Page 23 of The Boyfriend Swap

“BecauseDynastywas before your time.”

“I watch a lot of old shows for inspiration. John Forsyth was the man.”

I sighed and resisted the urge to roll my eyes. If Perry was dumbstruck by the front exterior of the house, wait until he saw the inside. And the pool and tennis court in the back. I’d called it my home from the age of thirteen until I moved out permanently after graduating law school, but seeing the imposing Venetian-style house through his eyes, I could understand his reaction. “Do you want to come inside or would you rather we set up a tent for you out here?” I asked, partially amused but mostly annoyed by his paralysis.

“Huh?” Perry said, finally tearing his eyes away from the house to look at me.

I pointed toward the front door. “Shall we?”

He shrugged. “I’m ready when you are.”

I opened the front door and called out, “Anyone home?”

“I’m surprised we don’t hear an echo,” Perry said as he paced the stenciled hardwood floors of the entryway and glanced up at the sweeping staircase.

“It should be traditional but not boring, and please go easy on the wreaths,” my mom said to a girl around my age who was furiously scribbling notes on a clipboard.

“Hi, Mom,” I said, figuring she was too deep in decoration-mode to notice her only child standing there.

My mom finally looked our way. “Sid, dear. You’re here.”

“My mother is the queen of stating the obvious,” I said to Perry before making more formal introductions.

“Why don’t you take a walk-through and jot down some ideas?” my mom said to the girl. “We can discuss them after I get my daughter and her boyfriend settled in.” After the girl scurried away, my mom smiled at Perry and me. “Let’s go to the sitting room, have a drink, and get to know each other. You can leave your bags here for now.”

When Perry whispered, “Sitting room?” I nudged him, hoping he’d get a grip.

As we followed my mom to the sitting room, she called out, “Harvey. Your daughter is here.” When he didn’t respond, she repeated, “Harvey. We’re in the sitting room” in a commanding voice.

A few moments later, my dad joined us and bristled at my mother. “Have you forgotten I see our daughter every day at the office, Barbara?” Pecking my cheek, he said, “Good to see you again, Sid,” before facing Perry. “And you are?”

Extending his hand, Perry said, “Perry Smith. Good to meet you.”

Motioning to one of the two matching gray suede couches, my mom said, “Sit.”

Perry and I sat side by side on one and my parents sat across from us on the other.

His computer on his lap, my dad said, “I’ve been going through the Swift contract. Did you notice the discrepancy in the indemnity clause?”

I glanced at my watch. “Under two minutes and he’s off,” I said, with a knowing look at Perry, who was too busy gawking at the partitioned wood ceiling to catch it.

“Forget work, Harvey. I want to know how these two met,” my mom said, clapping her hands together.

My dad snorted and shut his laptop. “Fine. How’d you meet this one?” he asked gruffly before taking a slow sip of brandy.

I placed my gin and tonic on the dark wood coffee table. “He was my waiter at Carmines and slipped his phone number onto my bill.” Raising my palms up, I said, “And here we are.”

“Here we are,” my dad repeated, looking as unimpressed as I’d hoped he would.

“It was a little more involved than that, Mr. and Mrs. Bellows.” Taking my hand, Perry said, “Shall we tell them the whole story?”

I blinked.The whole story?

“Don’t be embarrassed, Cherry Bomb.”

Choking on her Pimm’s, my mom parroted, “Cherry Bomb?”

“Whatever do you mean?” I asked with a laugh, followed by a warning look at Perry that screamed, “Drop it now.” Perry might have fallen asleep before I could tell him how we supposedly met, but it was at Carmines—final answer.

---