Text Appeal

Connor: My family wants to meet you.

Me: Sure. We can work up to that.

Connor: Tonight.

Me: WHAT

Connor: Is that a yes?

Me: Don’t you think we should do some prep work?

Connor: Like what?

Me: Learn more about each other and stuff.

Connor: I’m honestly not that complicated. Wait. Are you?

Me: Very funny.

Me: I just really feel like this would be throwing ourselves into the deep end.

Connor: Don’t worry, Riley. I won’t let you drown.

“I told you not to bring anything,” says Connor, climbing out of his vehicle. A shiny black vintage Mustang sitting at the curbside purring like a contented beast. The sound seems to vibrate right through me in the most interesting way. I’ve never particularly been into cars, but this one is special.

As for the man, he’s his usual handsome self. His blond hair is defying gravity, styled into a pompadour, and he’s wearing a black tee with matching jeans and boots. All black on him works. On a cover, he would be a vaguely dangerous hot dude hero. Though the danger would probably be only to your loins. My stomach keeps doing some weird dip at the sight of him. Like he’s too pretty for my peace of mind. But this is basically a business arrangement and crushing on my fake date would be wildly unprofessional. I must keep my thirst to myself.

“I am hardly going to turn up to a potluck with nothing,” I say. “Like an animal.”

He squints as if he’s thinking deep thoughts. “Do animals have potlucks?”

“Good question. If not, they’re seriously missing out.”

“Hmm.”

I smile and he doesn’t, but that’s okay. Because here I am living my best life. This whole scene is like something out of a movie. A cool evening breeze blows in off the water as streetlights flicker overhead. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. They’re cooking fish and chips across the road and it’s making my mouth water. Music drifts out through the open doors of the Lighthouse Bar and Grill, along with the chatter of patrons.

My dream of a small seaside town was pretty damn perfect. But somehow Port Stewart is managing to outperform.

Connor is still busy saying nothing. Not an auspicious start to our first fake date. I know he wants to speak because there’s a whole lot going on behind those blue eyes. But he keeps his mouth shut. Maybe in an overabundance of caution. A waste of time in my opinion, since we’re already sharing secrets. I stand on the sidewalk outside my apartment building and wait and watch as his tension builds and builds. It’s right there in the rigid set of his shoulders and the jut of his jaw.

“This is a good idea, right?” he asks eventually.

“I thought it was the only idea.”

He grunts.

“Having second thoughts?”

He gives me a long hard look, then shakes his head. Decision made. “Are you?”

“No. But I probably should have hit up Joyce for a cookie. The fake first date nerves are savage.”

I spent half an hour staring into the mirror this morning, perfecting my smile. A touch of anxiety and a heap of happiness—it’s what I believe a victim of love at first sight would be experiencing. Connor, however, doesn’t seem to have done any preparation. His expression could at best be described as perturbed.

A normal couple on a normal first date might kiss on the cheek or something. He almost takes a step toward me as if that’s his intention. But then he stops, and his gaze runs over me from head to toe. Taking in my carefully styled, wavy, pale blue hair, neutral makeup, sleeveless smocked pale blue midi dress, and strappy brown sandals.

“What do you think?” I ask in a quiet voice. “Am I girlfriend material?”

He swallows. “Ah. Yeah.”

“High praise.”

“Sorry.” He squeezes his eyelids shut for a moment before opening them again. “I mean…you look nice.”

“Thank you.” I smile. “You look nice too. How was your day?”

“Same as usual. What about you?”

“Eh. The words still aren’t flowing. I think the move unsettled my muse.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

We are of course being watched, what with this being a public place in Port Stewart. A passing car honks its horn in greeting and Connor waves. Then a couple walks by on the other side of the street, holding hands and shooting us glances.

Connor nods and the two men smile. I smile back at them, and he says, “That’s Tony and Jamal. They own the bakery.”

“I haven’t been there yet.”

“Best cinnamon twist you’ll ever taste,” he says. “What’s in the container?”

“Normally I would go with packaged cookies or cake. But since I am attempting to impress, you get my homemade cheesy garlic bread.”

