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“I just don’t want people to feel sorry for you,” Lorraine said. “You know Aunt Clara thinks you somehow messed up your only chance to snag a husband.”
“The breakup was hardly my fault.” Cory, who had never shown the slightest fondness for children that Priscilla had seen, had nonetheless been devastated when Priscilla confessed that she would never be able to bear his children. When she’d brought up the possibility of adoption, he’d closed his mind. His heart had been set on biological children. And that had meant he most definitely would not be proposing marriage.
Priscilla had been shocked and then saddened by his attitude. She’d been sure Cory was “the one.” But she hadn’t known him as well as she’d imagined she did.
“Of course it wasn’t your fault,” Lorraine said. “But Clara doesn’t know that. She doesn’t know what really happened.”
“And she’s not going to either.” It had taken Priscilla years to come to terms with the fact that she could never become pregnant, never carry her own child. She was sixteen when she’d gone in for surgery to have one of her ovaries removed. Just one. But the surgeon, after inspecting them, had declared they both needed to come out, and Priscilla’s parents had signed the consent form on the spot.
She’d awakened from the surgery to the devastating news that she was now infertile, that she would have to take hormones for the next thirty or so years. And she had been angry that her parents had stolen her future from her.
Unreasonably angry, she realized some years later. Her parents had made the best decision they could at the time.
Priscilla had spent the past couple of years repairing her relationship with her parents and she hated to rock the boat now. But she did need to put a stop to her mother’s matchmaking.
“Would it be so very difficult for you to bring a date to the bridesmaid’s dinner?” Lorraine tried again.
“All right, Mother, who is he?”
Lorraine almost managed to hide her smile of triumph. “Remember the Conleys who lived next door to us?”
“Yeah. They moved to Miami or someplace, didn’t they?”
“Yes. But young Bill has moved back recently. And he wants to get into the social scene here.”
Priscilla gasped as memories resurfaced. At age twelve, “young Bill” had worn a white belt and a pocket protector, and the rubberbands on his braces were always shooting out of his mouth.
She shook her head. “No. No can do.”
“Priscilla, he’s so handsome now! You would not recognize him. And he’s an orthodontist. Anyway, it’s just one date.” The pleading note in Lorraine’s voice nearly did Priscilla in. Her mother had such a way of manipulating her, and it drove Priscilla wild even as she fell victim to it.
“I can’t, Mother, really. I’m…well, I’m seeing someone.” Even as she said it, she knew she was heading for disaster.
“Really?” Lorraine’s nose twitched. “Who is he? How come you didn’t say something earlier?”
“It was so new and so fragile, and I didn’t know if it was going to work. I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”
“But it’s working out?” Lorraine asked, her eyes filled with hope. “Who is he? Please end the suspense.”
Priscilla knew her mother was hoping the mystery boyfriend wasn’t a firefighter. “He’s…He’s an arson investigator.” The words just popped out of her mouth.
Lorraine smiled. “How interesting. Tell me more.”
“His name is Roark Epperson.” After that, it became easy to tell her the rest. He was in his midthirties, extremely handsome and came from a wealthy family in Massachusetts.
“Win, did you hear that?” Lorraine asked of Priscilla’s father, who had wandered into the kitchen to get a refill on his wine. “Priscilla’s dating an arson investigator.”
“I heard,” Priscilla’s father said, sounding cautious. “I think I’ve seen that guy on TV.” Generally Winfield Garner was content to remain at a distance from Priscilla’s social life, letting his wife do all the organizing. But not today, apparently. “Does he talk like a Kennedy?”
Priscilla couldn’t help smiling. That did seem to be the feature that everyone remembered about Roark. Well, women first remembered that he was mouthwateringly gorgeous and then they remembered the accent. “He’s the one. They interviewed him the other night about the serial arsonist.”
“An arson investigator,” Lorraine said, trying it on for size. “That’s really kind of interesting, isn’t it, Win?”
The timer went off, indicating the lasagna noodles were ready. “So you can bring this Roark to the bridesmaids’ dinner, right?” Lorraine said as she strained the noodles.
“He wouldn’t know anyone.”
“Why don’t you ask him? And if he can’t come to the dinner, what about the wedding itself?”
