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“It’s beautiful,” I tell him. “Thank you, Todd. It will be my pleasure to wear it when we meet John and his family. Your attention to detail is impressive, to say the least.”
“I’m glad to hear that. We’ll meet him more than once, though,” he replies, and he does it so smoothly and effortlessly that I don’t immediately register the implication.
When I do, however, I can see his expression shifting from guarded optimism to calm terror. I can also hear my voice dropping by a couple degrees. “Excuse me?”
“I spoke to him today, Becky, and he wants us to have brunch at Caballero’s first. This Sunday,” he says, then presses his lips into a thin, nervous line.
“Are you kidding? Is this a prank?”
“No. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner, but honestly… I was surprised as well.”
“Maybe he suspects you’ve been lying, and he wants to catch you in it,” I mutter.
Todd shakes his head. “I don’t think so. And if that’s what this is, he’s in for a sore disappointment since I’ve got you and Elliot by my side, right? Right?”
“You’re crazy.”
“It’s just brunch.”
“It was supposed to be the one time, Todd. The daytime barbecue at his mansion, wherever the hell that is. Now you’re telling me there’s going to be a brunch as well? What else? Do I need to take Elliot to the same preschool as his kids? Organize to bump into his wife at her favorite Whole Foods? Where does this end?”
“It’s just brunch, and I will be with you every step of the way,” he says.
I need a deep breath or two as I focus on his words of reassurance. Given how much he has already invested in me, I’d be unreasonable not to agree to multiple meetings with the John Douglas-Mackie. Besides, I can certainly sell the loving part quite well at this point, since I’m absolutely falling for this man. Ugh, this is a disaster in the making, and it is going to sting when I fall from the clouds and land on the hard ground of reality.
Looking at Todd, I see the expectations weighing on his broad shoulders. He’s still down on one knee, having put his ring on already. He’s looking at me with those big blue eyes of his, and I’m left breathless and speechless and trying to cope with the incoming heartbreak. This is going to hurt.
“Okay, fine,” I tell him. “We’ll start with brunch on Sunday. I’ll wake Elliot up as late as I can so he’s still groggy and half-asleep for the brunch. It’ll be easier to have him going along with the mommy and daddy bit.”
“It’s a good thing we practiced beforehand.”
“Yeah—no, it’s a good thing he doesn’t know what a daddy is, otherwise I never would’ve taught him to call you that,” I exhale sharply.
It’s cruel, if you ask me. But I have done my best to avoid using words that Elliot might have questions about later down the road. I know I can’t stop him from asking when the time comes. I also know I’m going to have that talk with him eventually. But right now, he’s still young enough to keep us out of those dark waters. I have a bit of time left.
“You’re going to do just fine,” Todd says, eyeing me intently. “We’ve already warmed up to each other, and I can feel us getting closer and more familiar… it’s going to be okay.”
“Yeah.”
Technically speaking, I can’t exactly disagree. It probably will be okay, like he says. I will probably play my part right, and so will Elliot. John and his wife will love our company, and they will absolutely believe the lie.
The trouble is that my own heart is believing it too.
CHAPTER13
TODD
To say that I’m nervous about this brunch would be an understatement.
Despite the reassurances that I have consistently given Becky, I am scared out of my mind. It was all easier said than done in the end. The lie itself had been light and quick to set in, but every effort that has followed to keep the damned thing standing has been the laborious feat of titans. I’m exhausted, and it’s only eleven o’clock.
Caballero’s is a Spanish-themed restaurant just north of the San Diego Zoo, complete with a generous terrace and a pool area for both adults and kids to frolic in during the hot summer days. I would take my sweet time admiring the reddish wood details and mustard-colored tiling, the red paper lanterns and the floral explosions in every Seville-inspired pot across the terrace, but I’m too busy keeping my butt-cheeks tight together as I escort my “wife” and “son” out into the bright, late morning sun.
John and his wife, Tamara, are already seated at one of the tables that’s closer to the pool, while their kids struggle with individual slices of pizza. My guess is they were already peckish and couldn’t wait until we got here. Another guess is that the kids own John and Tamara, and not the other way around.
“God, I think I’m going to be sick,” Becky mutters as we step out onto the terrace.
The hostess walks in front of us, dressed in a red and black uniform, her black hair caught in a tight, shiny bun. “Right this way, Mr. and Mrs. Connors…”