“You baked bread?”

“Hell no. But I mixed up the butter, lemon zest, dash of mustard, and whole bulb of garlic that goes on the bread. Along with the shredded cheese, of course. Though that gets sprinkled on afterward. Before it goes in the oven. At any rate, rest assured that you and your family will be safe from vampires and the common cold for at least a week.”

“That’s a relief.” His jaw keeps shifting, and I don’t think it’s because of my mediocre cooking skills. The man is nervous. It’s strange to imagine someone so tall and built being vulnerable. But he’s not made of stone. Of course he has emotions. “We should go.”

“Okay.”

He hesitates again. As if he isn’t quite sure what he should be doing. But then he walks around to the passenger side of the car and opens the door for me like a gentleman. He even waits and closes it once I am safely inside. The interior is meticulously neat and smells faintly of leather and cologne. Some combination of cedar, salt, and him. It’s warm and comforting in a way I wasn’t expecting. There’s a small chance I am nervous too. I so badly want this to work. And for me to win over some locals and make friends.

When he climbs into the car, I say, “Don’t worry. We’ve got this, Connor. Everything is going to be fine.”

But everything is not fine. Fucked would be a better description. A fact that is made obvious within approximately one minute of our arrival.

I clutch my container of cheesy garlic bread to my chest. This scene right here is why I wore shoes I can run in. Just in case. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Not sure there’s anything you can say,” says Connor’s older brother, Stuart. His wife and teenage daughter sit waiting at the dinner table, watching everything with wide eyes. Which gives me hope that this isn’t normal behavior for his mother.

“Should I leave?”

“No,” says Connor adamantly. He stands beside me frowning while his mother wipes away the single tear that has spilled down her cheek. Awkward as fuck. It’s not like people haven’t been indifferent or less than delighted to meet me. But I don’t remember making anyone cry before.

“Sorry.” Denise sniffs. “I promised myself I wouldn’t, but my emotions got the better of me.”

Martha mutters something beneath her breath.

“It’s just that Ava has always been like a daughter to me,” Denise continues with much hand wringing. Someone at the table snorts and hastily tries to cover the sound with a cough. Denise, however, ignores it and bravely carries on. “You’ve been so unhappy since she left, darling. I thought surely with her coming back—”

“No,” says Connor again. “It’s over, Mom. I don’t know how many times I can tell you. She and I are not getting back together.”

Her face falls. You would think he just canceled Christmas. Forever. After pissing on her fully decorated tree.

This was never going to be easy. But I thought at least his family would want to roll with whatever makes him happy. My mistake.

“I can’t believe I am missing poker night for this. Give me that,” says Martha, gesturing for my contribution to dinner. “Take a seat, Riley.”

Connor ushers me forward with one hand to the small of my back while the other holds a pan of cornbread. His contribution to the dinner. We both went with carbs as is good and right. Though I doubt even great food can help tonight.

Martha and Denise share an old brick house on the hill above town. The garden is overflowing with flowers and the inside is neat as a pin, as Mom would say. A terracotta-tiled kitchen opens onto a dining room with cream carpet and a long wooden table just made for big family dinners. Martha adds my cheesy garlic bread to the selection of dishes already on display.

Okeydokey. I take a seat and say, “You have a lovely home.”

“My husband and I bought it when we married. Then he passed, and Denise and the boys had outgrown the place where they were living. So they took the ground floor, and I had the basement turned into an apartment with its own entrance,” says Martha. “It’s worked out well for the most part.”

Stuart leans in and says, “Just let me know when you’re ready to start hearing all the embarrassing childhood stories about Connor. I’ve got you covered, Riley.”

“Thanks.” I give him a thumbs up. “I appreciate that, Stuart.”

Connor shakes his head.

“You going together to the reunion Saturday night?” asks Stuart.

I smile serenely. A nun couldn’t do better. “We haven’t talked about that yet.”

Stuart nods. “What about the town picnic in the park on Sunday?”

“Haven’t talked about that either,” says Connor in a short tone.

The teen smirks. “Way to make it awkward, Dad.”

“What did I do?” Stuart asks, seeming confused. At least he’s welcoming.

