6. Rowen

6

ROWEN

“It’s a disappointment,” my grandfather said as he set down his salad fork. My grandparents’ private cook swooped in, collecting the silverware and plate from the first course of our dinner. “Not talking about the food, of course, Bianca. This salad was very good, as usual.”

He had been in the middle of talking about my parents—he made sure to mention what a disappointment their behavior had been about once a day, at least. My grandparents were under the illusion that their staff had no idea that my parents were in prison, but I was pretty sure all of them had picked up on it by now from bits of conversations.

Moments later Bianca was back with the second course, a beautiful roast chicken with lemon and rosemary. Candles flickered at the center of the big, formal dining table, where they ate dinner every night.

“We’ll be speaking with your parents again tomorrow, though, dear,” my grandmother said as Bianca carved her a few pieces of chicken. “We’ll let them know you’re thinking of them.”

I’m thinking I wish I’d never known them at all , I thought, though that was something even I wouldn’t say with Bianca around.

Dinners with my grandparents were mostly like this. Quiet, stiff, and not exactly unpleasant, but certainly old-fashioned. They weren’t really feelings people, and they hadn’t been involved much in my life before my parents went to prison anyway. My grandfather talked about golf, and my grandmother talked about her knitting club and the charity work she did.

They were very nice old people. Even if they weren’t outwardly loving toward me, they’d provided me the only place I could stay when everything had gone to shit in New York. I was taken care of with food as well as spending cash, and I made sure to be extra kind with tips to all of their staff members each week.

I was deeply grateful to have this as a landing place, even if it was in Tennessee.

And even if my own career was a big, fat question mark now.

“Honey, did you see the Davesons removed their beautiful oak tree from their side yard?” my grandmother said to my grandfather, and as we ate the rest of our dinner, this topic took the main stage. I was amazed at how much neighborhood gossip they had to talk about, most of which was about landscaping or wayward raccoons.

About an hour later, I excused myself. Shane was set to arrive soon to put the finishing touches on our video and finally send it out, and the idea of hanging out with someone my age sounded like heaven on Earth right now. I said goodnight, and already my grandparents were on their way to the den, where they’d nod off reading the newspaper and watching old movies.

I headed outside.

The air was brisk and refreshing, and the scent of someone’s charcoal grill floated through the air. The sun had just set, and dusky pink light still filtered through the trees out back.

The guest house was my temporary home on the property. I made my way out into the sprawling backyard, taking the path toward the guest house. As I walked under the canopy of trees, I saw a glimmer of headlights from the front driveway of the house.

I headed out front and met Shane getting out of his car, his eyes wide as he stared at my grandparents’ home.

“Whoa,” he said as I approached. “This isn’t a house. It’s a freakin’ mansion.”

I couldn’t exactly disagree with him. It had a curved driveway, plenty of stone, a big, rolling grassy lawn, and dramatic arched double doors at the front of the house. I’d been accustomed to wealth my whole life, but it was more noticeable to me now after I learned that most of my parents’ money had been as dirty as could be.

“Glad you made it. Here, come on back. I’m in the guest house.”

I noticed Shane had a pink box in his hand as we walked. I knew he wouldn’t have let me get away with buying him those drink glasses without bringing over something for me. I didn’t know if everyone in Tennessee was so kind and generous or if Shane really was just special.

“What did your grandparents do for work?” Shane asked.

“My grandfather ran a company that provided printers and copiers to big corporations, right through the boom from the sixties onward,” I said. “Then he just invested well, for years and years.”

At least his money wasn’t dirty. For once, it felt nice to be able to talk to Shane about my life in a straightforward way.

“Printers and copiers. Who would have thought,” Shane mused as he followed me. “Are your grandparents going to want to meet me or anything?”

I gave him a wry smile. “They’re not exactly like your family, I don’t think,” I said. “They’re already watching TV on the back end of the house, and even if they saw you, they’d probably be uninterested in my friends. They’re more into deep conversations about how the neighbors trim their hedges. That sort of thing.”

“I see,” he said, still gawking at the home.

Shane did look out of place here, in a way that I kind of loved. He was wearing a simple plaid long-sleeve and jeans that fit him well, and he looked like he'd just stumbled off a college campus even though he was 26.

As usual, his cheeks were a little pink as we walked through the chilly air on the path back to my guest house.

He was like a breath of fresh air. I knew I’d been looking forward to his arrival, but I was shocked at how much better I already felt having him here.

“This place is only about a seven minute drive from me, but I’ve never been in this neighborhood,” Shane said as we walked under the trees in the backyard. “You know what my sister and I used to call this area as kids? Money Bucks Lane.”

I snorted.

“Yeah,” I told him. “According to my grandparents, most of the houses here don’t belong to regular Bestens townsfolk and farmers. A lot of these are second homes for rich people who want a place in the countryside.”

“Did you come here a lot as a kid?” Shane asked.

Warning signs prickled inside me. Don’t talk too much about anything from the past.

“Ah, no,” I said, looking down at the ground as my shoes crunched on leaves along the path. “I never spent much time here until now.”

