Page 50 of Forever and Other Lies

Chapter 25

“We should kiss,” Derek had said.

He’d been taunting her, and Lance had been watching intently. So, she stood, grabbed a handful of his T-shirt, and planted a kiss on that stupid, smirking mouth of his. She left him standing there more shocked than she was. Had she just kissed Derek Brennan?

Now, three days later, she stood in her kitchen, still shocked that she had locked lips with the Neanderthal. She was even more shocked that he had agreed to her plan. Was she happy that he had, or absolutely dumbfounded? She was fake dating Derek Brennan—the man she despised. And she had no one to blame but herself.

Forcing her attention back on the tray of nachos, she finished dumping the grated cheese and placed the sheet pan into the oven. Her eyes moved around the old craftsman home she had bought. The kitchen was possibly her favorite room.

She had renovated it because it was dated and badly laid out. But the renovation had complimented the house, not modernized it. She’d wanted white, cream, and golden wood tones. Apparently, shabby chic was her decorating style. A blend of vintage and cottage elements in soft, romantic colors and textures created an elegant, yet worn and welcoming look.

The kitchen was a chef’s dream and a baker’s fantasy, not that she knew how to cook or bake, for that matter. One day she’d take up cooking. Pigs, of course, would be flying past the window over the sink because she didn’t have a domestic bone in her body. But this gorgeous kitchen did inspire her to sign up for a couple of cooking classes. Nah, she’d just sign up for that ready-made meal delivery service.

The cabinets were painted off-white, and the butcher block countertop was stained in a honey shade. The white oversized farmhouse sink was big enough to bathe in, and the decorative copper hood vent added to the warmth she’d been going for. But the island, now that was a wow factor. It had been sourced from Jamie’s store. A large antique dresser with intricate carvings that had been stripped, repainted in rich cream milk paint, and distressed. It was topped with an expensive slab of marble in rich hues that picked up the cream of the cabinets and the honey oak of the butcher block.

She could have afforded a larger, brand-new house. It would have barely put a dent in her trust fund. But she wanted a home her nursing salary could afford. The minute she’d set foot inside this house, she knew it was home. Using the tainted trust fund money would have tainted it as well.

The cozy cottage was a far cry from the expensive opulence of the house she’d grown up in. It was truly the first place she’d felt at home. That was possibly the reason she’d changed her mind about sharing her life with someone. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. And it would be a lot less lonely.

However, she was still dead set against having children. In the end, everyone became their parents with their own children, subconsciously picking up traits that were taught to them. Behavioral patterns, no matter how undesirable, tended to be repeated. She wouldn’t take that risk with a child. The fact that Lance did not want children might be the most appealing thing about the man. It didn’t hurt that he was also easy to look at.

When the timer dinged, she opened the state-of-the-art oven and pulled out the pan of nachos. Her big splurge in the kitchen had been on the appliances, not that the six-burner stove ever got used. The microwave was the star of the show, and the oven was used for warming. Nachos were her only specialty.

Carefully, she transferred the contents of the sheet pan onto a large serving platter. She popped a cheese-covered tortilla chip into her mouth and picked up the platter, walking into the living room.

While the kitchen was her favorite room, the warm and welcoming living room was a close second. The walls were painted in a rich cream, and the windows were covered in white linen. Soft pastel color blankets were draped on the white couch. Blue glass vases and a mint-green antique lamp completed the look. The fireplace was the focal point of the room. The natural texture and earthy tones of the stone complemented the shabby chic aesthetic perfectly. A crackling fire added to the ambiance, and once encased in the overstuffed cushion of her sofa, she never wanted to leave.

Setting the platter on the distressed wooden coffee table, she fluffed the pillow on the floral print armchair. She added another piece of wood to the fire and replaced the wrought iron fire screen with the intricate scrollwork. Taking another nacho, she stuffed it in her mouth and headed back to the kitchen as Jamie came in through the back door. Seven p.m. on the dot. The woman had never been late a single day in her life.

“Hey Jamie, how was your day?”

“Great, I’m starving though.” Jamie slipped off her jacket and hung it on the back of one of the mismatched kitchen chairs.

“Nachos are in the living room. I just need to whip up the margaritas.” Jayna stepped behind the island and began to twist the cut-up limes over the stainless-steel juicer. She poured the juice into a blender.

“Why are you holding out on me?” Jamie pulled out a bar stool from under the island and sat down.

Jayna glanced up. “I’m not holding out on you.”

“I have to hear it from Ophelia that you’re dating Derek. I’d say that’s holding out.”

“Ophelia knows? Wow, she doesn’t miss a trick.” Jayna hid a grin as she turned to fill a large glass with ice from the fridge dispenser.

“So, it’s true then?”

“Never said that,” Jayna answered evasively as she dumped the ice into the blender.

“You also never said it wasn’t true.” Jamie persisted. “Come on, I know you’ve had a thing for him since high school.”

Jayna scoffed. “A thing that lasted all of five minutes.”

“So, you’re not dating then?”

“You’re psychic, you tell me.” She measured double the amount of Triple Sec to that of the lime juice. 3-2-1. She had the recipe memorized. Three parts tequila, two parts triple sec, one part lime juice, and a dash of agave syrup to add a little sweetness.

“You know that I can’t read people who are close to me,” Jamie huffed. “But I do know when my best friend is bullshitting me. So, spill! What’s going on?”

Jayna twisted off the cap of the tequila bottle and measured out three parts, then a fourth part. Jamie would need to sleep over. After they polished off this blender of margaritas, she’d be in no shape to drive.

---