Family pictures fill the walls in a rough sort of chronological order. Martha and her husband in a wedding shot straight out of the sixties. Her beehive hairdo is high. Then there’s Denise and the two boys. Their growth is charted from babies to babes. And then there’s Stuart and his wife with their infant child. The one now sitting at the table with several cool facial piercings and her cell in her hands.

And, of course, Connor and Ava. There they are at prom, wearing crowns and looking as happy as could be. Them at Thanksgiving, battling it out with turkey drumsticks. Them at Halloween dressed as Bella and Edward. So on and so forth.

It’s one thing to have her in group shots taken over the years. But this feels like a lot. Given Connor doesn’t even like saying her name, I doubt he enjoys facing a wall full of her at dinner. You’d think the shots could be taken down or hung elsewhere for a while.

Whatever. It’s none of my business. I am already persona non grata. No way am I saying anything. Much safer for me to focus on the spectacular shots of the local landscape scattered amongst the family portraits. They’re of Arcadia Park and places like that. Beams of sunlight dancing on the water and tree boughs weighed down with glossy leaves.

“These are amazing.” I nod to the landscapes. “Where did you get them?”

A sound escapes from Denise as if she’s trying to hold back more of those emotions. Or maybe she has gas pains. Hard to tell.

“They were a gift,” says Martha. “Ava took them.”

“Is she a professional photographer?”

Martha just nods.

“She’s very talented.”

“Yeah,” says Connor, sitting beside me. And the silence that follows isn’t comfortable in the least.

Opposite us is his sister-in-law. A petite woman with white skin and blonde hair. She banishes the awkward moment with a warm smile and says, “Hi, I’m Nicole, and this is my daughter, Lulu.”

The teenager’s gaze jumps from the cell in her hands to my face and back again without comment. We’ve met before. As much as I would like to ask about her job at the phone store and what happened with her uncle’s old number, it’s going to have to wait. I can’t afford to risk alienating anyone else tonight.

“How did you two meet?” asks Nicole.

Martha takes a seat at the head of the table. “I already told you.”

“Maybe I want to hear it from them.”

Connor accepts a couple of bottles of beer from his brother. He unscrews one before handing it to me. The man has manners. What he doesn’t have is a feel for story. “Riley needed a new number and got given my old one. Grandma called her accidentally and we wound up meeting.”

“When was that?” asks Nicole.

“Monday.”

“But there was gossip going around town before then,” says Nicole. “I heard talk about you two at church on Sunday. Not that I don’t go solely to pray and stuff.”

“Ava texted him and got me.” I shrug. “She was just confused.”

“Huh,” says Nicole. “That’s it?”

I nod. “Yes. Basically. Though he did fail to mention it’s been the happiest forty-eight hours of his life. Just a roller coaster of dreams come true and romantic delights.”

Connor nods. “What she said.”

“Was that supposed to be some weirdo analogy for sex?” asks Lulu, beyond unimpressed with my entire existence, apparently.

“No, sweetie,” says her father. “Your uncle is saving himself for marriage.”

Nicole snorts.

Denise, meanwhile, has snapped to attention. It would seem there are two opposing matriarchs in this home sitting at opposite ends of the table. And one of them will pounce on any sign of perceived weakness in my fake relationship. Which is fun. “You’ve only known each other for two days?” she asks with much disbelief.

“Yeah.”

“Then you can’t possibly be serious.”

Connor downs a mouthful of beer. “Serious enough that I wanted her to meet you.”

A whole lot of nothing from Denise.

“I can’t quite recall,” says Martha. “Have you brought any other girlfriends home? Besides Ava, of course.”

“No, Grandma. I haven’t.”

Denise looks like she’s sucked on a lemon.

Now to hammer the point home. I turn to Connor with my fake heart on my sleeve for everyone to see. “It’s funny, isn’t it? The way it feels like we’ve known each other for so much longer?”

His gaze is guarded. There are just waves of unhappiness emanating off him. While it would be rude to throw food at his mother, it isn’t entirely out of the question. Maybe I can fake a fumble with some mashed potatoes or something. No wonder he can’t get the town off his back. Not even his own mother will let the dream of him marrying his high school sweetheart die. Talk about toxic.

