Page 15 of Stick Work

Mom dips her head, her blue eyes narrowing. “Maple syrup?”

“Elias once told me it was your favorite.”

My heart tightens. I’d forgotten I’d ever mentioned that to Taylor. I thought the syrup was just a random gift, but now I see the care and thought behind it. My chest warms at her quiet attentiveness.

Mom turns the bottle over in her hands, her expression softening further. “I do love New England maple syrup.”

“Good and this bottle comes with breakfast,” Taylor beams. “Growing up it was tradition for us to eat waffles on Thanksgiving morning. Elias and I will be doing the cooking. My grandma’s secret recipe—you’re going to love them.”

Mom’s composure wavers again, but she recovers quickly, her tone shifting back to probing. “Your grandma’s recipe? That’s lovely. Your family doesn’t mind you being away for Thanksgiving? Or is family not important to you.”

Sadness flickers across Taylor’s face, a genuine ache that tugs at something in all of us. “Family is the most important thing in the world to me,” she explains softly. “Mom passed when I was young. Dad stayed in New York, and my brother Kalen and I moved to Connecticut to live with our grandmother. It’s just my brother and me in Boston now.”

Mom leans forward, and Taylor might as well be under a bright light because the interrogation is about to commence. “I see. Your father didn’t raise you after your mom…”

I’m about to stop the interrogation, but Taylor nods, unbothered by the question, and continues, “We were supposed to visit Dad in New York, but his partner came down with the flu.”

“His partner?” Mom’s voice dips, curious but gentler now.

Taylor nods. “Dad is with someone new now. We don’t see him all that much.”

Mom’s lashes fall shut for a second. “Sounds like you miss him.”

“I do.”

Quietness fills the room, and I see something shift in Mom. Her guarded demeanor gives way to understanding, the unspoken grief in Taylor’s words dissolving the walls she’d built.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mom sympathizes, in a soft voice that’s only reserved for family.

Taylor smiles, aiming that warmth my way, and it nearly steals the air from my lungs. “He’s going to love Elias when they meet.” In a softer voice she adds, “Mom and Grandma would have loved him too.” The room stills, the weight of her words hanging in the air, and then Taylor turns back to Mom. “Anyway, it’s really great to meet you, Mrs. Ariti. You have a beautiful home, and I’m grateful to share this important holiday with you all.”

Mom swallows hard, her hand brushing Taylor’s briefly as she says, “Please, call me Cheryl. Did you get settled in? Is Elias’s bed going to be comfortable enough for the two of you?”

And just like that, I realize how wrong I was to worry. Taylor isn’t intimidated by my mother—she’s winning her over, one honest word and genuine gesture at a time.

But as I watch Mom’s face soften, an entirely different kind of dread settles over me. Taylor’s charm is working too well. By the end of the weekend, she’ll have my parents eating out of the palm of her hand—and probably talking to me about wedding dates.

This charade was supposed to buy me time, not turn into wedding bells and futures—and let’s not forget babies.

What is happening in my life?

5

Taylor

There’s something strangely comforting about being here, nestled in Elias’s childhood home with his family. Back in Boston, I’ve stumble over my words around him more times than I care to admit. Shocking, I know. But now? Watching Elias squirm under the weight of his family’s pointed questions, nervous energy practically rolling off him, I feel… calm. Like I’m soaking up all that jittery tension, soothing it, and sending it back to him with every smile, every quiet glance.

It’s working too. His thigh hasn’t stopped brushing mine under the table. A little nudge here, a casual press there. Can everyone else in the room feel the tension? If they can, I guess that’s a good thing. I am, after all, here to fool them into believing I’m his girl. A smile spreads across my face, not just because the lasagna is ridiculously good, but because for once, I’m the one taking care of Elias.

Elias, the guy who’s been a step ahead of me since I moved to Boston, always shielding me, watching over me, making sure I’m home tucked into my bed every night—alone. And my brother, who thinks I need bubble wrap just to get through the day. They’ve both spent months treating me like I’d break if the wind blew too hard. But here I am, keeping Elias steady as his mom peppers him about marriage and his dad chimes in about grandkids. Honestly, I don’t hate it. Being around this big table feels right. Reminds me of my younger, happy days.

Speaking of feels—did he just touch me?

A little jolt shoots through me as Elias’s fingers graze mine under the table. Was that on purpose? A quiet “thank you” for running interference? I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He’s wiping his mouth with his napkin, totally at ease now as he and his dad rehash a botched play from his last game. I take a sip of wine, pretending not to notice, but my pulse betrays me, thudding wildly.

Ugh, I really wish I didn’t want him so much.

I turn to smile at Grandma—the matriarch of the family—sitting at the head of the table, close to me. Those sharp, all-seeing eyes of hers are studying everyone around the table, and a measure of guilt nips at me. I don’t enjoy trying to pull one over on these nice people, and I really hope she doesn’t know what’s going on here, that Elias and I are faking…everything. I fight the urge to squirm under her gaze, keeping my expression neutral.

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