A minute later, my sister and my parents return.
“I see you still haven’t figured out how to make a bed,” my mom says to me, shaking her head.
I say nothing but smile.
“It was pretty nice of your sister and Fiona to let you stay here,” my dad adds. “I hope you aren’t repaying them by acting like a bachelor.” He raises a questioning eyebrow.
“Actually, he’s been easier to live with than I thought he would be,” Fiona says.
I smile, warmed that she’s defending me. Then I catch Marlowe’s inquisitive glare. “Thanks, Squirt.”
Fiona’s nostrils flare, but she doesn’t respond.
“When are you getting back into your apartment anyway?” my mom asks.
“Not sure exactly. The landlord said he’s having problems with the contractor, so it’s going to take longer than expected.”
My dad shakes his head. “It’s so important to make sure you hire someone with good references. Remember that time we had our roof done and it was leaking the next week, Melody?”
My mom rolls her eyes. “What a nightmare. Weren’t they friends of yours from college that you recommended, Keane?”
“We should probably get going if we don’t want to be late,” I say.
“Right. Let’s get a move on. There’s nothing worse than not being punctual.” My mom clutches her purse to her side as if there’s a thief amongst us.
I retrieve the envelope from the dining room table.
“What’s that in your hand, Keane?” my mom asks.
“Nothing. We’ll talk about it later.”
Fiona gives me a thumbs-up as I follow the rest of them, and I give her the best smile I can manage. So far, tonight is going exactly as I expected.
Twenty-Two
Fiona
Keane closes the door, and I text Jemma to let her know that they left. She’s waiting in her car around the corner to help me decorate and set everything up for the surprise party.
I rush to my room and change. I knew I wouldn’t have time to do my hair and makeup while they were at dinner, but I saved my outfit until after they left so that I wouldn’t completely tip off Keane.
I frown as I slide my dress over my head, thinking of the little digs Keane’s parents hit him with in the short time they were here. Have I never noticed the way they treat him? Or maybe I reveled in it back in the day since I didn’t like him either. I’m not sure which one it is, but I understand exactly why he’s so nervous to ask about them co-signing.
I give myself the once-over in the mirror on the back of my door, liking the way my ankle-length red wrap dress with large blue and yellow flower print clings to my body. I picked it because I thought Keane would like it. As I swipe a matching red lipstick over my lips, I hope he’ll be staring at my lips the whole night too.
I would’ve thought I’d feel like a sellout, picking a dress based on what I thought a man would like, but it’s actually kind of fun to wonder what his reaction will be when he sees me. This nervous anticipation is new for me. Even when I dated semi-seriously a couple years ago, I didn’t feel this excited to see the person when I wasn’t with him. I was more a “take it or leave it this is me” kind of person. Now I find myself wanting to do things or look a certain way precisely because Keane will like it.
What is happening to me?
I smooth my hands over my stomach and hear a knock on the door. I grab the bags of decorations from my closet and rush down the hall. Jemma stands there with a smile.
“It’s weird for you to knock on the door.”
She steps in and gives me a hug, looking amazing in her black fitted pants and white tank blouse. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face but hangs in waves down her back. “It’s weird for me too.” She laughs.
I miss having her as a roommate, but if she hadn’t moved out, Keane would’ve never stayed here. That thought sends a pang through my chest.
“I have all the decorations in here.” I use my foot to point toward where I dumped all the plastic bags by the door. “And I just have to grab the food from Marlowe’s room.”
“Okay, while you do that, I’ll get started with the decorations,” she says.
“Perfect. Be right back.”
A half an hour later, the two of us glance around the apartment, satisfied with our work. Streamers and balloons hang with a banner that reads, “Happy Dirty Thirty.” We’ve set the food on the dining room table and placed some munchies on the coffee and end tables. A drink station is set up in the kitchen. The large birthday cake sits in the middle of the table, its sugary scent divine—though I won’t be partaking, since it’s not vegan.
