Page 88 of The Kiss Countdown

I wipe my sweaty hands on my jeans and stand up as they approach. “Thank you for meeting me today.”

Mrs. Rogers opens her mouth, but Camille clears her throat and speaks first. “We were surprised to hear from you and, I must admit, curious as to what you had to say.”

I wait for them to sit down before taking my own seat. “Can I get coffee or tea for either of you?”

“We’re fine,” Mrs. Rogers clips.

“Right.” I clear my throat. I can do this. “First, I want to sincerely apologize for my role in deceiving you. I knew full well walking into your house that I’d be lying about my relationship with V-Vincent.” I trip up on his name but manage not to wince. “While my intentions weren’t to hurt anyone, I realize that’s exactly what happened. If at all possible, I’d like to make amends.”

“What did you have in mind?” Camille says.

I should have layered on the deodorant before coming. My skin prickles, and I wrap my hands around my cup to keep from touching my necklace. They aren’t softening toward me at all, and it feels like I’m about to pointlessly make a fool of myself.

“Well, uh, yes. This close to the ceremony, it would be almost impossible to find another planner.”

“Would it?” Mrs. Rogers says. She raises an eyebrow and I gulp.

“It would be difficult to bring someone in this late in the game. But if you’ll let me, I’d like to finish the job I started. I want to make the vow renewal the event of your dreams. No charge. Just a beautiful celebration.” Money and other opportunities to expand my business will come later. This will be all about Mr. and Mrs. Rogers. I owe them that much.

Mother and daughter regard each other, exchanging a silent communication, before Camille faces me and pins me with her gaze. “First, I want to know something.” She leans closer to the table. “Was everything between you and Vincent really an act?” There is no accusation or hostility in her tone, only curiosity.

The air is sucked from my lungs. I close my eyes. I have to guess they are as upset about me lying to them as theyare with the thought that my affection toward Vincent was all fake. Maybe if I tell them the truth, it will ease the ache I’ve felt in my heart every minute of every day since walking away from him.

“No, everything wasn’t an act,” I say. “I care about him. I never intended to see him as more than a friend, but he made it infuriatingly hard not to.” I force down my queasiness and meet Mrs. Rogers in the eyes. “I know I’ve already inserted myself in your family more than any stranger has the right to, but you have to know, the reason Vincent lied was because he wanted to make things easier for you. He loves you so much, he just didn’t know how else to convince you not to worry about him.”

“Amerie, I’m going to assume that when you said you’re close to your mother, that wasn’t a lie,” Mrs. Rogers says.

“No, ma’am,” I say quickly. “It wasn’t a lie.”

“What both you and Vincent fail to realize is that, as a mother, it is my right to consider the welfare of my children.”

“Wow. That’s almost word for word what my mom said.”

“She’s a wise woman. You’d do well to listen to her.” The lines around her mouth soften, and her shoulders lose some of their edge. Suddenly she looks vulnerable and every bit the woman who already lost one child. “But even I can see I’ve been pushing my son away, and it’s something I need to work on.”

Mrs. Rogers and Camille exchange another wordless glance, then Mrs. Rogers nods.

Camille reaches into her bag and pulls out the planner I forgot at her house. “I figured you’d need your notes if you were going to finalize everything.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Two weeks later, I get ready for the Rogerses’ ceremony while Beyoncé’sHomecomingplays on the small TV mounted above my old dresser. The dresser was a staple in each of my rooms as we moved around, and I’ve found comfort in the nostalgia of being surrounded by my old furniture these past weeks.

I’m sitting at my desk-turned-vanity with light strips adhered to the mirror, turning my head side to side as I inspect my hair and makeup. Gina would be impressed that I managed to nail the halo braid without her help. Or a full-blown meltdown.

Normally, an easy morning like this would indicate I’m in for a smooth event, but today... no. Nobuts. This eventwillbe smooth. It will be a success. I may be plagued with thoughts of Vincent while I’m around his family, but he stalks my mind and dreams all the time anyway. And now that he’s launching today, the only thing I can do is try to move on. After the ceremony, I’ll be out of their lives for good. And I’m totally fine.

After grabbing my portfolio bag and stuffing my binder inside, I’m ready to head to the pier. I walk to the living room, where my dad is rummaging through his desk in the corner.

“What are you looking for, Daddy?”

He raises his head with a scowl etched into his handsome face. “Have you seen the battery to my trimmer? I had it charging here last night. Your mom wants me to finish the yard before Tony does.”

I smirk. “Momma wants you to finish? Oryouwant to win this weekend’s competition?”

Who knew homeownership in the quietest of neighborhoods was so cutthroat over yard work? Mom told me how, now that the weather is consistently warmer, the minute one neighbor on the street revs up their lawnmower, three more are sure to follow. Whoever finishes first celebrates their victory by silently cracking open a beer and lording it over the others from their porch while everyone else labors on. While my parents were traveling, they paid a teenager to take care of the grass, but now Dad’s back in the yard work bracket. Mom thinks it’s hilarious how he and their neighbor Tony Mendoza seem to head outside earlier each weekend in a bid to beat the other. If my parents stay in town much longer, Dad is liable to start at the crack of dawn so he can win.

“Is that it?” I point to a rectangular orange-and-black box sitting on the bookshelf. I recognize it only because I saw something similar in Vincent’s garage.

---