Eek. Roark would see her in that hideous pink monstrosity of a bridesmaid’s dress. It might almost be worth it, though, to watch how Roark would weather the combined scrutiny of her entire extended family. By offering to play the role of her devoted boyfriend, he had no idea what he would be getting himself into.
“We’ll see.”
HE WAS FIVE MINUTES late.
Priscilla sat at a bistro table at the Nodding Dog, a cute little coffee shop in Oak Cliff’s trendy Bishop Arts district, waiting for Roark.
If things worked out as she hoped, Roark would attend one function with her and her parents would be relieved, if only temporarily, that she wouldn’t spend the rest of her life alone. Snobby Aunt Clara would be suitably impressed. And Priscilla wouldn’t have to produce a flesh-and-blood boyfriend again for months.
She checked her watch again and took a sip of her latte. Then she saw him.
He looked as if he’d just stepped out of the pages of GQ, in perfectly creased khaki pants and a pale yellow shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbow in a sort of casually rumpled but still stylish way. For a few seconds she drank in the sight of him. Then he looked her way and she schooled her face.
She would just die if he knew he could melt her on the spot simply by looking at her. Actual skin-to-skin contact might cause her to spontaneously combust.
He walked up to the counter and ordered, and the pretty barista batted her eyelashes and blushed as she poured his coffee. He paid, chatting and smiling easily. Did he even know the effect he had on women?
He joined Priscilla at her small table, and she wished she’d chosen a larger one. He was so close she could see the tiny shaving nick on his jaw and smell his aftershave. It made her think of being on a mountaintop.
With her clothes off.
“I see you found the place.” Why did she sound so inane? She’d had no problem talking to him that first night, when he’d helped her with her flat tires. She’d opened up to him, confessing how alone she felt sometimes, isolated from the other trainees. Tony and Ethan had befriended her, but back then she’d still felt a bit of an outsider even with them, since the two men already had been best friends for fifteen years.
Roark had been a sympathetic ear. He’d offered her encouragement that she’d needed to hear. A strong shoulder to lay her head on.
She’d been in a vulnerable state at that point in her life, she reminded herself—she’d still been smarting from Cory’s cold rejection. But she was stronger now.
Roark took an appreciative sip from his mug. “I’ve been here before. Best coffee in Oak Cliff.” He drank plain black coffee. No mochaccino whip for Roark.
She tucked that fact into a corner of her mind. Sometimes, when she couldn’t sleep, she remembered the little intimacies she had shared with Cory. He knew she loved the scent of freshly washed sheets; she knew he couldn’t stand green bell peppers. Would she ever be that close to a man again? Did she want to be?
She had a hard time imagining it. Sex was one thing. But the secret looks, the private jokes, the cozy breakfasts…How had she shared all those things with Cory, and yet missed some of the most fundamental aspects of his personality?
Like the fact that not being able to have his own biological children with his wife was a deal breaker?
She swallowed the last few sips of her latte.
“Let’s take a walk,” Roark suggested, gulping down the remainder of his coffee. “The weather is gorgeous.”
She didn’t want to walk in the gorgeous weather with Roark. She wanted to conclude their business and get away from him, because already she was feeling that familiar lethargy steal over her, that urge to open up, to trust him.
“So,” he said as they exited the coffee shop, “I’m guessing you really, really need a fake boyfriend to get your mother off your back.” He raised a single eyebrow at her. “Unless you’ve decided I’m not such a bad guy after all and maybe you want to get to know me better.”
She quickened her step, striding down the sidewalk on Seventh Street. She did want to know him better. On the surface there was nothing wrong with him. He was smart and dedicated to his work and he’d helped her out of a jam when she’d had those two flat tires. But Cory had looked pretty good on the surface—and deeper, too.
How could she tell if Roark was all that he appeared to be?
“I need a fake boyfriend,” she said.
He matched her stride, managing to do so without seeming to hurry. “What do you want me to do?”
“It’s just one date. To my cousin’s bridesmaids’ dinner. It’s at the Mansion.” As if the bribe of a fancy dinner would hold sway with him. “It’s next Friday. I realize it’s short notice, but…”
He swore softly. “I can’t make it then. I’m speaking at a conference out of town. Sorry, Priscilla.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. “You could come to the wedding, but that’s probably more of an ordeal than you bargained for.” She paused to look in the window of an antiques shop.
