Page 36 of How To Fake A Fiancé

A man who knows how to cook. I don’t know whether to be impressed or turned on. “You’re better than me. I just know how to make toast, eggs, and the occasional grilled cheese sandwich.”

He laughs. “That was me in my college days.”

I laugh. “What changed to make you a better cook?”

“When my mom got sick ten years ago. My dad did most of the cooking, until he died five years after that. YouTube videos were a big help, let me tell you.”

“That must have been a lot for you to tackle at once. Did you have help?” I picture a run-down Ian spreading himself thin to keep his mother and their livelihood alive.

“My family pitched in whenever they could, but most lived too far out to help on a regular basis, and my youngest brother, Matt, was busy being a husband and father of three under the age of five.”

“So it was mostly you taking care of things?” I sympathize.

“Yeah, but I managed.” He smiles.

If he’d been taking care of his family for this long, chances are he hadn’t had much time to work on himself, much less meet a woman and settle down. “But what about you? What about your life?”

“Don’t be sad for me, Kami.” He takes my hand in his. “I’m okay now. Things are finally good, and I want to make the most of it. Let’s dig in.”

For the next half hour we eat, drink wine, and talk about life. In truth, he’s more interesting than I thought. The way he describes his family makes me wish I could have that.

Then the conversation turns to me.

“What about you?” he asks.

I give a small laugh of awkwardness. “Me? Well, you already know about my sister and mom.”

“True, but what about your dad? Your childhood? Your mom had said something about you being a lot like your dad.”

My dad. When was the last time I talked about my father to anyone, much less to myself? After all, the mere mention of him in front of my mother would cause her to have a meltdown. So much as having a photo of him was too much for her to handle.

I’m keeping this short and brief. “My dad was never really in the picture.”

“Did he pass?” he asks.

He was dead to my mother; does that count? “Something like that.”

My mind goes back to when my dad and I played in the backyard every day after school. From sports to doing chores around the house, we did everything together. He was so constant in my then-short life—until he wasn’t. Since then, my whole family has been…dysfunctional. There was a time when I thought he’d come back. That we’d be a family again if my parents just talked things out. But that thinking quickly changed when I realized neither Dad, nor any other potential father figure that would come along, wanted anything to do with me.

“What happened, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“My dad went to work one day and never came back.” I don’t need his pity. “It’s no big deal, honestly.”

As if he somehow understands, he takes his hands in mine. “I’m sorry.”

Why is he sorry about something that happened a long time ago? He wasn’t there. He had nothing to do with it. I shrug and try to divert the conversation. “I think you had it the hardest. Taking care of a cancer patient while keeping a business afloat by yourself is no easy task.”

He takes hold of my hand. “We both went through a lot in different ways, but they were still difficult. Thank you for sharing that piece of you with me. Dessert?”

He cares. He actually cares. But when is the shoe going to drop? This all feels too perfect. Tonight has been fun, and I’ve enjoyed getting to know him, but will it always be like this? How do I know the tables won’t turn on me? He may be willing to hear what I have to say now, but what about tomorrow?

After coming back to the table with two large slices of chocolate cake, he continues, “As your ‘boyfriend’ for the next few weeks, what’s the plan?”

What if it could be the real thing?

I shove that thought down. One night together and a seemingly romantic dinner date can’t determine whether I should commit to him or not. Not when our arrangement is only temporary.

“Since my mom is expecting us to be smitten in love and engaged in the end”—no thanks to him—“we might as well milk it for what it’s worth. How do you want to propose?”

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