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“Oh, they’re coming. Will you please excuse me?” I darted through the swinging doors, feeling like such a liar, liar, pants on fire. It didn’t help when I came face-to-face with Paul. He’d been avoiding me, which made me think he really had been flirting with me the other day. Just one more awkward thing to add to my life.
Paul stood there, gaping at me, holding a tray of marinating meat. The smell of garlic and onions wafted through the air. “Izzy,” he suddenly dropped the accent.
“Hi. Um. I was wondering if you had some extra cookies left over from lunch?”
“Yeah, yeah, sure.” He seemed flustered as he set the tray on the counter.
“Thank you.”
He opened the pantry and retrieved a covered platter. “How many do you want?”
That was a good question. I wasn’t sure I was going to make it in the door. Which would mean I was going to need a few for myself to assuage the rejection. “Six.” I rounded up for good measure.
He went to work plating them.
I stood, feeling useless and uncomfortable.
“So, you’re with that man, Patrick?” he asked offhandedly. He obviously knew I wasn’t the one getting married. He’d had to sign all sorts of nondisclosures and confidentiality agreements. I was sure Drake had filled him in on the twist in the plot.
“Yes?” I said as a question. We hadn’t actually discussed titles, other than the fake one. But there was nothing artificial about my feelings for Patrick. Something special existed between us, and whatever it was, I wanted to explore it. Hopefully outside of the limelight soon.
Paul arched his left brow. “Are you sure?” Did he sound hopeful there?
“Yes. I’m sure.” You know, as sure as one can be when living a charade of sorts.
“Okay.” He handed me a beautifully plated assortment of silver and baby-blue snowflake-shaped sugar cookies made with royal icing and edible pearl beads. They were almost too pretty to eat, but that wasn’t going to stop me.
“Thank you.” I grabbed the plate and rushed off before I had to deal with any more awkwardness. You know, except for the fraught-with-peril situation I was heading into. Perhaps I should call Patrick to see how I should proceed. But I didn’t want him to think that I was afraid of his children. Don’t get me wrong: I absolutely, without a doubt, was.
I stood at the suite door, literally shaking in my boots. I had no idea what to say to Bridgette, and the thought of her rejecting me tempted me to just leave the cookies and make a run for it. But I knew if I wanted Patrick in my life, I needed to have a good relationship with his children. Honestly, I loved that he brought kids to the table. That sounded wrong and very Hansel and Gretel-ish. I guess what I meant was, I knew I could love someone else’s child like my own, given the opportunity. I mean, I loved Jameson as if I’d birthed him myself.
With those thoughts, I knocked on the door.
I was surprised when it opened almost immediately.
Rory wore a mischievous grin. “Look, it’s Stepmommy dearest. I mean that in a good way.”
“Have you ever seen the movieMommie Dearest?”
“That’s a movie?”
It made me feel better to know he didn’t understand the connotation. “Yes. An old one.”
“Cool.” He reached for a cookie. “Did you bring us an afternoon snack?”
“Uh, yes. Yes.” That was a good excuse. I should have thought of that to begin with. “Can I come in?”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
“Thank you.” I slid in.
He shoved almost the entire cookie in his mouth before shutting the door.
“Is Bridgette here?”
Rory gave me an uneasy look. “I don’t think she wants to talk to you.”
“I figured, but I’d like to try.”