Someone needs to help him sell this story and that someone is me. “Though we haven’t stopped talking since we met. It’s just been constant phone calls and texts, right?”

“Right,” he says slowly.

“It might have only been a couple of days. Which is wild when you stop and think about it. But it feels like we know everything about each other, doesn’t it?”

He nods and watches me with interest. Like he’s enjoying the show.

“I’ve never had that before. When you just meet someone and click. Like you immediately feel at ease and can tell them anything, trust them with everything.” There’s a good chance I practiced this monologue in the mirror while perfecting my smile. Same goes for staring meaningfully into his eyes. “Moving here and meeting Connor has been…well…a gift.”

Nicole is pressing a hand to her chest. Lulu looks vaguely ill. And Stuart’s eyebrows are as high as the sky. I am not saying I deserve an Oscar. Though I wouldn’t say no to one. But it’s Martha’s expression that gets me. There’s a sly little smile on her face suggesting she’s as pleased as can be. Makes me wonder how much she knows about our sudden relationship. Or how much she’s guessed.

Meanwhile, Connor’s gaze now holds more than a hint of amusement. Good. It would seem I am a little protective of my pretend boyfriend. But those are laugh lines around his eyes. He wasn’t always a brooder. Nor should he continue to be.

“He’s just so sweet,” I continue, turning to the far end of the table with a smile so wide it would scare small children. Just all the sharp teeth. “Do you know he rushed to the grocery store last night just to help me? You raised a gentleman, Denise. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

“Yes, well,” she says, but her tone is less sure.

Connor and I haven’t gotten around to covering the basics. The boundaries for our fake relationship. But holding hands should be okay. No way can we do this without some PDA.

His hands rest on the table, one wrapped around the bottle of beer. I reach out, watching him all the while, giving him a chance to withdraw. Then it happens. He opens his fingers, turning his palm up in silent invitation, giving me a safe place to rest my own. His skin is rougher than mine, the grip of his hand stronger. As if he likes having someone to hold on to.

My smile has softened into something more natural. I know this because my cheeks have stopped hurting. “This might sound silly, but the moment I saw him, I just knew.”

“Knew what?” asks Stuart.

His daughter is delighted by the comedy. But his wife elbows him sharply in the side. She doesn’t spare the pain, either, if the noise he makes is any indication.

Nicole’s eyes are bright with unshed tears and it’s nice to know I can make someone cry tonight for the right reasons. “What about you, Connor?” she asks. “Did you know too?”

“Yes,” he says, clearing his throat. “I definitely knew something.”

I smile and he gives me a wink.

His whole demeanor is different now. There’s none of the earlier tension. He sits relaxed back in his chair, holding my hand while taking a swig of his beer. I did that. I made him happy. Which is nice, but not a big deal. There is certainly no reason for the weird warmth filling my chest. No doubt it’s just thanks to a job well done. I slide my hand out of his grip and reach for my beer. We don’t want to go overboard on the touching too early.

At the other end of the table, Denise has apparently had enough of the lovefest and starts removing covers from the food. “We should eat. This will all be getting cold.”

Everyone moves to help.

Martha stands and takes the dish from in front of me. She then proceeds to wave around a serving spoon like it’s a wand or a weapon. “Riley, you’re the guest. Let me make a plate for you. Denise made her potato salad and deviled eggs. You’ll want some of those. I made salmon cakes and my broccoli salad.”

“She loves vegetables,” says Connor. “Give her lots of that, Grandma.”

“Will do.”

I discreetly kick his foot under the table like an adult and say, “It all sounds great, Martha.”

“Mmhmm. Pass around some of that cornbread you made, Connor.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, doing as told.

Martha holds out the plate while preparing to dip the serving spoon into the largest pot on the table. But she pauses and asks her grandson, “Does she eat hot food?”

“She” being me. “You mean spicy?” I ask.

“Yeah. Load her up,” says Connor, oblivious to the “oh hell no” in my eyes, thanks to him being focused on trying to bump the side of my sandal with the side of his boot. So immature.