“I think our work here is done,” I say, walking toward the kitchen. “You ready for a drink?”
“Absolutely. Do you have any white wine?”
I give her a “duh” look then open the fridge and pull out a bottle of wine. I make quick work of opening it while Jemma grabs us a couple of wine glasses from the cupboard. After we each have our filled glasses, we make our way back to the living room and sit on the couch.
“When is Ollie getting here?” I ask.
“He should be here soon. He and Nick went to grab a beer beforehand. I’m not exactly sure, but I think something is going on with Nick.”
My forehead scrunches. “Like health wise?” I lift my wine glass to my lips.
“No, woman wise.”
“I thought Nick was a self-proclaimed bachelor for life?”
She shrugs. “So did I, but Ollie mentioned that some woman was getting under his skin and they were going to grab a beer. I didn’t get the impression that it was a colleague.”
A short chuckle leaves my lips. “Interesting.”
“Very.” Jemma sips her wine. “What’s new with you? Anyone you have your eye on?”
My eyes widen, but I school my reaction as best I can. The urge to confess to Jemma is strong, but Marlowe deserves to know first. There is one thing I can ask Jemma about though, without giving myself away.
“Actually, there is something I wanted to run past you.”
She tilts her head.
“I found a letter in my room when I was removing the wallpaper. One kind of like the one you found.”
Her mouth drops open. “No freaking way!”
I nod.
“Well, go get it. I want to read it.” She bounces on the couch cushion like a teenage girl seeing an N’Sync reunion.
I laugh, walking down the hall to my room. I grab the letter from my nightstand, and when I return to the living room, I hand it to Jemma. Her eyes scan the words fast, then she holds it back out to me.
“You’re going to be next,” she says.
“Next?” I take the letter from her and return to where I was sitting on the couch.
“Yeah, you’re going to be the next one to find the man you’ll spend your life with. Oh my God, this is so exciting!” She claps over and over.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You’re jumping the gun, don’t you think?”
She scrunches her face in what I read as an “are you crazy” expression. “You saw what happened to me after I found my letter. Which, by the way, was not written by the same person. The handwriting is different.”
Hmm. I’d wondered about that. Whether it was just some person playing a practical joke by leaving these letters all over the apartment. I take my wine glass from the table. “You really believe the letter you found was what got you and Ollie together?”
“I don’t think it’s what made us fall in love or want to spend our lives together, but I do think it set the wheels in motion for us to find one another.”
“You’re serious?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Totally.” She meets my gaze with confidence. “It says in the letter ‘the person could be beside you right now.’ Were you by yourself when you found it?” Something on my face must give me away because her eyes narrow ever so slightly, demanding I tell her more. “Fiiiiii. Tell me.”
I
suppose I can give her a morsel of information without actually admitting to anything. With a huff, I say, “Keane was there.”
“Ha! I knew it!” Her grin is as wide as the Joker’s.
“Knew what?” I sip my wine to mask my nerves and my expression, which will give me away.
“I knew all these years that hatred you guys had for each other was just sexual tension in disguise.”
I roll my eyes, trying to play it off. “That’s not what I said. I just said that he was there.”
“Mmmhmm.” She nods skeptically.
“Please, the letter doesn’t mean anything.”
“Then why did you bring it up?” Her self-satisfied smirk fills me with defeat.
A knock on the door saves me from having to answer. I walk toward the door, allowing my smile to emerge now that Jemma can’t see.
“We’re not done talking about this,” she warns behind me.
“Yes, we are,” I say over my shoulder and open the door.
A woman I don’t recognize stands there. She’s cute. Slightly taller than I am, with long brown hair and dark eyes. She’s wearing a mid-thigh-length dress that has a pink, black, and white pattern with three-quarter-length sleeves, and she greets me with a nervous smile. “Hi, I’m Annabelle. Is this where Keane’s surprise party is?”
“Hi, Annabelle, I’m Fiona. It sure is. Come on in.” I step back from the door to let her come inside. “This is Jemma.”