They had slowed, Priscilla noticed. Now they were just strolling along like any couple. An older woman passed them and smiled insipidly, and Priscilla wondered what she was thinking. Young couple in love?
“Are you close to your cousin?” Roark asked.
“We used to be like sisters.”
“Used to be?”
“She kind of dumped me in high school, when I had some sticky problems she didn’t want to deal with.”
“How rude. What kind of problems?”
“Oh, you know, teenage rebellion.” Which involved a stint of hanging out with a bad crowd just for the shock value. She couldn’t really blame Marisa for keeping her distance.
Roark clearly wasn’t satisfied with her dismissive answer, but he didn’t push.
How did Roark do this, anyway? Ten minutes in his presence, and she was blurting out embarrassing personal things.
“So when is the wedding?” he asked. “I don’t mind weddings.”
“November second.” She half hoped he’d be busy then, too. But he checked his BlackBerry and confirmed he was free.
“I have to be at the church two hours early, so you can meet me there.”
“Nonsense. What kind of a lousy boyfriend would I be if I didn’t pick you up? We want your mother to think I’m a gentleman, right?”
“All right, but you’re going to be bored.”
“I doubt that.”
The blatant interest in his gaze alarmed her. “Roark, this is pretend, right? I mean, you’re not doing this because you want to continue…go back to…I mean—” She stared hard through the window of an art gallery at an ugly ceramic bowl.
“Yes, I want to do those things. Continue where we left off, go back to when we were involved.”
“But that’s not why I asked you to help.”
“I know that. I’m planning to change your mind.”
“No. You can’t do that.”
“I can’t?” He gave her a challenging look, his hand still on her arm.
She pulled away. “No, you can’t. Roark, you have to promise me you won’t try to, you know…”
“Win you over?” His sexy mouth cocked into a half smile.
“Seduce me.”
Roark had the nerve to laugh. “You can’t tell me you’re that vulnerable to my wicked ways.”
“Actually, yes, damn it, I am. You’re impossible to resist. I can’t imagine how you’ve managed to stay single, but I can only guess it’s because you’re a player, and that is the last type of person I need in my life.”
To her surprise, Roark looked contrite. “All right. I’ll try to behave myself.”
“You can’t touch me.”
“Aren’t you trying to convince people we’re an item?”
“All I need is a warm, suitably male body at my side. If you give me besotted looks every now and then, so much the better, but no further acting is required.”
“You mean like this?” And he did a pretty good imitation of a basset hound yearning for a bone.
Somehow he made her laugh, and her anxiety receded. “Maybe not quite that besotted.” They worked out a few more details, and the deal was struck. Roark would provide the services of one fake boyfriend. But Priscilla couldn’t help wondering what she would end up giving in return.
IT WAS LUNCHTIME ON the C shift at Fire Station 59, and Priscilla was in charge. She had practiced the vegetable lasagna at home and it had come out tasting really good. So she’d asked Captain Campeon to give her another chance in the kitchen.
She wasn’t sure why it was so important to her, except that her previous gastronomical disasters were just one more thing that set her apart from the guys—all of whom seemed to know their way around a kitchen. Even Ethan and Tony, who hadn’t started out particularly gifted, had caught on.
As the guys ambled in to the large eat-in kitchen, grumbling about the possible culinary torture Priscilla would subject them to, she pulled a large casserole dish out of the oven and set it down on the long table.
“Be afraid. Be very afraid.” The comment came from Otis.
“What is that stuff?” Tony asked suspiciously. “It looks weird.” Ethan elbowed him, and Tony quickly added, “But it smells good and I’m sure it’s delicious.”
She gave him a smile for his loyalty. Tony and Ethan had often been the only ones to take her side during training and those first few weeks here at Station 59, when she was subject to attack from guys who objected to women firefighters in general and her in particular.
“It’s vegetable lasagna,” Priscilla announced with a flourish.
For her trouble, she got groans all around.
“God save us from women trying to make us eat healthy,” said Bing Tate, who was one of the most annoying men Priscilla had ever known. Though most of the other guys grudgingly had come to accept the rookies, Bing continued to make caustic comments at every opportunity—especially if the captain wasn’t within earshot. And he wasn’t at the moment.
