Page 29 of Faking it with my Off Limits Neighbor

We travel the short distance across town, and only then do I feel the nerves kicking in. I suppose I haven’t really thought this through. Troy’s entire family is going to be there, including his mom and dad. But surely Mr. and Mrs. Heaton know this is all a farce. That knowledge makes this circumstance even more difficult.

“How are we going to play this?” I ask when we’re about ten minutes away.

Troy throws me a glance. He doesn’t need to ask what I mean. He shrugs and says, “How do you want to play it?”

I wasn’t really expecting that reply, and I’m at a loss as to how to answer it. I suppose I wanted Troy to take the lead, given that it’s his family.

“Look,” he says. “Let’s just play it by ear, okay? Grandma thinks we’re dating. We don’t need to go crazy.”

I nod nervously. Troy shakes his head and heaves a sigh. “My sister has a lot to answer for.”

Troy drives slowly down the long driveway leading to his grandparents’ place, eventually pulling the truck up and parking next to the other cars there. Mr. and Mrs. Patterson’s house is a great old building with a lot of land around it. It was once a farm, but neither of them can run it now.

Troy jumps out and circles the truck before opening my door. “Oh, Lord,” I breathe.

He smiles, takes hold of my hand, and says, “Come on. It’ll be fine.”

He’s still holding my hand when we enter the huge house. It’s strange, feeling his skin against mine again. His hands are still as large and strong as they always were, and yet he holds me with a gentle touch. My body is reacting in all sorts of ways, and between the nerves of having to pretend in front of his entire family and the feelings his touch is evoking, my head is all over the place.

“Hey, you guys,” Milly cries as she spots us walking into the empty living room.

While there’s no one here, the room is decorated with plenty of balloons and ribbons. There’s music playing quite loudly, and for a second, I wonder where everyone is.

“We’re out in the back,” Milly says. “Come on.”

I look up at Troy, who smiles down at me. “Showtime,” he says.

We walk out into the huge back garden hand in hand, and heads begin to turn. The patio is decorated with more ribbons and balloons draped around an open wooden frame overhead.

There’s a barbecue going, surrounded by a group of men. Other small groups are gathered together and talking. Troy’s grandparents are seated on garden furniture, both immersed in conversation with family to the left and right of them. I’ll be honest, I didn’t realize Troy’s family was so vast. There must be sixty or seventy people here.

It’s only as people start greeting Troy with delight that I realize this is the first time he’s seen his family in ten years. And all of a sudden, I feel so out of place. I shouldn’t be here. This is not just his grandmother’s birthday, it’s also a family reunion. Why had that not even crossed my mind?

You couldn’t have known.

Maybe. But I should have at least considered it.

Troy acknowledges them all, and I greet them with a weak smile, while we make our way to where his grandparents are sitting.

“Oh, my darling child,” Mrs. Patterson cries, standing when we get near her. Troy lets go of my hand as she throws her arms around her grandson and hugs him tightly.

While Troy and Mrs. Patterson are in a long embrace, Mr. Patterson smiles warmly at me and nods.

“Hello, Mr. Patterson. It’s so lovely to see you again.”

“And you, my dear,” the old man says. “It’s been a while.”

“It has.”

Our conversation is brought to a halt when Troy reaches for his grandfather and hugs him, too. In fact, I’m feeling all emotional about the reunion, and I can actually sense my throat tightening. It probably has something to do with the fact that Mrs. Patterson currently has tears rolling down her cheeks.

“And, my dear Charlie,” she says, grabbing ahold of my hands and squeezing as tightly as an eighty-year-old woman can—which I will admit is tighter than you might think. “You cannot know how delighted I am that you’re here. And that you’re here with Troy. We always thought you made such a lovely couple.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Patterson,” I say, feeling the guilt rising. “It’s a pleasure to be here.”

With Mr. and Mrs. Patterson seated again, Milly brings over a couple of paper plates topped with burgers and sausages for me and Troy. “I hope you’re hungry,” she sings. “There’s plenty more where this came from.”

“Thanks, Milly,” I say.

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