“There’s, um, a lot on the plate already thanks, Martha. That’ll do for me.”

“The chili is hot,” warns Nicole. “Stuart and Connor aren’t happy unless steam’s coming out of their ears.”

Stuart happy sighs. “I did add some particularly tasty habaneros. You won’t believe how much they add to the dish.”

Nicole just shakes her head.

“Wow.” I smile. “That sounds amazing. But there’s a lot on the plate already and I would hate to waste any.”

“Hang on,” says Lulu, looking like she’s caught me red-handed. “Uncle Connor didn’t get it wrong, did he? Thought you two knew everything about each other.”

“I said it feels like we know everything about each other,” I say with much patience.

Connor groans. “My bad. Thought you said you loved Mexican when we were texting last night. But it was so late. I must have gotten what you said confused.”

“How were you texting?” Stuart’s brows draw tight together. “You forgot your cell at our place when you stopped by near bedtime and only picked it up this morning.”

“That’s true,” says Nicole, confused.

Connor’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Which is probably for the best. He is the worst at deception.

“What’s this?” asks Denise, perking up.

“Uncle Connor, were you lying?” asks Lulu jokingly.

The man in question continues to sit there slack jawed. Not even having such a handsome jaw can save him. Shit.

“Of course he’s not lying,” says Martha. “Goodness gracious.”

“But look at his face.” Lulu cackles with glee. “What is even going on with you people?”

“Good question,” says Denise, giving us both suspicious glances.

I had a friend back in the day who was into theater in high school. They said if you fumbled a line, the trick was to stay calm and stay in character. To take a deep breath and keep going. But if your cast member freezes, that’s when you get inventive. You must move the audience’s attention to yourself to give them a chance to recover. And that’s what I do.

“You work so hard, Connor. You’re thinking of Monday night after we met. I took a melatonin last night and was out until morning. But you’re right about the rest, I did say I love Mexican.” My smile is as fake as my relationship. “So, Martha, if you can fit it on the plate, I would absolutely love some chili.”

“So…that’s something that happened.”

“Yeah,” says Connor with a pained sigh.

We’re seated on the hood of his car on Main Street. This is partly due to my need to air out my clothes in the cool breeze. (Denise is going to be purging the scent of my perspiration for months to come. I left her dining room smelling like a gym.) And partly due to the location of the ice cream shop. Lucky for my date we made it before closing time.

“What do you think?” he asks. “Is the ice cream working?”

I load up my spoon again. “No idea. I can’t feel my tongue.”

“Show me.” He takes my chin in hand, and I open my mouth wide for him to see. “It’s definitely still there.”

“Great. My dress is sticking to my back and my bra feels like it’s soaked up about a gallon of sweat. As soon as I finish this, I am going to take a cold shower for at least an hour.”

“How was I supposed to know your tastebuds could only handle bland food?”

“It’s not their fault they’re spice-challenged. They’re doing their best.”

A grunt.

“Fear not. I’ll eventually forgive you for getting me into this mess.”

He nods and digs his spoon into his quart. “Guess I’ll be able to sleep after all.”

I shove some more frozen goodness into my poor sore mouth. At least I’ve stopped needing to constantly pee. And with all the water I drank to wash down the chili, my skin should soon be as clear as can be. There’s a positive.

“Can I try some of your raspberry cheesecake?” he has the audacity to ask.

“No. Eat your orange and chocolate chip and be happy.”

He smothers a smile. “You’re so mean.”

I laugh. Then I sigh because what a night.

“You were right,” he says. “We needed to do prep work. Learn more about each other and get our stories straight.”

“Yeah.”

“On the plus side, my mother was so alarmed by the shade of red you turned from eating the chili that she stopped giving us shit.”

“True.”

He taps his spoon against his lips. He has nice lips. I can admit as much now that I have stopped wanting to punch him in the mouth. “Can’t believe you ate it all,” he says. “You are very…committed.”

“I won’t be upset if you say ‘stubborn.’”

