What the hell was that? I know everyone in this town is nosy, especially the older people who have nothing better to do than gossip all day. But since when has anyone besides my dad ever cared about whether or not I was dating anyone?
If it was just Mrs. Morris, I could brush it off. But I’m sure she left to find a group of her old lady friends to discuss this with, and soon they’ll all be talking about me. And how did she even know about me being at Brenden’s house so much anyway?
I guess I was foolish to think nobody would notice. Mitch has probably seen my truck and blabbed to a handful of people already.
Fuck.
He’s friends with my dad.
Has he told him?
They’re more just town friends than call-each-other-up-for-a-chat friends, so hopefully not.
The saving grace is that Mitch must not have noticed me parked at Brenden’s overnight. Because that certainly would have warranted a phone call to my dad, and then my dad would’ve called me. And Mrs. Morris would have come in here with a whole lot more to say. Like more things about male body parts that would scar me for life.
It’s strange, though. The way she suggested I could be with Brenden without having any idea about my sexuality. Is it really so simple for her? She didn’t seem at all put off by the concept of me being with a man. Have I been wasting my energy hiding the truth of myself all these years?
No.
Because the opinions of a bunch of town gossips aren’t really what I’m worried about. It’s just my dad. My dad who has certainly never talked so openly and casually about men fucking each other. Like it’s no big deal. Like it’s not disgusting.
To be fair, he’s never actually said he thinks it’s disgusting. At least not to me. But that doesn’t mean he’d be okay with his son being gay.
When are you going to man up and get married?
That’s what he says to me. And it’s easier to let him be disappointed by my lack of desire for a serious relationship than it is to disappoint him with the reality of who I’d marry if that was something I wanted.
Yeah. It’s easier this way. So Brenden and I just need to be more careful about not getting caught during this whole scheme. I can start walking to his house. That way nobody will have anything to gossip about.
IknowIchosecooking as a profession. But between the diner, the inn, and Brenden’s kitchen, it’s feeling like I’m doomed to spend my life chained to a stove. Cooking for Brenden and May, though, gives me a sense of satisfaction I don’t get when I’m cooking for work, which makes the burnout worth it. This may be part of a show for May’s grandparents, but I like knowing that she and Brenden are getting some nutrients in them for once. Lord knows how they survive on all the processed, packaged crap they eat all the time.
Since Brenden isn’t home from work yet, he gets no say in what I’m making. I know he’ll like it, but I’m prepared for at least one complaint about vegetables anyway.
Grant is in the living room reading a newspaper. He must have gone out of town to pick it up, since all you can find here is the Mayweather Gazette, which barely qualifies as a paper.
Elise asked if she could help me in the kitchen, though I politely declined, telling her to enjoy her time with May. She’s been nothing but nice to me, but let’s face it. I’m not a people person. I can only take so much small talk.
She and May are now in the backyard planting something. (I fear for the life of whatever it is if Brenden ends up in charge oftending to it after Elise leaves.) I’ve been watching them through the window as I cook, and it’s clear how much Elise adores her granddaughter. It makes me wonder why she and Grant don’t visit more often.
This family dynamic is none of my business, though, even if Brenden essentially dragged me into it.
As I chop broccoli, letting my alfredo sauce simmer, I have time to contemplate what I’m doing here. In Brenden’s house. Playing his fake boyfriend. It’s what I agreed to, and we seem to be doing a great job of making Elise and Grant buy it. But I’m starting to worry that I’ve set myself up for unnecessary pain.
I think I might be leaning into my role a little too much. And I’m definitely enjoying it too much. Just simply the permission to touch and kiss Brenden was enough to have me wishing this was real. Now that we’ve added orgasms into the mix...
It's too good. And it's getting harder and harder to imagine going back to my old life where I’m grumpy and alone all the time, and where he’s just a friend I only sometimes see outside of the diner.
A commotion from the living room breaks me out of my thoughts. It sounds like Grant is arguing with someone. I turn off the burner before running out there to see what’s going on.
Mitch is standing in the entryway, gesticulating wildly as Grant blocks him from coming farther into the house.
“What’s wrong?” I ask them.
Without taking his off Mitch, Grant says, “This man just waltzed right into the house. When I asked him to explain himself, he questioned whoIwas. As if he has more right to be here than I do.”
“I needed to borrow some sugar, and Brenden’s car wasn’t here, so I didn’t think I’d be disturbing anyone,” Mitch says, sounding exasperated. “I told this guy I live next door, but hedoesn’t believe me!” He pauses, then squints his eyes at me. “Wait. What the heck areyoudoing here if he’s not home?”
I immediately move into damage control mode, stepping up to the two men and assuring Grant that Mitch does in fact live next door and is friends with Brenden, before grabbing Mitch by the elbow and tugging him toward the kitchen with me.
