Aidan
Meet me for a drink tonight?
Guess I’ve got plans.
CHAPTER 20
COVEY
Being at Eddie’s midweek is a rarity. Being out at all this time of year is rare. I couldn’t turn down Aidan’s invitation, not when we have so much to talk about. Of course, we’ve been sitting here for nearly forty-five minutes, and neither of us has said anything of substance.
We’ve done the standard exchange of pleasantries and discussion of his kids’ take on The Nutcracker, but beyond that, we’re mostly quietly discussing absolutely nothing.
Honestly? It’s amazing.
“When did your mom start collecting that village?” he asks, leaning in close, as though it’s a secret no one else can know about. Trust me, everyone knows about her obsession with the tiny Christmas town she’s built in the living room.
Still, I like the idea of the two of us sharing secrets, so I mimic his movement, putting my elbows on our table. “Why? Because it’s creepy as fuck?”
“No, it’s…”
“Weird. You can say it.” From what my father’s told me, it’s a massive pain to put up and take down each year, too, so much so that he’s considering letting her keep it up year-round. Something I’m not about to let happen now that I live nearby. Even if it means personally going over there and handling it. “I don’t know when it started exactly, but it’s become a bit of an obsession. She gets whatever new pieces the company puts out each year, but she also goes to yard sales and antique markets looking for some of the retired models.” So far, I’ve dodged the bullet of having to go with her on those trips.
“Is there like a master plan for it or something?”
“I wish. Honestly, that would probably make it easier to handle. Right now, I think the only plan is to keep going until there’s no room left on the first floor for any of the real people who live there.”
“Well, as long as they stay at her place, I guess it’s okay.”
I can hear the fear that his Christmas present might include his very own village starter kits. I know because I have the same concern. She’s made multiple attempts to get information out of me about which pieces I like best. I’ve dodged those with great care, but I still think my gift might be my very own mini version.
Which I would have to put up at Christmas, or at least when she came over.
“Does your mom still decorate the tree with all your handmade ornaments?”
Aidan groans loudly enough to attract attention from a few nearby tables. “Of course she does. It’s ridiculous. Even worse, I’m contributing to some other mother’s version of this by helping kids make ornaments.”
“You know, you could make them with the kids and give them to your mom? I bet she’d love some updated artwork.”
“If you mention that to her, I will personally come to yourhouse, murder you, bury the body, and resurrect it, all so I can murder you a second time.”
I snicker. Aidan insisted his mom would stop once he was out of the house. I should’ve placed a bet on it, since clearly, I’m winning. “You’d let your whole class down by murdering me? Imagine having to go in the day after and confess to those adorable faces that you murdered me.”
“Covey,” he says incredulously. “Those kids are going to be so disappointed to find out that we aren’t dating.”
“Who says you have to tell them?” I shrug. It’s not like we’re going to see them very often. I’m pretty sure maintaining a fake relationship at work is much easier than doing it with family. “They’ll be out of your class in six months.”
“You want to extend this whole… arrangement another six months?”
I consider the question. I’m not sure we’d have to do that. I mean, they’re kids. They’ll probably forget about our relationship before Valentine’s Day rolls around. “It wouldn’t be that hard.”
“Covey.” He sighs as he says my name, so I know I’m about to hear a hundred arguments why it’s a bad idea. “The kids talk to their parents. Parents who know our parents. It wouldn’t only be for the kids. We’d have to keep up the charade around everyone. Is that something you want?”
“I hadn’t thought about that.” My immediate response is to say that we might as well. Honestly, despite some bumps and awkwardness, it’s going pretty well. No point in messing with a good thing. “What parts exactly would continue?” I’m thinking about our whole arrangement—fake boyfriends and friends-with-benefits. Honestly, it’s a pretty good deal.
“Um…” He must be thinking the same thing, because his face turns bright red. “Well…” He takes a long sip of his beer, then coughs and sputters.
“Do you want to go back to my place?” To talk. To fuck.Whatever I can get. Either way, this seems like a good time to move us somewhere a little more private.