“So fucking stubborn,” he repeats in wonder. “I’ve never seen anything like it. You just wouldn’t back down. Tears were rolling down your face and you kept saying you loved it. But, Riley, to be honest, I don’t think anyone believed you.”

I snort.

He grins. “I’m sorry.”

“Look at you trying not to laugh.”

“I swear, it was never my intention to cause you pain,” he says as sincerely as possible while again holding back that fucking smile. The man is a triple threat, handsome, funny, and sweet. Liking him too much feels risky. My mind would rest easier if he was just less in general. “Have you always had a problem with hot food?”

“If you must know, I was at a sleepover when I was nine or so and got dared to drink some of their dad’s special chili sauce.”

“How’d that work out for you?”

“It was made with Carolina Reapers.”

He hangs his head, and a long strand of golden hair falls forward. “Fuck.”

“Fuck,” I agree. “I haven’t been able to eat hot stuff ever since. It’s like my body flashes back to that night.”

“Chili sauce trauma.”

“Yeah.”

Main Street is peaceful at this hour. There’s a sky full of stars above us. All the old buildings are silhouetted against the dark with the displays in the cafes and shop-front windows glowing. It’s so quiet. Just us and the wind and some horny insects calling for some company nearby. I don’t blame him for not wanting to leave. Port Stewart is kind of perfect.

“Are you sniffing me?” asks Connor.

“No.” I laugh. “I’m smelling the sea air.”

“Oh.”

“That’s okay with you?”

“It’s fine. Have at it.”

“Thanks. For a first date,” I say, “there was certainly a lot of crying.”

“That was unexpected,” he agrees.

“First your mother, and then Nicole getting misty eyed over our faux love story, and of course me.”

“You’re forgetting when Lulu laughed so hard at how red your face was turning that she cried.”

“Mm. Yeah. I’m not sure I want children.”

He gives me a long look and there’s something in his gaze. I thought I was getting good at reading him. But now I don’t have a clue. However, sitting here alone with him…the moment feels special for some reason. “Did I thank you?” he asks. “For doing this?”

“I can’t remember.”

“Thank you, Riley,” he says simply.

“You’re welcome, Connor.” I take a deep breath and look away. “Your ex arrives tomorrow, huh?”

He nods.

“How are you feeling about that?”

“Mostly like I don’t want to talk about my feelings.”

“Right. But you two were together for so long. Do you miss her…like at all?” The question is out of my mouth before the thought of boundaries can enter my brain. Curiosity is not always a gift. “You don’t have to answer that. Though you did say you’d tell me everything.”

Nothing from him.

“I’m going to be benevolent and let you off the hook on that one. You’ve already got half the town all up in your business. No need for me to be there too. Let’s pretend I never asked.”

He stares down the street and mumbles, “Okay.”

“Might be best from now on if I do the bulk of the lying. Making up stories is not your strong suit.”

He cracks his neck. “Agreed.”

“So, what’s the next step in establishing our coupledom? Got any ideas?”

“Guess now that we’ve done the family thing we should be seen in public,” he says. “How about dinner somewhere Friday?”

“The night of Ava’s welcome home party?” I think it over. “Just about everyone you know will be there, won’t they?”

He frowns. “Yeah.”

No way is he going to like what I have to say. But I would be an awful fake girlfriend if I didn’t say it. “If we were happy and in a secure relationship, we’d probably go to that, wouldn’t we?”

His gaze narrows on me.

“It would be all water under the bridge and so on. Because I know she’s your ex, but you’ve known each other forever and have a lot of the same friends, right?”

“I don’t know, Riley.” Guess he was only half frowning before. Because now he is all the way unhappy. “That would be…”

“The absolute worst?”

His nod is a terse jerk of the chin.

“I don’t know what went down between you two. But you’re not going to get a better opportunity to show people that you two are never getting back together.”

He says nothing for a while. We just sit on the hood of the car in the silence that is Main Street after dark on a weeknight. I stare at the stars and eat my ice cream while he thinks it through.

“I hate that you’re right,” he says finally. “We have to go to that party.”

I give him a small comradely smile and bump him with my shoulder. “Yeah. We do.”

“Fuck.”