Page 25 of Personal Escort

“Liar!” She sighs. “Come on, I promise I won’t tell Nana and Ben. Who is this guy who’s finally opened your eyes to romance?”

I hesitate. “He’s…I mean…it’s… Honestly, he’s the last guy I ever would have thought I’d like, you know? But I knew from the second he kissed me that it was something special.”

Again, not a lie. My face is flaming hot.

“When do we get to meet him?”

Whoa. “Ummm…. Not sure.” I need Toby to hire him first. “He’s got a lot on his plate with work right now. And you know, the whole we-live-in-a-different-country thing.”

“Bring him to the Hamptons this summer.”

“I might.” Not. That would be way too much to ask an escort to do. Also, I’m awkward as fuck. There’s no way I can pretend to be in love with some random guy for an entire weekend. We’re going to do one Sunday tea with Nana before he turns out to be a workaholic who never wants to leave Toronto again.

I hear flipping on the other end of the phone. “It looks like Ben’s heading to the beach house with Toby and Jake for the Fourth of July. And then again the first week of August…do either of those work? Or would you rather avoid them? What’s Alex like? Would he get along with Ben’s friends?”

My head swims as I imagine pretending to be in love with an escort in front of Toby. “I don’t know. I said I might be able to make it, but let’s not put anything down in writing…”

“There are plenty of rooms. It’s really just about letting the housekeeper know how many people to shop for.”

“For God’s sake, Elana, I can buy my own groceries.” I regret snapping at her as soon as it’s out of my mouth. But seriously, how un-fun is it to schedule trips to the shore? I remember when I was a kid, and Ben would drive us down on a whim. Those weekends were the best.

“You do it your way,” she says softly, and I feel even worse.

“Your way is organized. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. If you decide to visit spontaneously, it won’t be that disruptive.”

Story of my life. Speaking of disruptions, she still hasn’t told me about the baby. I wonder if everything is okay, but if she wanted me to know, she’d tell me. “I’ll come down the Fourth of July weekend. No promises about Alex. He’s…” Fictional. “Private.”

“Sounds good. I love you, Cara.”

“Love you, too.”

My brain is still spinning with that conversation on Sunday morning when Toby texts me a reminder of our cyber-brunch.

I haven’t forgotten. I did a special grocery run yesterday and wrote how much I was looking forward to this in the log.

Toby: What are we having for brunch, anyway?

Cara: I’ve got orange juice and everything to make Eggs Benedict.

Toby: Sounds amazing. Give me forty-five minutes?

Cara: Perfect.

When he calls, it’s a video call. I’m still in the kitchen, adding some garnish to my plate. I answer and pick up my plate in one hand, and my iPad in the other.

“Hey there. Just heading to my table.”

“I’m still waiting for my food,” he says as the picture flashes to life.

He’s sitting at a table, too, but it doesn’t look like his house. It looks like an empty restaurant.

I give him a confused look. “Where are you?”

“A private dining room at a country club I belong to.”

“You went out for our cyber-brunch?”

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