What the crap? That is disgusting.
Thanks for nothing, Peter.
“Wow.” Lacee gives me a pointed stare. “This information would have been good to know before noon when I was still deciding if this date should continue.”
“This didn’t happen,” I assure her. “It’s dementia talking.”
“Sure it is.” Lacee smiles.
Mary leans forward again, patting her hand. “Is Peter loyal to you?”
I expect to see the usual playfulness in Lacee’s expression, especially since we’re pretending to be married and we just discussed nose secretions in detail—I can’t bring myself to call them by the other name—but instead, her gaze is loaded with something genuine.
“Yes.” Lacee glances at me. “He’s very loyal. I definitely don’t deserve his loyalty.”
Our gazes stay locked on each other for a second more. My heartbeat pounds against my chest like the little drummer boy is giving the performance of his lifetime. There’s a new sensation tossing inside me, something other than attraction—I’ve already felt that for Lacee. This feeling is more substantial and complicated.
She turns to Mary, pulling out the chair beside her. “Can we sit and eat dinner with you?”
“You’re staying?” Mary’s hopeful eyes dart back and forth between us.
I walk around to the other empty chair. “Of course, we’re staying. I thought you could tell us all the Hollywood gossip from your years of acting.”
“I never liked that Olivia Newton-John.” Mary frowns. “They cast her over me inGrease.Can you believe that? With my Broadway background, I would have made the perfect Sandy.”
“I can’t believe it.” I shake my head.
“Pfft.” She rolls her eyes like she’s disgusted.
“And after you tell us about Hollywood, we should play a couple of rounds of Farkle.”
Her gummy smile lights up her entire face. “I love Farkle.”
“I know.”
“You’re a good son, Peter.” She pats my hand. “Thanks for not leaving me alone this Christmas.”
As I scoot my chair in, I catch Lacee's gaze on me. She presses her lips into a small smile, and for one night, I’m happy to stay in this pretend world where I’m married to Lacee, and we’re visiting my mom during the holidays just to cheer her up.
I know Sienna needs me, but right now, so does Mary Bradshaw.
TWENTY
LACEE
“I liked your mom,”I say to Park as we walk up the sidewalk to my parent's porch.
His lips lift. “I liked her too.”
“Oh, good.” I tease. “Maybe you should keep her then.”
“Maybe I will.”
“It is weird though, that she kept calling you Peter.”
He shakes his head. “Dementia.” He squeezes my hand. “But I do have a few issues to discuss with you.”
“What?” I flip my head in his direction.
