“Here’s your pizza,” Noah said, setting down an elevated silver tray and the pepperoni pizza on top, perfect pools ofgrease steaming on each perfect round, the cheese still bubbling near the crust. “Your salads will be right out.”
He said the word “salad” as if it were in a language Shepherd had made up.
Shepherd put his hand over his eyes.
“Looks great,” Ginny said, helping herself to a paper plate and a slice. “The pizza here is incredible, Mom.”
“Well, you always did love your carbs, didn’t you, Virginia?” Deandra sipped her Key Lime Coolada, condensation on the glass beading between her fingers.
Shepherd watched Ginny’s face fall, the high points of her cheeks pinking, and his chest went tight.
Love her carbs? What does that mean? Ginny was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in real life. Hell, she was prettier than the actresses in movies and TV shows, too. Who gave a shit if she liked carbs? A little softness never hurt.
“Just be careful with all the cheese, dear,” Deandra said. “You know how it affects your stomach.”
Ginny shoved a massive bite in her mouth.
Shepherd covered his mouth with his fist and coughed to hide the laugh.
“My son, Vincent,” Deandra said, turning in her seat to face Mr. Martin, their knees knocking under the table. Shepherd knew this because his landlord stomped on his toes to get him out of the way. “He does keto now. He looks amazing. Fits into his suits like you wouldn’t believe. The perfect City Councilman.”
Ginny rolled her eyes.
“Two children?” Mr. Martin shook his head. “I don’t believe it. And both grown? You’re much too young for that, Deandra.”
She laughed, shook her head. “Thank you. Vincent went to the University of Florida, you know, which is the Harvard of the South. Everyone says so.”
“Of course,” said Mr. Martin. “I’ve heard that.”
“No, it’s not,” Ginny mumbled. “No one says that, Mom.”
“He practiced for a while at our family’s law firm, and now he’s set his sights on politics. He’s easily the most popular councilman Miami-Dade has ever had. He’ll be running for mayor in the next election cycle. He’s a shoo-in to win.”
Noah arrived carrying a chef’s salad in each hand. “And here are those salads,” he said, sliding them in front of the older couple. He set down a round of silverware as well. “Drinks, anyone?”
“Please, God,” Ginny said. “Something strong.”
“You’re working,” Shepherd told her. “Just water for us, Noah, thanks. But get Mr. Martin and Ms. Kent a refill on their cooladas, please.” Maybe if they were drunk, they’d be easier to manage.
Ginny glared at him, but there was no heat in it. He bumped his elbow against hers by way of apology. She bumped her elbow back.
“Oh,” said Deandra, staring down at her food. “There is … a lot of meat in this salad. Is there any lettuce?” She dug around with her fork, pushing aside the rolls of ham and pastrami, the pile of olives. “There’s some, down at the bottom.”
“And you, Virginia?” Mr. Martin asked, popping an olive in his mouth. It exploded between his teeth as he talked with his mouth open. “Where did you go to college?”
Ginny sat up straight in her chair. “Harvard,” she said. “Which is the Harvard of Harvards, by the way.”
“Yes.” Deandra smiled. “And now you’re a waitress at a restaurant that serves meat salads. What a wise investment that was.”
Ginny went to Harvard? Holy crap. Shepherd took bite of pizza to hide his surprise. So not only was she the most beautiful person he’d ever known, but she was also the best educated.
And she wantedhimto be her pretend boyfriend? Community college drop-out, divorced, forty-two-year-old him?
There was no way her mother wouldn’t see right through this ridiculous charade and take her back to Miami. He’d never see her again.
Who would deal with all the damn cruise-ship customers?
“Yes, but”—Ginny stuck a finger in the air—“good news. We have good news, don’t we, Shepherd?”
