Page 63 of Real Fake Husband

She looks around as if she’s just realized I left our guests alone. “I told you I got it. You didn’t have to follow me.”

“I also needed a moment.”

We share an eye roll and a smirk before I grab the faux prime rib, and she grabs the potatoes and salad.

“You want me to toss the salad?” I joke.

She grins. “It’s tossed.”

“All right. Ready for war, baby?” I growl. All smiles once more, we head back to our guests. I step through the doorway first and notice Mr. Osborn and Charlotte with their heads bent, talking to each other in hushed voices.

Once they notice us, however, they pull away and smile a bit too brightly.

“Oh, howlovely,” Charlotte coos when I place the platter in the middle of the table. “Prime rib is my absolute favorite. This all looks wonderful. Tell me, Josie, how did you learn to cook?”

“I’ve been at The Diner for many years and have trained in the position,” she explains when we sit back down. “I just prefer waitressing.”

Charlotte’s penciled-in eyebrows shoot up. “Wow, that’s surprising.”

“Why’s that?”

There’s a certain tightness in Josie’s tone that I recognize. She’s using her, “I’m being as polite as I can possibly be right now” voice. Charlotte better watch what she says next.

“I just don’t see why anyone would want to stick with waitressing,” she says off-handedly as I serve her a slice of faux meat. “You know, if you work hard enough, I’m sure you’ll be able to move up the ladder.”

That’s presumptuous of her. Who says that? Why does she automatically think Josie doesn’t work hard? I’m almost surprised she’s not physically turning up her nose, but she seems to have a better poker face than her husband.

I glance at Josie, and her jaw is clenched. I serve her food, leaning in close to whisper to her, “Easy, babe.”

She takes a slow breath, forcing another smile. “Diners don’t really have ladders,” she says. “More like, step stools.”

I laugh and, to my surprise, Mr. Osborn chuckles. “You have a clever wife, Callum,” he says, holding his plate out for his food. “A step stool. That’s a good one.”

The tension around the table lightens, and even Charlotte gives a small chuckle. I take a bite of my food and can’t help but moan. It’s amazing. Josie is a good cook. The prime rib melts in my mouth and the roasted potatoes are the perfect complement.

“Spectacular, Josie,” Mr. Osborn says. “This is the best prime rib I’ve ever had.”

“It is delicious,” Charlotte says. “I wouldn’t go with best, but definitely high on the list.”

What the hell is wrong with this woman? She can’t help but take jabs at Josie every time she opens her mouth.

“It’s my favorite recipe,” Josie attempts. “But it’s not real prime rib. It’s made of veggies only. You know, as a healthier alternative?”

“Oh,” Charlotte says.

“Oh?” Mr. Osborn frowns. “Well, well. That’s not real meat? Not what I expected. Or what I’m used to.”

“Definitelynotwhat we are used to.” Charlotte shakes her head, nibbling off her fork, and swallowing cautiously. “But we are always open to…experiments. Isn’t that so, Andrew?”

The smile is frozen on Josie’s face. She does her best to not clench her jaw. Under the table, I can feel her foot bouncing, and I reach out to place my hand on her knee to stop it. She has beautiful knees. I feel her hand cover mine, squeezing hard. She doesn’t need to speak for me to understand the gesture.

She’s nearing the end of her patience.

And I am too.

“There’s an upscale restaurant not too far from the dealership that I’ve invested in,” Mr. Osborn says. “They owe me a favor. If you’d like, Josie, I can put in a good word for you.”

She lowers her fork. “A good word? What for?”

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