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“She’s sick?”
I nod.
Carolina owes me a shit-ton of cookies.
I’m lying to a preacher.
Okay, Lord up above, it’s not a full lie.
She will feel like shit when she wakes up.
He advances a step. “I should check on her.”
My hand darts out as I rush closer to stop him from knocking on her door. “She went back to sleep and asked me to wake her in an hour.”
He fixes a hard stare on me. “Why don’t we have breakfast then? We can bring Carolina back something when we’re finished. It’s no fun to eat by yourself, and my wife is at the spa this morning.”
I jerk back, a sudden headache slamming into me.
Oh, man.
Not a coffee date with my fake girlfriend’s father.
How do I get out of this?
“Uh, yeah, sure,” I mutter, knowing I can’t decline without looking like an asshole. “Let me get dressed.”
“Good idea,” he deadpans and stops me as I whip around. “I suggest you refrain from roaming public hallways shirtless in the future … especially on a Sunday morning. It’s disrespectful.”
I peek back at him. “Appreciate the advice.”
I shuffle into my room, change into jeans and a shirt, brush my teeth, and hurry back into the hallway where he’s waiting. I was hoping he’d bailed on me. We make small talk while taking the elevator downstairs to the restaurant. Lucky for me, we have plenty of time for this coffee chat since our flight doesn’t depart until this afternoon.
“For someone who’s been close to my daughter for years and is nowdating her, you sure don’t come around often,” he says as we sit down at the two-person table, and he smooths a napkin over his lap. “We’ve never shared a one-on-one conversation.”
He’s right.
Even in high school, Carolina came to my house when we hung out. Sometimes, her parents knew of her whereabouts, and other times, she told them she was studying at the library.
Carolina’s exact words about hanging out at her house after I suggested it was, “We’ll have to sit in the living room on different couches and watch a documentary about the sins of having sex before marriage.”
The preacher is an old-school man. He’s around my father’s age, but unlike my father, his age shows. He’s slender, a man who wears loafers on the regular, and his brown hair is peppered with gray strands. He’s been the preacher of the town church for as long as I can remember. They’re a religious family with strict rules and deep values. He’s a good man who’d probably be more welcoming to me had Carolina and I not been such great friends … and boyfriend and girlfriend now.
How are we going to fake break up without me looking like an ass?
With my reputation, everyone will assume it was my fault, and I’ll look like an even bigger asshole for breaking the heart of the preacher’s daughter.
“We haven’t, sir,” I answer to his one-on-one time comment and pause, allowing him to take lead on this torturous chat.
“You don’t frequent church,” he sternly adds. “And no need to call me sir. I’m Rick.”
“I’ve been busy with my job and school—”
He cuts me off, “You never attended when you were in your teens either with the exception of holidays.”
“You’re right.” No need to dispute facts. It’ll only make me look dumb.
Our waiter, Bobby, arrives at our table to save me from this awkwardness and takes our order. As soon as Bobby leaves, Rick is back to his interrogation.
