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“We sure are,” she says.
“Plus, we have kids, so we have to think about the best time for them,” I say, since it’s best to turn this fake romance into a long, long, long never-ending, will-not-see-the-light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel engagement. “Mine’s eleven. Busy with school and softball and all that.”
“And mine’s thirteen. She wants to pick my dress too. Make sure it fits right. She loves outfits of the day.”
Felix leans back in his chair, seeming utterly charmed. “A family affair. How wonderful,” he says, then glances fondly at the photos on his desk. “And where did you two meet?”
Of course he went there. It’s a normal question. And I’m taking this one. I jump on the question before my fiancée can say a word. “Funny thing,” I begin, patting her hand once again. “Elodie loves the French fries at Sticks and Stones. She would always come in and order them. And I just thought: I need to meet that woman. So I did.”
There. It’s simple and true. Probably the first true thing I’ve said in the last several minutes. And I sure hope it’s enough.
“And you asked her out that night?”
“Well, sort of,” Elodie says with a light laugh.
I clench my teeth. Seriously?
But Felix is leaning forward in his chair, enrapt as Elodie spins more fables. “He came by my shop to ask me out. You see, the real funny thing is I accidentally sent him?—”
“A new showerhead,” I supply.
She blinks. Once, twice. Then smiles widely. “Yes. A showerhead and a book of love poems.”
Fuuuuck. She was going to say book not battery-operated-boyfriend. She’s smoother than I am. “And he returned the book of love poems to my shop,” she adds.
“I did. The showerhead too,” I say tightly, white-knuckling my way through this. So much for keeping up with Elodie. She’s way ahead of me, and I’m not sure I can ever match her pace.
Felix chuckles. “That is one of the best how-we-met stories I’ve ever heard. Perfect marketing, too, for Special Edition.”
Ohhh.
That was the method to her madness.
She’s genius.
“Huh,” Elodie says, like she just realized that. The woman can act. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, but you’re probably right.”
“It was kismet you stopped by the other night,” Felix says, then taps his desk and rises. “I have a few more candidates coming by later today, but unless someone wows me, you’re the front-runners.” I want to both punch the sky and curse the moon. “I’ll need to move on this right away. Holidays and all.”
“Right, of course,” I say.
No worries. You won’t see us again. Because this is not what I signed up for.
“If the timing works out, we should do a photo shoot of the two of you,” he says as he comes around the desk. “Put pictures on the hotel’s social media.”
“That would be great,” Elodie says, all cheery and bright, like her dress. Her totally delicious-looking outfit that’s not helping me stay mad at her, but I am mad at her. But I’m mad at me, too, for not having a better handle on the situation.
Felix shows us out and says goodbye in the lobby. The two of us remain tight-lipped on the way through the courtyard, then down the steps. Finally, when we’re walking along the block, a safe distance away, I hiss, “We need to talk.”
“I know,” she retorts, in a tone laced with vinegar.
She’s mad at me? That only ticks me off more.
We march out to the square in the center of Hayes Valley, where a man with a mustache rides a unicycle while moms and dads with toddlers drop bills into his hat. Nearby, a violinist tunes her instrument. Elodie gazes briefly at the buskers, then dips her hand into her pocket and tosses some bills for each. Once done, she turns to me, I’m waiting written in those blue eyes.
Shaking my head, I grasp her hand. “Not here.”
I tug her across the street, dragging her behind a food truck making Cuban sandwiches and playing a tune in Spanish. I cross my arms. “Talk. Why did you just up the ante like that? He might have rented to us because he thought we were together. Then you went and told him we were getting married. And you listed all those locations. What the hell?”
