Page 174 of Shy Girls Can't Fake Date

“Wild, isn’t it.”

I walk inside with him. The foyer has large white and black marbled tiles and off white walls. Overstuffed hooks run across the wall with coats, sports team uniforms, and an array of baseball caps. A mound of shoes are stacked below it.

Past the foyer on the right is the living room where a wrestling match plays on the TV at a bellowing volume. Kurtis lounges on a couch, while William sits cross-legged on the carpet, glued to the screen.

“I’ll take you into the kitchen,” Parker says. “It might lower Mom’s stress levels.”

“I don’t understand why she’s nervous. She’s the parent. Aren’t things like this supposed to be easier when you’re an adult?”

“Maybe it’s because I’m the first one to bring a girlfriend home,” Parker suggests as we round a corner.

A rush of high heel clicks echo from a nearby room. Mrs. Kelly emerges into the hallway, smoothing back her lush, sandy blonde hair.

“Hi, Kylie, welcome to our home,” she says, opening her arms wide.

“Hi, Mrs. Kelly,” I say as she swoops her arms around me.

“Geez, let her breathe, Mom,” Parker mutters.

Hurriedly, Mrs. Kelly pulls out of the hug, clutching my upper arms. “Sorry, did I hurt you?”

I blink at her. “No, you’re good.”

Parker lifts the cake container. “Check out what she baked for us.”

“Parker helped,” I blurt.

“Oh yum,” his mom says, beckoning us to follow her into the kitchen. “Bring it in here so I can take a look.”

I follow them into the kitchen and almost stumble on my footing. My mouth falls open. “Oh my gosh!”

Mrs. Kelly flinches. “What is it?”

I cup a hand over my mouth, grinning. “Your kitchen. It’s stunning.”

Mrs. Kelly places a hand on her chest. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

The room is massive. Three pendant lights hang over the large island counter, which is marbled in forest green. They have a large stainless steel double oven and sparkling six-burner range. The top cabinets have glass doors, and the glassware is showcased by internal lighting. The splashback is glossy, without a single fingerprint, and lit with hidden backlighting. The kitchen flows into a spacious dining area. The far wall has floor to ceiling windows, showcasing their impeccably landscaped backyard, which is highlighted by garden lights.

Parker places the cake on the counter. “Should this go in the fridge?”

“No, it’s fine to stay out,” I say, walking into the room and ogling the deep cabinet drawers, the walk-in pantry, and the six high stools on the other side of the island counter.

Parker laughs. “You look more in awe here than at the fair.”

“You didn’t tell me you had the most perfect kitchen in town.”

Mrs. Kelly laughs, batting a hand. “I wouldn’t go that far. I just enjoy cleaning, which I do far more than cooking.”

My eyes wander over the two pots on the range top. Despite the cooking, there isn’t a drop of food spillage anywhere.

“You obviously didn’t get Parker to help cook,” I joke, gesturing at the cake. “He dusted the counter in flour instead of getting it into the mixing bowl.”

“Aww, Parky. I think it’s so cute you helped Kylie bake,” his mom gushes, pinching his cheek.

“Mom,” he grumbles, pulling his face away.

“Parky was very cute,” I tease, leaning against a stool.

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