Page 18 of Falling for your Fake Boyfriend

I laughed. “I’m never going to get that analogy out of my head now. But I’m fine. And I definitely snore, so I’ll save myself that embarrassment. We’ve got about three hours to go. In about an hour, we’ll be passing by a town with a little beer joint that serves great nachos if you’re interested. And the grit on the floor is actual mud from cowboy boots. Not people’s bones.”

Isla shivered as she glanced down at her shoes. “Do you think we tracked any along with us? I’m afraid to look.”

“I think those were shells. Everything about that place was Hollywood horror movie set fake.”

“I sure hope so.” She turned energetically under the seatbelt to face me. I was glad to see her sadness was gone. “Did you ever meet the great wearer of mutton chops and your apparent namesake, Lucas Evan Greyson?”

“I have vague memories of the man. I remember that he always smelled heavily of aftershave and pipe tobacco, and he had a laugh that could rival Santa Claus’s. He was quite old when he married Hazel, my grandmother. Hazel was almost twenty years younger.”

Isla crinkled her nose. “Big age difference. Was it an arranged marriage?”

“Actually, no. While my dad went the traditional route and picked my mom from a short list of suitable matches, my grandfather followed his heart. And when you meet my grandmother, you’ll see why he was so smitten. She’s eighty and is still the coolest person I know. She was a bit of a rebel in her day, and she wasn’t the least bit suited to the persnickety world my grandfather pulled her into. But she managed to dazzle people with her personality, even if they probably spent a lot of time gossiping about her behind her back.”

Isla listened intently as I spoke. I’d already noticed that about her. She made you feel as if all your words and comments and ideas mattered.

“My granddad grew up in an old money family, and back then, it was expected that old money marry old money, or, at the very least, if the match was tolerable, new money. Hazel was painting the scenery at the park across from my grandfather’s office building. He walked past her several times and finally worked up the courage to say hello. Hazel said he was nervous and fidgety and kept tugging at his tie. He loved the painting so much he offered her fifty dollars, which was a lot of money back then. The next day she’d moved on to a different location five blocks away, but he found her. He asked her to dinner, and they fell madly in love after one date. My grandmother’s words. Not mine. Of course, that didn’t go over well with my great-grandparents. They quickly tried to set him up with a more suitable wife, but Lucas insisted it was Hazel or no one. He was the only male heir, so that meant the Greyson genes would die with his generation, and that was unthinkable, so they allowed Lucas to marry his sweet Hazel.”

“I love that story,” Isla said dreamily. “I can’t wait to meet her. Do you think she’ll know that I’m just a decoy?”

Her question reminded me that I was a total heel. “I’m sorry, Isla. I shouldn’t have brought you into this. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive. I went into this clear-headed and with dollar signs in my eyes. I need money for a bakery, especially now that I’m down one job.”

“That’s my fault, too.” I raked my hair back with my fingers. “I’ll find you another job. I’ve got tons of contacts. It’ll be the least I can do. I promise to do everything to make this weekend bearable, and I’m going to up the pay to ten grand.” I was sure that would make her happy, but a weak, sad smile curled her lips. “That was the wrong thing to say. Damnit … I grew up in a family where money was always the answer.”

Isla placed her hand on my arm. I could feel her touch radiate through my entire body. “Stop tying yourself up in knots. It’ll be fine. I’m glad I said yes to this, and we’ll stick with the original price. I don’t want a pity payment. Seven grand will get me seven thousand closer to my dream, and I’m having a lovely weekend so far. After all, I can’t remember the last time I walked on crushed human bones.”

I laughed and shook my head. “You are something else, Isla Lovely. I’ve gone through thirty-four years never meeting anyone like you.”

“I’ve never met anyone like you either, Lucas Greyson. And to answer your much earlier question. It’s ayesto nachos and beer. I’m starved.”

The Ridge Rider was the quintessential dive with shabby décor, wobbly chairs and tables and, most important of all, great beer on tap. There was a jukebox in the far corner that usually played country, but Mick Jagger was belting out “Satisfaction” as we walked in. Four cowboy boot-bedecked men were at the far end of the bar, near the jukebox. It would explain the trucks in the parking lot. These weren’t off-the-trail cowboys, dusty and parched from a day on the range. A few of the trucks were shiny, six-figure, right-off-the-lot beauties. A couple of guys were playing a game of pool at the single pool table at the back of the room. The rest of the bar was empty, so we pulled a lot of attention our way when we stepped inside. I instinctively curled a fist when the four patrons at the end of the bar went out of their way to look Isla up and down.

I realized I’d never walked into Ridge Rider with a woman. I was usually on my own, biding my time before having to face the family. “This might have been a mistake.”

Isla didn’t pay any attention to the men leering at her. She probably dealt with it a lot. “You said the nachos were good. And a cold beer sounds good, too.”

“Right.”

The bartender, an older man with wire-rimmed glasses, was behind the bar drying glasses. “Have a seat anywhere. Two cold ones?” he called to us.

I nodded, and we sat at one of the tables. The top of it was sticky and the words “you suck” were etched into the wood. I forced a smile. “The nachos really are very good.”

She laughed. “Good thing this isn’t our first date. By the way, how long have we been together? Where did we meet? Maybe we should come up with some details so our stories match.”

I blew out an exasperated breath as I sat back. “You’re right. Jeesh, I guess I didn’t think this through much.”

“Two beers,” the bartender yelled as he slammed two mugs down on the bar. I walked over to pick up the beers. The four other patrons were starting to get on my nerves. They glared my direction. “Uh, could we get an order of nachos and two plates?” I said.

“Coming right up.”

I got back to the table and set the beers down.

“I’m thinking six months is a good number,” Isla was continuing the discussion. “Not long enough to expect an engagement ring but long enough to let other people know that things are solid.” She rubbed her chin. “And we met, hmm, let’s see. Something unique, but plausible. We were both on a train in Iceland and a moose stepped on the tracks and it derailed and we nearly froze to death and the adversity and danger of it all brought us together and we quickly fell in love.”

I arched a brow at her. “I was thinking something like we met at a local coffee shop when we both reached for the same cup of coffee at the barista’s counter. We smiled at each other, struck up a conversation and the rest, as they say, was history. Do they even have moose in Iceland?”

“Seems like a place that moose would like.” She sipped her beer and licked the foam off her lip. She managed to make even a gesture as simple as that adorable. She harrumphed. “I guess we’ll go with the coffee shop scenario. It’s just not very romantic, not one of those stories you can tell your grandchildren.” She sat up straight and searched in her pocket. “That’s right. I tossed my emergency quarter into Boris’s jaw. I was hoping to pick a song on the jukebox.”

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