Too Friendly to Date

“Well, you know, you do what you have to do for family.”

She nodded. Obviously she agreed. They were doing this ridiculous pretending thing. But she wasn’t letting go of his arm. Her hand held him there in a tight grip.

And that meant he couldn’t step away, and it meant stepping closer was too tempting to resist.

Her eyes didn’t leave his, and she didn’t move away. They just...stood there, and all he could think about was last night when he’d kissed her. A nothing kiss. Seconds at most, born of some weird frustration and none of the heat or sparks he felt standing right here, right now.

He could kiss her this time and it wouldn’t be veiled in pretend, and it would be a hell of a lot better than a peck in the dark.

But in the heaviness of the moment, he couldn’t force himself to act, thinking or not. It felt too important. Everything between them felt too important to complicate with a kiss.

This was getting...out of hand. He wasn’t thinking, and that was just not something that usually happened. He was almost always thinking and planning and anticipating, but this was...

He cleared his throat. “Why don’t we talk about your family? They’re going to expect me to know some things, and I know nothing. Except you’ve had some problems.”

She took a step back. “Yeah.” She shoved fingers through her hair, loosening the tenuous pile even more. “And a drink. I need a drink.”

Yeah, he could definitely use a drink. Or ten.

CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_4387b683-f3ab-5bbf-af3d-2ee3d4da3044)

LEAH LEANED HER head into the fridge and prayed for divine intervention. Like maybe a lightning bolt to strike her dead. Well, maybe not dead. But it would ideally cause enough of a distraction.

Sadly, no lightning bolts descended, no roofs collapsed. Nope, she had to sit down with Jacob and talk about her family after...that.

“Can’t find anything?”

Right. She was supposed to be finding beer. She made a big production out of moving things around, then pulled out two bottles.

Jacob wrinkled his nose. “You seriously drink that stuff?”

“Sorry I’m not a hipster into autumnal blends.”

“It’s not being a hipster. It’s having taste buds.” But he took the offered bottle and slid into the seat at her little kitchen table. The table itself was cluttered with mail and various winter garments like hats and scarves, but she’d kept stuff off the chairs and the counters all weekend, so she was getting better in the tidying department. Betterish.

She slid into the seat across from him, pulling her sleeve over her hand and screwing the cap of the bottle off. Jacob did the same, glancing around her kitchen. She imagined he found it lacking. Or cluttered. Or both. But he didn’t say anything. His gaze turned to her in that considering, heart-jitter-inducing way he had.

“Your family.”

Yes. That was the topic they were discussing. “Right. Well, Dad’s a mechanic, Mom’s a lunch lady and my brother, Marc... He’s a cop.”

“And they live in Minnesota?”

“Yeah.” It was weird talking about them, even these minor, glossed-over details. It was weird thinking about them and thinking about Jacob. It was still so much like two different lives. Two different Leahs.

“Come on, Leah. You’ve met my parents. Eaten with them. Listened to my dad’s jokes. My mom has forcibly hugged you. Think about the things you know about them and tell me the same stuff about yours.”

How could he be so rational? How could he be so smart about this while she was just a floundering idiot? She thought about his story and pretending he didn’t know his mom was sick and her heart ached for him.

Because even with Jacob’s secret, he was close with his family. The McKnights weren’t perfect, exactly, but they had the kind of family togetherness Leah had envied in her lesser moments. They talked; they hugged; they loved.

God, what a story. At the age she’d started drinking and sneaking out because she was tired of being confined to hospital beds and being admonished to take it easy, he’d carried the burden and fear of knowing his mother was fighting a possibly life-ending illness. All because he knew that was what she wanted.

If she thought too hard about that...about what it might mean if extended to her, she’d make a grave mistake. So she focused on what she knew about the McKnights.

“My mom makes the best cannoli.” She shook her head. “That’s dumb.”

“No. It’s perfect. Then I can say, ‘Mrs. Santino, I hear you make the most amazing cannoli.’ And then I can quote The Godfather. Perfect.”

Leah sighed, resting her chin on her hand. “She’s going to love you.” And Mom would, because on the surface, Jacob was perfect. Handsome and successful and good with people. He would schmooze Mom, win over Dad, buddy up to Marc.

Jacob grinned. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s going to make it a little harder when I have to tell them we broke up.” She fiddled with the label on the bottle she’d yet to take a sip from. She could tell them that now, avoid this whole pretending thing. Self-preservation.

But the only self it would preserve was the one idiotically wrapped up in her kind of boss/friend. In a man she knew couldn’t make a relationship work, especially with her and all her baggage. And she’d be sacrificing the girl who desperately wanted her family back.

So here it was, and here they were.

“A year is a long time to date someone, then break up. What’s the plan there?”

“I guess I’d kind of hoped I’d find someone real eventually. But, yeah, I’m not sure how much longer I can hold out hope for that.” Hard to build a lasting relationship when you had a huge lie about yourself written all over the scar on your chest.

“I guess I hope they’ll see the life I’ve built here and maybe see...I’m not the idiot screwup they need to smother anymore.”

“What did you do that was so bad?”

“Oh, you know.” She shrugged and shifted in her seat. “Teenage crap.” Not really a lie. Wasn’t teenagehood the time for self-destruction and nearly killing yourself with bad choices?

“Like what?”

“Trust me when I say my parents aren’t going to talk about that.”

He frowned. “Maybe I’m not asking as part of the pretend thing.”

“I thought that’s what this was supposed to be. Preparation for the big masquerade.”

“We’re friends. I’ve known you for over five years. We spend a ridiculous amount of time together, and even knowing you didn’t have a close family, I never would have pegged you as a teenage rebel. Unless by rebellious you mean having a mouth like a sailor and the cleaning habits of a prepubescent boy.”

“No.”

“So tell me.”

Ten years she’d spent working out lies to answer these kinds of questions. She kept her scar hidden, downplayed the trajectory of her adolescence. It was like second nature to diminish, to lie, to put it all away.

It was frightening how much she didn’t want to do that with Jacob. The truth was a million words in her head, dying to get out. Dying to see if he’d do what he’d done as a teenager for his mom, pretend it didn’t exist.

Damn.