Page 10 of The Love Audit
“Fine, our last name will be Boyce,” he whispered after checking that our proprietor was still distracted by her phone call.
“Your mom’s maiden name?”
“Do you have a problem with that?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I always liked your mother.”
“Good.” His sour expression momentarily dropped. “She always liked you, too.”
“Great.” I nodded.
“Great,” he agreed.
When Cynthia finally finished her call, we checked into The Derry House as Jasmine and Derek Boyce and paid cash for our reservation.
Derek offered to carry my suitcase up the stairs. It was no doubt a ploy to keep up this ridiculous marriage ruse in front of Mrs. Foreman. I pointed this out when we were out of her earshot, and he responded by demanding to know how I knew she was married.
“I’m not sure if you’re aware of this”—I stopped and turned to him. He was trailing behind me on the staircase and looked like a bellhop from a screwball comedy—“but married people tend to wear wedding rings.” I held up my bare left hand. “If you were paying attention, you would have noticed that Mrs. Foreman is wearing one.”
“Well,” he groaned, “since I’m so bad at being observant, why don’t you carry this heavy-ass suitcase the rest of the way up? I could miss an important detail like a step and fall down and break my neck.”
“We’re almost there,” I quipped with a smile. “I think you’ll be fine.”
The one-bedroom suite was more like a one-bedroom apartment. The front door opened into a large kitchen that was fully stocked with appliances and a large, round wooden table withfour chairs in the center. Beyond the kitchen was a living room with large windows covered with thick, dark curtains. There was one large bedroom with a king-size bed and a full bathroom with a shower stall and a claw-foot tub. The apartment was beautiful and modern. There was a vase full of fresh flowers that filled the entire space with an intoxicating smell.
I couldn’t even allow myself to get more comfortable in my temporary new home before I realized that we had one last hurdle to jump. Derek had tossed his large leather duffle bag on the bed and was about to place his laptop bag on the dresser.
“Why would you assume that you get the bedroom?” I dug my fist into my hips and glared at him.
“Look at this couch.” He pointed to the small, foldout sofa. “I doubt I’d even fit on this thing, and Tora and I need more space.”
“The couch folds out, and Tora looks like he’s doing fine.” Derek’s dog was curled up on a small area rug under one of the large windows.
“Well, we can’t share the bedroom.”
“No, we can’t.”
“Let’s flip a coin.”
“Fine.” I reached for my purse.
“Uh-uh, I’ll get the coin. You probably have a double-sided joint.”
“One: screw you,” I muttered. “And two: flipping the coin was your idea.”
“Call it.” He ignored me and tossed the quarter he had retrieved from his pocket into the air above us.
“Heads.” I shrugged.
Derek caught the coin and slapped it on the back of his hand before looking at it.
“Well?” I asked in an impatient voice.
“This couch better be comfortable,” he grumbled and grabbed his duffle bag.
“Tough luck, Derek.” I couldn’t stop smiling before grabbing my suitcase and rolling it toward the bedroom. “You better get used to losing to me. It won’t be the last time.”
“Don’t count on it.”
