Page 31 of Revenge Brunch and Other Disasters

He pressed it.

“Hey,” came Linda’s voice. Bright. A little too warm. “I can’t talk right now. I’m dealing with a coffee maker uprising. Also, if it’s you, alarm clock. I have called the exorcist, you won’t win. Anyway, if you’re human…call me back later!”

Shit.

Because when you finally decide to say the thing?

The coffee maker always rebels.

Rhys lowered the phone. Pressed it to his chest like it could hold the words in. “Call me back,” he whispered. “Please.”

Chapter Fourteen: The Beard Ultimatum

Linda

IT WAS SUPPOSED to be harmless.

Just brunch. Just the parents. Just a casual “this is the guy I’m totally not really dating but absolutely fake dating so has to meet my parents and who brings me pancakes and has weapon-grade cheekbones” kind of thing.

Butnooooo.

Linda’s mom had brought out The Fancy Plates™. Her dad was already calling Rhys “son” before the appetizer. And Sir Stumps-a-Lot had immediately betrayed her by sitting in Mom’s lap like he’d been raised in a gated community.

Rhys, the arrogant bastard, was being absolutelyperfect.

He laughed at her dad’s terrible jokes. He helped set the table. He complimented her mom’s ridiculous ceramic frog collection like he meant it. He even brought flowers thatmatched the living room décor.

“How,” Linda hissed at him in the hallway, “do youknowmy mom’s favorite color scheme?!”

He blinked, innocent. “I scrolled back far enough on your Instagram.”

“You stalked me?!”

“It’s called research. I had a lot of time on my hands last night—since you never called me back. I was meeting the parents. I came prepared.”

Linda stared at him.

He smiled.

It was too much.

She panicked.

Her brain short-circuited again. Her mom was smiling like she was already imagining matching Christmas sweaters. Her dad said “son.” The dog was in her mom’s lap. And Rhys was perfect. Too perfect. It felt like drowning in sunlight.

And then, because her brain short-circuited from the sheerdomesticityof it all, she didn’t want herparentsto love him too much, she blurted it out at the dinner table between green beans and passive-aggressive family gossip.

“Oh! Yeah. I lied. We’re not dating. I’m just his beard.”

Her mom’s eyes widened. Her dad blinked. Silence stretched like hot sidewalk taffy.

Oh God. Maybe that came out wrong?

But no—it was technically the truth, wasn’t it?She wasn’t really dating him. And he was… well. You know. Too polished. Too charming. Too beard-needing. Even if in the last few months it had started feeling real. It all tracked.

She was saving them. Sparing everyone the heartbreak. Controlling the narrative, for once.

Sir Stumps-a-Lot made a small, offended honk noise.

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