“Bless you.” The soothing liquid proved perfect. After a few sips, she could have purred with relief.
“Well?” Instead of resuming his seat opposite her, he perched beside her on the couch. “What’s on your mind?”
She worried her lower lip. “I’m one hundred percent ready to help, but I do have reservations.”
“Shoot.”
Did he have to sit close enough for his radiant heat to warm her chilly toes? It was distracting her from sharing concerns—of which there were plenty!
“Okay...” She licked her lips. “First, I think we should let your mom in on our secret.”
“Out of the question.”
“Why?”
“Because I love her dearly, but she’s incapable of keeping a secret. For Dad to genuinely believe I’m going to be a father, I’m sorry, but Mom also should believe. We’ll break the news to her after Dad passes.”
“What if I have the baby before then?”
“I’ll consider myself blessed.” He sighed. Scratched his forehead. “There’s no delicate way to say this, so I’ll blurt it out. Dad is dying. He may have a couple months, but according to his doctors, we’re only looking at weeks.”
Paisley caught herself holding her breath. “That’s so sad.”
“Agreed. And look, I know this whole idea is FUBAR, but—”
Nose wrinkled, she asked, “What’s that?”
“Military slang that shouldn’t be used in the presence of ladies. Basically, it just means our pretending to be married is about as screwed up as anything we could ever do, but for the sake of my dad, we’re only talking about maintaining this act for sixty days—ninety tops. When are you due?”
“Eighty-eight days.” She hugged her baby bump. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but if your father should pass before then, I think news of this charade would be easier on your mom. If I have my baby and she grows attached to him, believing he’s her grandson, that could hurt her more.”
“True. It’s a potential minefield all the way around. But I’m looking at risk versus reward. I can’t stomach the thought of Dad passing with regrets.”
“Have you ever thought to consider that this news might be so agreeable to your father that it actually helps him recover? Miracles might be rare with his kind of disease, but I’m sure they do happen. What are we going to do if he’s so thrilled with our sham marriage that he goes into remission?”
Eyebrows furrowed, Wayne asked, “I fail to see how this is a problem? That would be awesome.”
“Not if the whole reason for his recovery is an eight-pound bundle of joy who isn’t his grandson.”
“Oh.” His shoulders sagged. “I see what you mean. But hey—that’s a long shot. I promise, if something like that happens, I’ll take the heat. You won’t even have to be there when I come clean.”
“Promise?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay...”
“Does that mean you’ll still do it?”
“I already said I would.” Monica would lecture her till the end of time about the recklessness and irresponsibility of this plan, but since when had her fun-loving business partner and best friend become the morality police?
“You’re awesome.” Wayne stood, only to then kneel beside her, squeezing her in an awkward, but not entirely awful, hug. “You won’t regret this. I’ll map out the whole thing. Oh—and we’ll need wedding pics.”
“What?” Her indigestion roared back.
“Relax. You can help me find a suitable thrift shop gown.”
“Do you have any idea how hard it would be to find one my current size?”
“No worries...” Rocking back on his heels, his slow sideways grin disarmed her. “We’ll grab a dress in a style you like, then chop it off midway down. It’ll be perfect for a few head-only selfies.”
Paisley groaned.
Why had Wayne ruined his temporary charm by being an idiot?
* * *
TWO DAYS LATER, Paisley found herself not buying part of a dress, but on her way to a bakery. Being next to him in the cab of his truck was too close for rational thought. Besides looking extra hot in his cowboy hat and Ray-Ban Aviators, he smelled too good—like the beach and a great deli. Had he recently eaten? She wouldn’t mind eating. “Do we really need a wedding cake? Seems like overkill.”
“Yeah. We’ll have that classic wedding shot where we’re shoving cake in each other’s mouths.”
“Mmm... Sounds romantic.”
“You know what I mean. Lion—one of my teammates—recommended the place where we’re headed, but then his wedding got canceled—long story. They specialize in fake cakes. Super cheap, but totally legit looking.”
Her only comment was to raise her eyebrows, then shake her head. She turned her gaze from him to the scenery outside her window.
“Tell me you don’t love a bargain.”
“Of course, I do, but this—Never mind.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He made a left. “God, I hate when women pull this crap.”
“I’m not pulling anything.”
“The hell you’re not. You’re pissed about something, but won’t say it. Instead, you’re taking the passive aggressive approach which—”
“Am not.”
“Are, too.”
“Am—” Her cell rang. Rather than continue their argument, she answered. “Hey.”
“Are you alone?” Even though the phone wasn’t on speaker, Monica’s voice rang through loud and clear.
“No.”
“Still stuck with the pretend fiancé?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Okay, well, sorry. But I have a major crisis and need your advice.”
“Is something wrong at the shop? Or with a client?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. Logan called. He wants to meet for coffee. He doesn’t even drink coffee, but knows I love that cute place on the corner that has the great patio and garden.”
“How is this a bad?”
“Because I don’t know what to say. Or wear. The last time we were together, we both said some harsh things, and—”
Paisley sighed. “Monica, talk to him. What’s the worst that can happen?”
“I end up sleeping with him and falling hard all over again? Worse—we break up again.”
“Point of fact—I’m pretty sure you never fully let go of him, and second, how many times have I heard you brag about his superhero bedroom talents?”
Paisley glanced at Wayne and saw him smirking.
“Of course, I’m over him. I hate him. And his stupid dimples. And the way he fills out that pair of designer jeans I bought him, but he claims to—”
“Monica, I have to go. I’m going to be sick.” Paisley ended the call.
*