Page 4 of Faking it for Gran's Sake

He fiddles with the stems. “I might have taken screenshots of your social media posts and showed her what you’ve been up to.” Mason bites his bottom lip. “She kept asking . . . and . . .” He shrugs.

I roll my eyes, but I can’t hold it against him. I’ve stalked him on socials too. Nothing to see as he doesn’t have a social life other than work functions.

“You’ve got a dog now?” he asks with a voice at normal levels again.

My lips quirk. “Yes. Cinda. She’s a rescue dog.” At least a dog keeps good company and is there waiting when I come home. The house doesn’t seem as lonely. A dog doesn’t replace the need for a husband, but it’s nice to be wanted, even if she has smelly breath and fleas.

“She’s grown quickly.”

Mrs. Baxter makes her way over. The whole town will hear about Mason and me catching up.

He gives the woman a fake grin. I know every one of his smiles. This is the I-don’t-want-to-talk-to-you-but-my-mom-raised-me-to-have-manners smile.

“How is your gran, dear?” Mrs. Baxter tilts her head. “I haven’t seen her come to craft nights for months.” Had she heard us whispering about Gran?

“She doesn’t like the cold. Her old bones lock up.”

I raise a brow in his direction. Doesn’t the town know his grandmother is sick? Mrs. Baxter would be the first to make meals or something if they did. She has tabs on everyone.

“Send my love to her, will you?” Mrs. Baxter remains in line, holding two boxes of chocolates and a small bunch of flowers.

“I will.” Mason nods.

When he says nothing more, she trills, “Carry on. Don’t mind me.” A sly grin lifts her cheeks.

I paste on a grin for Mason. “That’ll be twelve dollars.”

He probably senses our conversation needs to end. He hands me his gold credit card, and I tap the machine. The transaction beep fills the silence, and I return his card.

“Enjoy the rest of your day,” I say coolly.

“Thanks.” He collects the flowers, and his mouth flatlines.

My stomach hits the floor, and my lungs tighten as I freefall. I don’t want to say goodbye either. We didn’t end our engagement because we argued. Mason was a kind boyfriend and an even more amazing fiancé. I only had to mention a hankering for food, and he’d cook my favorite meal—no matter the hour of day.

But as time went on, he got busier and busier. When we spent time together, he talked only about work. How boring. And I even told him so.

I like adventure and freedom—the opposite of Mason’s hamster wheel comfort zone. People say opposites attract, but we’re too different. He’s serious and deadline-driven, and I aim to enjoy life. What’s the point of earning all that money and not having the time or space to spend it?

“I’ll visit Gran next week. I promise.”

“You have a heart of gold. Thanks, Lauren.” His lips curve. “You’re the best.”

My heart skips a beat. Mason’s great at compliments and generous with praise. And super romantic. A real sweetheart. I take in a deep breath and let it release slowly. Pity, it didn’t work out. We had so much going for us. But no point in being married if you hardly see each other. Talk about a failure waiting to happen.

“Bye,” I say, all chipper as I turn to Mrs. Baxter. She’ll sour the flutters I have going on. A good dose of Mrs. Baxter always does the trick.

***

I RING THE NERVOUSNESS from my fingers. One white lie for a little old lady. Apparently, it gives Gran peace knowing her grandson is settling down, so I’ll keep the conversation in the right direction.

Gran seems to notice my fidgeting, and her face crinkles. Her complexion would resemble crumpled tinfoil if she had more lines bracketing her mouth and lining her forehead. “Where’s your engagement ring, dear?”

“Mason has it,” I blurt and cringe. Another lie. How to keep these to a minimum? “He’s having it cleaned.” Did he still have my ring? He should clean it before giving it to anyone else. The idea makes me squirm more than lying to an old lady.

Gran runs a tongue over her stained yellow teeth. Sure doesn’t look as though she brushed twice a day and flossed. How did she keep her original teeth? Can you stain dentures? “Why would it need cleaning when it’s sparkling new?”

It takes me a moment to realize she’s not talking about her teeth. Nope, she’s onto my story about the ring. Gran wasn’t born yesterday. “It didn’t fit right. If we’re going to be married for the next fifty years, he needs to make sure it fits perfectly.” Ugh. Can I be more pathetic? All for a good cause, right?

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