“Doesn’t seem like your grandparents are the type for Christmas decorations in November,” Shane said.

I cut him a glance. “Oh, Shane, don’t you worry. Check this out.”

We approached the guest house and I reached down to the outdoor power outlet near the front door. I flipped a switch and the lights I’d hung earlier this week all came on.

“Oh, fuck yes, Rowen,” Shane said, nodding in approval as he looked all around.

I’d put delicate white hanging lights in a couple of the trees nearby, which slowly blinked downward to make them look like icicles. I’d also wrapped strings of lights around the banisters that flanked the pathway leading up to the guest house front door, and of course, all along the roof, I’d strung classic multicolored lights.

“Who do you think I am , Shane?” I asked in a teasing voice. “Of course I have my decorations up.”

“And your grandparents don’t mind?”

“I’m telling you, they don’t care what I do,” I said. “I could have a rave in this guest house every night and I doubt they’d even notice.”

It was hard to impress upon him how independent I really was, here. I got a sense earlier today that Shane’s family were all very close, but as far as my grandparents were concerned, I was just a stray that they’d taken in.

“I love it,” Shane said.

“Come on in.”

I pushed open the front door. I turned on the lights on my Christmas tree inside, and lit a couple of candles on the living room coffee table.

“This is nice enough to be a real house, and it’s just the guest house,” Shane said. “The windows looking out back to the pine trees—that’s the good stuff, right there.”

I led him to the kitchen and he set down the pink box on the marble countertop.

“I’ve been wondering what’s in this box,” I told him.

“Go for it.”

I opened it up to reveal an assortment of incredible looking fresh pastries: an apple turnover, a chocolate croissant, some sort of danish, and a little stack of homemade chocolate chip cookies.

“I’m starting to think you bring sweet things with you everywhere you go,” I said, taking a bite of the flaky, buttery apple turnover. “Good God , that is incredible.”

“That one’s my favorite,” he said.

“You want half?”

“I already had a whole one this morning. Go for it.”

I devoured it. I watched Shane as he looked around a little more. As I wiped off my hands on a tea towel afterward, I could tell he was a bit uncomfortable.

“What’s on your mind?” I asked him.

“Me? Oh, not much,” he said, and immediately I could tell it was a lie.

I was starting to realize Shane had a bit of a shell, and unless I asked further, he wasn’t going to tell me what was up.

Honestly, having him here was the best I’d felt since being in this guest house, and if he was feeling weird about something, I wanted to figure it out now.

“You seem nervous about something.”

He bit his lower lip, and the way his teeth came down on it sent a little flare of desire through my body.

I really did like kissing him. There was something about him—something unlike any other guy I’d spend much time with.

Something that made me want to draw him in close and tell him everything was going to be okay.

He took a deep breath, leaning against the countertop. “How do you feel about Christmas parties?” he finally asked.

“Love them. Obviously. Next question.”

He puffed out a laugh. “Well, the next question is…”

“You want to throw a Christmas party? I would help with every step of the way, if so,” I said.

“My family’s already throwing one,” he said. “And I—well, um—fuck it. I want you to go with me. Would you go with me?”

The mixture of confidence and sweet hesitation he’d shown in the span of one question made my heart soar inside me. In my past, I’d asked women to fuck without a care in the world, but Shane asking me a simple question like this clearly was a big deal, for him.

“Of course I would,” I said.

He swallowed. “...as my fake boyfriend?”

It dawned on me all at once why he was being a little cagey about it.

“Oh, Shane,” I said, shaking my head, unable to hide my smile. “What have you gotten yourself into now?”

“I know, I know,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut. He dragged his palms across his face before he could look at me again. “You know that I kind of told my mom I was seeing someone, and now she thinks I’m inviting him to the party. And… I’m screwed, basically.”

“Well, I don’t know,” I said, cocking my head to one side. “I’d have to look at my schedule, and see if I could fit in a party—”

His expression went sympathetic in two seconds flat.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to do it,” he said quickly.

“I’m fucking with you,” I told him. “I’m glad to do it. I’ll be your fake boyfriend for a little longer.”

He let out a long breath. “God, I owe you one. Are you doing anything for Christmas itself? Are your parents coming into town?”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “Nah. They’re not coming.”

I felt walls going up inside me like I was a damn castle being sieged.

It was an intense feeling, and one I wasn’t used to. Before all of the shit had gone down in New York, I’d always been an open book.

It wasn’t easy feeling so ashamed.

But right now I had a sweet guy in front of me, just hoping that he could have a nice, simple Christmas season.

I could do that for him. At least if I couldn’t feel good about my own life, I could make him feel good about his.

“Maybe at the Christmas party we can show everyone our new favorite bumblebee and Christmas tree butt plugs,” I said. I was able to change the subject and make Shane smile all at once, and I really liked that.

“Easy. Then they’ll really believe we’re a couple.”

I reached out and let my hand settle at the small of his back, enjoying the feeling of touching him.

“Come on, baby. Let’s go edit this video,” I said.

I was allowed to have a little fun. Even if he wasn’t mine for long.