Page 152 of The Fake Out Flex

"That would actually make for a great reality TV show," Harper says.

"It totally would," Laney agrees.

They start cackling in laughter, and yep, I'm officially with the Freemans.

I know I'm going to be behind the eight ball all night. Might as well get comfortable, settle in, and hold on for dear life. I suspect that's how someone as laid back as Mr. Freem—Alex survives in such a high-energy family.

"Dinner is ready, if you'd like to make your way to the dining room," Mrs. Freeman announces.

I take Evie's hand, and she sways into me as we walk. "How are you doing?" she whispers.

"So far, so good."

We sit down next to each other, and I can't help but notice Mrs. Freeman smile approvingly when I hold Evie's chair out for her.

Evie clocks her mother's glance, too, and yep, that's another item she'll be adding to her I'm going to rib Fraser about this list. For the record, I always hold her chair out for her because that's how a man should treat the woman he loves.

The first course comes out, served by two butlers in fancy uniforms. I know the Freemans have domestic help, but I'm pretty sure these two were brought in for tonight only. Say what you want about the woman, but Mrs. Freeman knows how to throw a dinner party.

"Oh, no spice?" I say, concealing my relief as I take in the spice-less seafood chowder being placed in front of us.

"We're saving that for the next three courses," Alex tells me.

"We're having Indian tonight, but somebody felt like chowder," Mrs. Freeman explains, shooting a look at her husband that spells out in no uncertain terms who that certain someone is.

"Guilty." Alex raises his hand by his face, "So, it's my fault and no one else's that tonight's dinner lacks thematic consistency."

"I never said that, Alex. Never mind." Mrs. Freeman forces a smile, and okay, I think we've stumbled upon what might have set her in a bad mood before our arrival. Here I was thinking it might have been something serious when it turns out it was about dinner thematic consistency.

"Welcome to the madhouse," Evie whispers as she reaches over for the sourdough bread.

"Hope you're ready to handle some heat, Rademacher," Alex says, smiling at me from across the table.

"I'm sure his tolerance has increased since he was a teenager," Mrs. Freeman adds, then mutters something that sounds an awful lot like, "At least I hope so," under her breath.

"So, girls, what's been happening?" Alex asks his daughters, and the first lightning round conversation of the evening gets underway.

Levi, who's sitting on my other side, taps my leg and leans closer when the next course is brought out. "Avoid water and heap an extra spoonful of yogurt onto your plate. That will help you when you overheat."

"You said when, not if," I whisper back to him.

He claps me on the back. "Oh, Fraser, my man, you have no idea what you're in for, do you?"

He's absolutely right. I don't.

Because over the next three courses, the dishes get progressively hotter and hotter. Levi's tip to load up on yogurt seems to be doing the trick, though, even if Mrs. Freeman casts the occasional odd look my way. Not sure you're meant to be consuming spoonfuls of yogurt the way I am, but if it gets me through this meal, that's all I care about.

"You're doing really well," Evie says, wiping beads of sweat off her brow with her napkin. "I thought the vindaloo would be your limit."

"His tolerance has matured," Mrs. Freeman says with an approving smile. "Should I get them to bring out some more yogurt, Fraser?"

"Yes, please. That'd be great, Mrs. Freeman."

After dinner, Mrs. Freeman invites everyone back into the formal living room. Evie excuses herself to use the powder room, so I take the opportunity to have a quiet word with Mr. Freeman.

There's something important I need to discuss with him.

After about an hour chatting in the living room, Evie yawns and suggests, "Should we make a move?"

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