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But the unmistakable desire in his eyes is gone so quickly I’m unsure it was there at all. He pulls himself together and clears his throat. Then, with a self-satisfied smile, he captures my chin between his fingers and lifts my face, so I’m looking right at him. He brushes a thumb along my bottom lip before asking in a husky voice, “Was that convincing enough for you?”
Like I said, who is this man, and what has he done with my boss?
Miles | Friday evening
Lauryn warned me, but the second I pull up the paved driveway at the edge of her family’s two-hundred acre apple orchard, I see the place with my own eyes. First, the modest cozy house, exactly as she described it an hour ago, glowing like a welcome beacon in the autumn dusk. Then, a throng of family that spills out the front door at our arrival.
I shift into park, and Lauryn is already reaching for the door latch with an eager, bright smile, but before she cracks open the cocoon of the past few hours, when it was just the two of us and we weren’t pretending to be anyone or anything other than ourselves, she spins to face me. “Ready?”
She’s not asking because she doesn’t think I can pull this off, at least not anymore. She admitted the kiss, back in the city, was convincing. Lauryn seems to ask now because she’s worried her family will be too much. Like her, only multiplied. It’s definitely not what I’m used to, and her concern is touching in a way I didn’t expect, but I’m ready and here to play the role of a boyfriend she’s proud to bring home. A man who’s good enough for her parents’ daughter.
I take a deep breath and nod. “I’m ready.”
I might have spoken too soon. Twenty minutes later, once the excitement has lowered to a dull roar and the never-ending introductions have been made, we head inside. But not before I draw a deep breath, filling my lungs with the familiar fragrance of earthy, sweet apples on the crisp evening breeze. The scent grounds me, surfacing a carefree sensation I haven’t felt in years.
Lauryn, or rather, Bug, as her family calls her, slips through the crowd toward me, pulls up my side, and slides her hand into mine. It’s soft and fits perfectly, and I have to temper the odd sensation that shoots up my arm.
“Doing okay?” she asks quietly, giving me a sidelong glance.
“I think I’ve been hugged more in the past ten minutes than in my entire life before today.”
“From anyone else, I wouldn’t believe that,” she says, adding her other hand to surround mine, the warmth seeping through my skin. “But I’ve met your father.”
This is true. I squeeze her fingers.
At the kitchen table, Lauryn’s mom sets a generous wedge of homemade apple pie down in front of me. I can see where Lauryn’s habit of interrupting comes from. Her parents, grandparents, her three younger sisters and their husbands or financés, her one-year-old nephew, and a couple of neighbors who’ve dropped by to offer help for the festival in the morning all seem to talk at once. Over each other and very loudly.
Plus, they call her Bug. Short for Lauryn-Bug, apparently derived from ladybug. I smile at the nickname that fits her like a glove as I dig in to the flaky crust and thick-sliced apple filling. Lauryn grabs a half-gallon of vanilla ice cream from the freezer and threads through the crowd, back to my side. She offers me a scoop, which I decline, and is busy topping her slice when one of her sisters, whose name escapes me, says, “So Miles, how did you and Lauryn meet?”
The volume in the overfull kitchen/dining room/family room goes from however many decibels is a lot to zero in a heartbeat. But I’m unfazed. I’ve been running through possible scenarios for this weekend nonstop since Tuesday, and although most of them include Lauryn, I’m also prepared for cross examination. To answer questions a boyfriend might face. Not that I have firsthand experience, but I’m used to forming conjectures based on the facts as presented.
I set down my fork and wipe my mouth with a napkin. “I was fortunate to meet Lauryn at work. We’re both employed by the same firm.”
“Yes,” Lauryn is quick to add, resting a hand on my forearm for all to see. “Miles is an attorney in my office. The best there and in the city. We met in the copy room and just hit it off.”
I smile, nod, and meet the interested looks from those all around us while inside hesitation, like a storm surge, floods my chest. Lauryn never wavers when she’s got something to say, whether if I like it or not, and her compliment is as sincere as any I’ve heard her give, but this time, it’s directed toward me, and it’s a foreign feeling. One I’m unsure I like.
It would never cross my father’s mind to issue praise in any form, and it’s been two decades, at least, since my mother has uttered a flattering remark about anyone or anything. I’ve simply met the expectations set for me as the first, and only, son in the Beaufort line.
“What kind of law do you practice, son?”
Son?The word snaps me back to the suddenly too warm room, and I meet Lauryn’s father’s green eyes across the worn wooden table. There’s an edge to the question, and it puts me on high alert. “Commercial law.”
He takes my curt answer at face value with a nod. “And what made you go into that?”
“Family business.”
“Hmm,” he murmurs, his eyes flitting to Lauryn, who’s giving him the same cocked eyebrow she flashes me occasionally. Not the one that saysyou’re crazy, nor the one that tells meit’ll be a cold day in hellbefore I get what I’m asking for by the deadline I’ve set.
At first, I’m pleased to know I’m not the only one on the receiving end of those looks, but on second thought, I’m entirely displeased to know I’m not the only one she cocks that shapely eyebrow at.
“The family business isn’t for everyone,” she says, stabbing her pie as if it committed a crime.
“No, of course, it’s not, dear,” Lauryn’s mother says, tucking the rest of the pie in an old enamel refrigerator that’s miniscule compared to the double built-in Sub Zero at my place. “It’s just that we’re not getting any younger, and we know how much the orchard means to you. I mean, you wouldn’t send along part of your pay—”
“I know, Mom,” Lauryn interjects, cutting her off. “But it’s getting late, so why don’t you tell us how things are looking for tomorrow and what Miles and I can do to help.”
I only half listen to the rest of the conversation as everyone reviews the plan for the festival tomorrow. I’m still reeling from the fact it sounds as if Lauryn regularly sends home money to help out her family. The comment reminds me of the day my father warned me not to run off another PA and how he’d approved double pay for the next one.
