Page 53 of How My Fake Alien Boyfriend Learned to Cook and Saved the Family Business

“Yeah, Lollipop,” Jacob sneered across the table. I delivered a swift kick that made the table shake.

Mom clicked her tongue at us. “You two, I swear. You’re thirty, Lola, for goodness’ sake.”

Ouch. Well, that effectively shamed me into submission. I turned my attention back to my plate of spaghetti, twirling noodles onto my fork.

“Not a fan of spaghetti, Kal?” Dad asked, addressing Kal. I peeked at Kal’s plate and saw it was still piled high with noodles. He was prodding them tentatively with a fork. I didn’t quite blame him. This batch of sauce had alarmingly indecipherable chunks of vegetables—or was it meat?—mixed in. The texture was certainly...interesting.

Kal looked up. “It’s just…”

Poke, poke.

“I don’t know how to eat it.”

Oh, crap. I had forgotten about the learning curve for eating spaghetti. It was hard even for me, and I’d been eating it for most of my life.

“You’ve…never had spaghetti before?” My mom’s face would have been comical if I wasn’t panicking.

How could I explain this away without Kal’s lack of exposure to Italian food seeming suspicious? The question deserved serious thought, but I blurted out the first thing I could think of.

“He’s Amish!” I said, immediately regretting it.

“He’s…Amish?” My dad’s eyebrows stitched together. He looked from Kal to me, then back to Kal.

“Formerly Amish,” I clarified. “Of the Ohio Amish.”

Jacob snorted across the table, and I kicked him again. Be cool, dude.

“I see.” Mom turned to Kal and said very slowly, “Welcome to our country.”

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “Mom! Ohio is a state in this country.”

“Well, I just wanted to welcome him. There’s nothing wrong with that! Now show your little man friend how to eat spaghetti like a real American.”

It was all too absurd. But, admittedly, Mom was right. I needed to show Kal how to eat his spaghetti. As Kal’s unofficial Earth guide, I should have been more aware of what he did—and didn’t—know about human customs. This meant that for the rest of the night, I paid special attention to everything Kal did. Which was great for fanning the flames of my growing attraction to him, but not so great for my sanity.

When we moved from the dining-room table to the living room—Dad sitting back in his recliner, and Mom puttering around offering everyone coffee, tea, juice, anything?—I finally worked up the nerve to broach the conversation I’d been putting off.

I cleared my throat and said, “I have an announcement.”

Immediately, Mom squealed. “You’re pregnant?!”

“What? No!” That would require having sex, and I certainly wasn’t getting any action in that department. Although…

I smoothed my dress over my thighs, trying not to think about how Kal’s thigh was pressed against my own, our knees touching as we sat on the overstuffed couch. I shifted restlessly until Kal placed a hand on my knee. I paused, temporarily frozen. Tentatively, I rested my hand on top of his, finding comfort in it.

It was time to tell my family the truth about Southern Charm. How much I’ve been struggling with it, and my plan to save it.

Just do it, Lola. Rip the bandage off.

“Dad, I’m taking the restaurant in a new direction,” I blurted out, closing my eyes so I didn’t have to see the look of betrayal on his face. “We’re losing money and customers, and I think it’s time to make some changes. New menu, new direction. And I know this is your legacy, and Grandma’s legacy, but I have to put my foot down and do what’s best for the business.”

I paused just briefly enough to catch my breath, then continued.

“I—I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this sooner,” I said. “I didn’t want to worry you, or disappoint you, or, or—”

“Lola,” Dad said.

I screwed up my face, refusing to look at him. I didn’t know if I could handle his disapproval. It might just break my resolve, which would mean kissing my plans goodbye, and that would mean imminent failure. Everything would stay the same, we wouldn’t win the Greatest Restaurants of the Great Smoky Mountains Contest, and we would have to close the restaurant down for good.