She leans out of the open bathroom door. “You better only be creative with me.”
“As if I could handle anyone else. You’re it for me, babe.”
“Damn right. We just have to be honest, and once we get through all the early stages of the restaurant and things start going smoothly, we tell Eric. We will sit him down and respectfully let him know. And at that point, we’ll be able to say that if we got through the early processes of putting together a restaurant while dating, then we for sure can get through opening and beyond.”
“Prove to him that we can do both.” I nod, thinking about her plan. It very well might work, and I really don’t have any other suggestions on how to handle the situation other than walking up to him and telling him right now, which I know will blow up in not only my face but also everyone else’s. It would be putting a lot of dreams on the line, and I can’t fathom doing that right now. My dad’s face flashes in my mind, the excitement he had in his eyes when talking about the restaurant; yeah, I can’t fuck this up for him. “You know, that’s going to be a huge fear of his, the two of us being able to work together, because Janelle screwed him over, screwed us both over. I’m not sure he’s going to be okay with mixing business and pleasure.”
“This isn’t business and pleasure.” Eve walks back into the living room wearing one of my shirts, which hits her midthigh. “We’re in a serious relationship with the promise of a future, and we also happen to be working together toward a common goal. This is completely different from him and Janelle. We’ll just have to help him see the distinction.”
That makes sense. And it is different. I’m not just fucking Eve; I’m falling for her . . . hard.
“We can do that, but in the meantime, we can find secret places to do it.” I wiggle my eyebrows.
She smothers my face with her hand and laughs. “Seriously, five minutes, Knightly. Five minutes without talking about sex.”
“That was like ten.”
“Ha, okay . . . nice try.” She curls up on me and pulls a blanket over the both of us as she rests her head on my shoulder.
“What about the town?” I ask, just remembering that we live in a place that put out a freaking news article about our budding relationship.
“Damage control. Hit up the biggest gossips in town; let them know to spread the word.”
“Spread the word about what?”
She glances up at me. “Spread the word about keeping this a secret.”
“You think that’s going to work?”
She nods. “You have to know the right people. I can hit up Franklin and Mrs. Davenport. Use them to our advantage for once. Within an hour, everyone in town will know. They work fast.”
“What do I do?”
“Tell Brig—he’ll work his side of the gossip train.”
I chuckle, half in disbelief, half in awe. “You’re unfortunately right. I already told my family to keep their mouths shut, but I’ll reinforce it with Brig and have him spread the word.”
She tilts up and kisses my chin. “Perfect.”
Perfect is right.
I snuggle into her and hold her tight. It feels like everything is going right in my life. But even in the midst of all this happiness, part of me is fucking terrified. Because when everything goes right, the ball is bound to drop at any second.
I just hope I can hold everything together when it does.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
REID
Reid: Heads up, Eve and I will be secretly dating now, spread the word.
Rogan: Okay, good luck with that.
Brig: Secretly? How is that possible in our town when everyone already knows you’re dating?
Griffin: You know I hate agreeing with Brig, but I’m kind of with him on this.
Reid: We are being discreet. Acting professional with each other around Eric, and when we’re ready we’re going to tell him.
Rogan: Truth is better than deception, bro.
Brig: Haven’t you watched any Lovemark movies? This idea ALWAYS goes wrong.
Reid: I don’t make decisions based on frilly romances. This is real life. We can be adults about this.
Griffin: Smells like a bad idea.
Jen: As a lady, I would like to interject and say it can be done if handled properly. It’s usually the man who screws everything up . . . according to Lovemark.
Brig: Not FUCKING true. In Trotting for Turkey Love, Isabelle was the one who broke Kent’s heart by not being honest about the turkey-carving contest. It’s not always the man.
Reid: You are seriously disturbing. Why do you know their names?
Rogan: He’s watched each movie at least five times.
Griffin: He recorded the turkey one on my DVR and watched it at my house at least twice.
Jen: Twice at my house.
Rogan: Once at mine.
Brig: Four at mine, OKAY! We get it, I like the damn movie. There’s just something about watching Isabelle’s tits jiggle while she’s carving that turkey with a motorized knife that gets me every freaking time. And then the heartache Kent feels when she cheats him out of the win. God, I feel it in my bones.
Reid: . . .
Rogan: I . . . oh hell.
Griffin: Jiggling tits? Come on, man.
Jen: Not that I ever want to defend Brig (I think we’re all on the same page when it comes to that) but I must say that Isabelle IS stacked and her boobs do jiggle a lot. Brig played it for me in slow motion a few times. I can see the appeal.
Brig: THANK YOU. **Drops Mic**
Griffin: I really need to remove myself from this group text.
Rogan: Jen, you’re better than that.
Jen: **Shrugs** They were jiggly. I’m not sorry.
Reid: Jesus Christ, can you all just promise me to be cool and not mention anything about me and Eve dating. Any help is appreciated.
Brig: I don’t ever want to hide love, but I’ll suck it up and do this for you, bro . . . because I love you.
Griffin: Seriously, removing myself right now.
Rogan: Why do you always have to make things weird, Brig?
Jen: It’s sweet.
Reid: Jen!
Rogan: Jen!
Griffin: **Figuring out how to remove myself**
Brig: Jen—you, me, Oliver’s ice cream and April Showers Brings May Man Powers this Friday. You in?
Jen: Oddly, I think I am.
“Got some more fudge,” Dad calls out as he enters the Lobster Landing’s kitchen.
I’ve been packaging and blocking yesterday’s fudge for the past hour, painstakingly making sure everything is the way Griffin likes it. He’s very particular about how we present our products. And I get it, because if it was my restaurant, the rules would be the same.
“Did you bring more chocolate raspberry?” I ask. “Griffin’s been going insane since we ran out.”
“Brought two batches, so he can pull his undies out of his ass.”
I chuckle as I set a dozen blocks to the side and help my dad pull the rest of the fresh fudge out of the coolers. “What’s this?” I ask, holding up a pan of pink-and-orange-swirled fudge.
“Sherbet. Don’t tell your mother, but I slipped that one in last night. Thought I’d try something new in preparation for summer.”
“A new flavor without the family taste testing it first? Do you think that’s smart, Dad?”