Page 41 of The Kiss Countdown

Mrs. Rogers gives him a warning look when she turns back around. “Let’s go sit for a while.”

We all march to the living room, with Camille punching Vincent in the arm as she passes him.

“Ouch,” he hisses, and I hold back laughter as he rubs his arm.

I have to admit, the pout that adorns his full lips is equal parts pitiful and adorable, and I’m smiling at him as we sit down on one end of the large wheat-colored sectional.

I’m content to listen and observe as the family catches up with each other’s lives. Brianna is thinking of continuing her education so she can become a principal. Camille has been considering opening up another practice in one of the more underserved areas of Houston. I think it’s an admirable idea, but can’t help but notice Lance doesn’t seem too thrilled when she mentions it.

“So what do you do, Amerie?” Mrs. Rogers says.

Her voice holds only curiosity, but it feels like I’m being inspected under a microscope. I already decided to tell the truth, like I did when I met Camille and Lance. Well, as much of the truth as one can divulge when presenting themselves as another’s fake girlfriend.

“I’m an event planner. I’ve been in the business for years but took some time off when my mom got sick. I’m back now and just recently branched out on my own.” I hadn’t meant to bring up my mom, but the words just slipped out.

“I hope your mom is doing better?”

I nod. “It was a rough time, but she is doing better. Significantly.”

Vincent moves his arm behind me on the couch. We’re not touching, but it would be so easy to fall against the comfort he seems willing to offer.

“I’m so glad to hear that,” Mrs. Rogers says. “I look forward to meeting her one day.”

While I have no doubt Mrs. Rogers would adore my mom, I just smile and nod, knowing a meeting between the two will never come to pass. For some reason, the thought is a little disheartening. I think Mom would like Mrs. Rogers too.

“One of my girlfriends recently posted pictures of a luxury picnic that her boyfriend set up when he asked her to marry him,” Brianna says. “It was so adorable. Is that something you do?”

I perk up and lean forward. “I love planning luxury picnics. They’re perfect for engagements. Anniversaries and dates too. Anything, really. It’s amazing what you can do with a tent and a handful of blankets. I have a whole Pinterest board dedicated to them.” When I sit back, my neck lands on Vincent’s arm, and I’m all too aware of the heat radiating off him.

“What are luxury picnics?” Vincent says.

What we should have done instead of going to NASA for that virtual space walk.

“It’s your ordinary picnic, but so much more,” I say. “I love doing mine with tents, but regular blankets work welltoo. You can use low wooden tables so you aren’t eating on the ground. And you can’t have too many pillows.”

I swear his eyes have glazed over.

“Maybe Amerie should plan the vow renewal, Momma,” Camille says. She’s sitting on the other end of the couch, reclining on Lance like he’s a large pillow.

Mrs. Rogers smiles, but it quickly turns into a frown when she looks at Vincent. “It’s a shame my son won’t be able to make it.”

Uh-oh. There’s a shift in the air, and I hear Vincent let out a sigh. Is this the dreaded part where Mrs. Rogers begins bemoaning Vincent’s impending takeoff? I try to think of how to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“A vow renewal? How many years will you two be celebrating?” I ask. Vow renewal ceremonies are a lot like weddings, but I make myself ask the question anyway.

Mr. Rogers is the one to answer. “Thirty-five years, but it feels like we just got married yesterday.” He’s a charmer.

Mrs. Rogers still doesn’t look happy, but her eyes soften as her husband places a soft kiss on her hand.

“Dance with me,” Mr. Rogers says to his wife. “Alexa, play our song.”

As the first notes of “Always” by Atlantic Starr begin playing from a small speaker above the fireplace, Mr. Rogers stands up, pulling Mrs. Rogers with him. Soon after, Lance and Camille join them.

“I can see where this is headed,” Brianna grumbles. “Let’s go, Sheba. We’ll see y’all in the morning.” She leads Sheba upstairs.

I wonder how many times this exact scenario has played out—Mr. and Mrs. Rogers dancing in front of the glowing fireplace in their beautiful home, happy and in love. The intimacy of the moment should make me feel out of place.Here I am, a stranger intruding on their special moment. Instead I’m sitting here, snug as a bug, with Vincent beside me.

The mantel above the fireplace is crowded with framed photos of Vincent and his sisters when they were younger. They spill over to the wall, where I see a picture of Camille with a rounder, softer face and braces as she poses with a tennis racket. One photo catches my eye. Initially, I thought it was a teenage version of Vincent, but upon closer inspection I see that the boy’s lips are a tad wider and his eyebrows are a different shape. And now I realize there are more pictures of him sprinkled in with the rest of the family.

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