Page 52 of Say Yes to the Hot Mess

Maya looks surprised, glancing at the table. “The stuffy blonde?” she whispers back, and I try to ignore how close her lips are.

I give a short nod, fighting down my irritation with my mother.

“Oh, my goodness,” Maya says quietly, leaning further into me and looking delighted. “She’s like the girl version of you!”

I frown at her, affronted. “No, she’s not.” My arm is still around her waist, and I tighten it slightly so that she comes closer still.

She grins up at me. “You guys are literally wearing the same shirt!” she whispers under her breath.

I glance at Val’s blue button-down, then to my own.

They maybe look alittlesimilar.

“And you wear that same expression,” Maya goes on, still whispering. “The hoity-toity one—”

“Here you are,” the host says, interrupting our whispered conversation and gesturing to the table. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Just water,” I say as I pull out a chair for Maya to sit—a chair away from my parents or Val. I’m not subjecting her to that.

“Me too, please,” Maya says, settling herself in the seat and smiling up at the host.

I take the seat next to her, which puts me at my mother’s side, acting as a buffer. It won’t be completely effective, but it’s the best I can do.

The waiter begins taking orders while Maya and I flip quickly through the menu. Once he’s gone, my mother speaks.

“Dexter, darling, it’s so wonderful to see you,” she says, smiling at me. She leans over and gives me a quick peck on each cheek, and I offer her a halfhearted side hug. When I pull back, she’s looking at Maya. She holds out one bony, bracelet-embellished hand to her.

“Nancy Anthony,” she says, and I can see her keen gaze raking over Maya with curiosity and speculation. I watch her catalogue the bare shoulder with a stab of nervousness.

Maya doesn’t seem to notice, though, or if she does, she doesn’t let on. She leans toward me, her tanned, golden skin contrasting with my mother’s pinkish pale hand as they shake. “Maya,” she offers simply, and I watch her closely for any signs that she recognizes the name “Nancy Anthony”—any sign that Maya might be Hanan.

But there’s nothing. No flicker of recognition, no stealthy glances at me. I push down my disappointment.

“Maya,” my mother repeats, smiling. It’s not a completely insincere smile, but it’s not fully genuine, either. And in that moment I watch as Nancy dismisses Maya—removes her from the list of candidates for my future wife. “So nice to meet the woman my Dexter is dating.”

“It’s lovely to meet you too,” Maya says. Her smile is more convincing than my mother’s. “Dex has told me so much about you.”

“Mmm,” my mother hums, glancing at me—probably because she knows that what I’ve told Maya might not be complimentary. Then she gestures to Val. “And this is Valencia Devlin, a family friend and adearfriend of Dexter’s.” She beams at Val, who nods demurely even as her gaze assesses Maya.

Turning her eyes on my father, my mother says exasperatedly, “Hanniford, introduce yourself. Don’t be antisocial; put that phone away. Dexter’s brought agirlto meet us.”

My father glances up from his phone, grunts a greeting, and then goes back to his work. It’s about par for the course, so I’m not bothered or surprised.

Valencia speaks up, like I knew she would. “It’s so wonderful to see you, Dexy,” she says, all of her focus on me. I hear Maya’s little sound of amusement at the horrible nickname, and I briefly contemplate kicking her under the table before rethinking it, mainly because those heels she’s wearing could do some damage to me.

“Nice to see you too,” I answer—politely, but maybe a little stiffly. I don’t even care. Under no circumstances will I give this woman any reason to believe we’re getting back together.

“You know, Maya,” Val says, swinging her pale blue gaze to my date. “Dexy and I used to date…oh, five years ago?” she says, arching a conspiratorial brow at me. “And he always made thebestchicken cordon bleu. It was to die for,” she goes on, one hand clasped over her chest. Then she bats innocent eyes at Maya. “Has he made that for you yet?”

It’s condescending and patronizing and deliberately meant to make Maya feel insecure. I want to step in and say something, but I don’t know what.

However, a second later I realize I’ve underestimated Maya Ellis once again.

“He hasn’t,” Maya says, looking sweetly up at me, although there’s a hint of that fire, too. “We just can’t seem to keep our hands off of each other long enough to get any cooking done.”

I choke on the water I’m drinking, spitting half of it out onto the white tablecloth and swallowing the other half down the wrong pipe. Maya thumps me on the back a few times,hard, before turning to smile at a narrow-eyed Val. “Oh, look at that,” she says. “He’s so cute when he’s embarrassed.”

I think I might growl at Maya, at which point her smile becomes much more mischievous. It’s an impish expression, the same one she was wearing that day by the hot tub when she teased me about my mother trying to find me a date.

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