Page 29 of The ABCs of You & Me

“The rest is, as they say, history.” Maria beams over at Foster. “We were simply happy to be included. People think once you hit a certain age, you don’t know how to have fun anymore. The reality is you start having more fun because you stop giving a cat’s caboose about what anyone else thinks of you.”

“Cat’s caboose?” I repeat, glancing over at Foster as things start to click.

“So, it turns out kids are really good at repeating things you say, and I learned very quickly that they were particularly proficient with curses.”

“Kid cursed like a sailor when he first arrived,” Dan guffaws.

“Yeah, and he was apparently unable to shake the cutesy cursing habit when he got home,” Heather teases.

“Well, I still work pretty closely with kids so...” His shoulders rise and fall with a sigh.

“I have kids and don’t censor myself,” Miranda says.

“Yeah, but you’re expected to teach your own kids bad words. No parent is going to walk into a school, shake my hand, and thank me for teaching their kid how to swear.”

“I don’t know,” I say, “I’d say your language is more colorful than the usual stuff. It’s definitely more interesting.” I reach over, threading my fingers through his. “I like it.”

“The question is, does that language come out in the bedroom?” Nick asks. I immediately feel heat rush to my face.

“Nick,” Foster warns, his hand tightening around mine. “Too far.”

I think of the way Foster touched and held me at the gala. How he helped sell the illusion that we were together. “All I’ll say is that in the bedroom, Foster’s vocabulary is the last thing I’m thinking about.” The room erupts in laughter and hoots, and Foster’s face goes nearly as red as his hair.

Lunch is delicious, and Maria pats herself on the back for keeping Dan from straying too far in the experimental direction. “He was going to grill absolutely everything, and that’s when I put my foot down, especially since the dessert is pudding-based.”

“How the hell do you grill pudding?” Heather queries.

“I found a recipe. I was willing to try it, but this one”—he gestures toward his wife—“said it was dumb.”

“But now I want to know,” Miranda whines.

“I’ll send you the recipe.” Dan grins over at her.

“Oh no, I don’t want to make the recipe, I just want to know if it’s possible.” She waves off his offer. “If you’re going to send it to anyone, send it to Foster.”

“Is the end result a hot pudding?” Foster asks, leaning forward, and I can’t tell if he’s actually interested or simply concerned.

“You serve it warm,” Dan says.

Now I can definitely tell that Foster is not, in fact, interested. “I think I’m good never knowing what it is,” he says confidently, leaning back into the couch and letting his hand rest on my thigh. It feels like a rogue firework, sparks going in every which way, and I have to consciously stop myself from squirming. Not because it doesn’t feel good, but because it feelstoogood and I’m not in the type of situation where I want to be feeling this good. Ultimately feeling good is making me uncomfortable.

Amazingly, Foster seems to pick up on my discomfort and moves his hand from my thigh, opting to take my hand instead. This has the same effect as a good hard hug, and the anxiety that was building begins to deflate.

“So you two have known each other since you were kids?” Maria asks, walking around with a pitcher of sangria and refilling half the glasses in the room.

“Yeah, since I was five and he was six,” I confirm.

“And it took you until now to realize you had feelings for each other?”

“We were…” I start to say as Foster says, “Oh no, I knew when we were kids.”

I look at him wide-eyed and then remember this is fake. He’s selling a backstory we had foolishly not planned out.

“I mean, I guess I had a crush, but I would have never guessed he did too,” I say bashfully.

“Took me a while to figure out why my heart didn’t turn into a jackhammer when my sister had other friends over. It was only when Soph was there.”

There areaww’s from around the room and I’m stupidly allowing myself to be dragged into this alternate reality. “Well, you never let on.”

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