’d planned--originally--to interview people for the “position” of my boyfriend but had chickened out at the last minute, thinking it was just too pathetic.
I got out of bed quickly, throwing on a robe I’d left behind the last time I’d visited. I opened the door to my bedroom. As soon as I did, the smell of coffee and breakfast greeted me, and my stomach informed me that in spite of the big meal I’d had the night before at the diner, I was hungry.
I hurried downstairs and into the kitchen to find Weston standing over the stove, making pancakes. He’s making pancakes. I looked around, still shocked, and saw bacon, eggs, and even a big bowl of cut-up fruit set up off to the side, ready to be eaten. I’d been worrying about whether I’d invited some kind of serial killer into my parents’ home, and Weston had gotten up to make breakfast--and not just breakfast, but what looked like an actual breakfast feast.
“Good morning,” I said, still locked in confusion at the sight I’d walked in on. Weston stood at the stove in only pajama pants. It was obvious he had nothing on underneath as the thin cotton material of the printed pants clung to his perfectly shaped ass. He spun to look at me, revealing a perfectly sculpted chest and complete eight pack of abs colored by a few tattoos.
I felt my mouth drop open and quickly had to gather myself before looking like a total idiot.
“Oh, hey, I figured you’d be up soon,” Weston said, sounding utterly and completely at ease.
“So, you made a giant breakfast,” I said, still not quite awake enough to fully form the question and also in shock at the hotness standing in front of me. “And do you always cook half naked?”
“No,” he laughed, “sometimes I’m totally naked, it just depends on the night before. Sorry, I’ll grab a shirt.” Weston left and with perfect timing, returned wearing a tight tee shirt in just enough time to flip the pancakes. “I thought you’d probably be hungry, and with everything so well-stocked and all, I figured it’d be a nice way for you to wake up,” he said with a shrug.
“Um…�
� I shook my head and stepped across the kitchen to the table, where I saw my parents’ big French press filled and ready to go. “I can’t say I’ve ever woken up to this.” I fought back the smile and poured myself a cup of coffee. “This is kind of a lot,” I pointed out, gesturing to the big breakfast spread.
“It’s really not,” Weston said.
“A meal like this would take me probably about a good hour to set up,” I pointed out. Looking at it more closely, it all looked absolutely perfectly cooked, as well.
“My friend is a chef and he’s taught me a few things,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Oh,” I said, more for the sake of saying something than anything else. I looked at Weston’s back, taking in the lean-muscled frame, the tattoos I could see on his arms, and remembering the general vibe I’d had about him the night before. How did a guy like that have a chef friend? I thought of asking, but pushed the idea out of my mind. Why can’t a guy just randomly have a chef friend? I mean, it isn’t like that’s a rare job. It didn’t jibe with the impression I’d had with him, but in fairness I didn’t really know anything at all about him.
“So what’s on the agenda for today?” Weston flipped the last of the pancakes onto a plate and turned to face me. His hair was looking much less styled than the night before, but still looked messily good--and I pulled my robe around me a bit tighter, wondering how I looked, fresh out of bed with my hair messed up and no makeup on.
“I guess we eat breakfast and start working out our back story, so we can be prepared for the first event tonight,” I said, sipping my coffee.
“What’s happening tonight?” Weston began bringing the plates and platters over to the table and I got up to help him. The fact that he apparently was already completely comfortable in my parents’ kitchen--that he seemed to know it at least as well as I did--unsettled me a bit, but I pushed the thought away again. Focus on what’s important.