Jemma stands from the couch. “Hi, nice to meet you.”
Annabelle looks around the apartment. “Am I the first one here? I didn’t want to be late.”
“It’s no trouble. Someone has to be first,” I say. “So how do you know Keane?”
I could lie to myself and pretend I’m just making pleasant conversation, but the truth is I want to know how this gorgeous woman knows the man I’m secretly dating. Sue me, you would ask too.
“Oh, we work together at the restaurant. I’m a hostess there.” Her smile is pleasant enough, but something about the way she’s looking at Jemma and I feels as though she’s sizing us up as competition.
“Awesome, we’re both friends with Keane’s sister, Marlowe,” I say. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Maybe just a Diet Coke if you have it. I have to drive home later.”
I nod. “Sure thing, come on in and make yourself at home.”
I head into the kitchen to grab her drink and hear a knock sound on the door again. When I return, I find Ollie and Nick have arrived.
“And this is my fiancé, Ollie,” Jemma is finishing up introductions with Annabelle.
“Nice to meet you,” she says.
“Hey, guys,” I greet them. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“I’ll grab our drinks, Fiona, don’t worry about it. I’m sure you two have been busy getting this place together. Why don’t you sit and relax?” Ollie walks through the living room toward the kitchen.
“Kiss-ass,” Nick says.
“Whatever, man. Let’s go. You’re helping me.” Ollie waves him over and they both disappear into the kitchen.
Us three women stand a little awkwardly for a moment before Annabelle breaks the silence. “It’s hard to believe that Keane is thirty, isn’t it? He’s so hot for his age.”
Jemma glances at me with mirth and I school my expression.
“I guess so,” I answer.
“Oh, he is. Then again, he’s the hottest guy at work no matter how old he is.” She giggles and the sound is like a cheese grater to my brain.
Something about her and her words has my protective instincts perking up.
But then someone else knocks on the door and I go to answer it. I spend the rest of the time before Keane arrives trying to ignore Annabelle altogether.
Twenty-Three
Keane
Dinner with my parents and sister is the usual—Marlowe gets praised and I get backhanded compliments. Normally I’m able to brush them off, but I think I’m extra sensitive because of what I have to ask them tonight.
I try to channel Fiona’s optimism, failing miserably. God, I can’t wait for this dinner to be over so I can see Fiona. Even if Marlowe is around and we can’t be together, just being near her calms me.
The waiter arrives to take our dinner plates and asks if we’d like to see a dessert menu. My mom drops that it’s my birthday and the waiter raises his eyebrows. God, I hope they don’t do that stupid thing where all the servers come over and sing me some stupid version of happy birthday while clapping as though I’m a six-year-old boy who needs the dramatics.
Deciding this moment is better than never, I pull the manila envelope off the ledge beside our table.
“You still haven’t told us what’s in there, Keane. Why are you being so secretive?” my mom asks.
“There is something I want to discuss with you. It has to do with my job.” I glance at Marlowe, who’s smiling at me with a confident expression.
“You didn’t get fired, did you?” my mom asks.
“No, I didn’t get fired.” Though it’s so like her for that to be her first conclusion.
“Oh thank God.” She leans back in her seat with her hand over her chest as if that’s her greatest fear.
“I’ve actually been given an opportunity.” I pass one presentation to my mom and one to my dad.
“What’s this?” he asks, flipping through the papers.
“This is what’s going to set me up for the future. Jacques has asked me to buy-in on a new restaurant with him, one where I would be the head chef and develop the concept and the menu. He’s already purchased the land.”
“Well, that can’t be cheap. Let me grab my glasses.” My mom riffles through her purse, looking for her reading glasses.
“He’s asked that I buy-in at ten percent, and over time, I’d use my share of the profits to buy more of the company until I own half.”
My mom finally finds her glasses and perches them on the end of her nose to read the papers. I glance at my dad, his lips tipped into a small frown while he reads.
I muster up all my confidence and go through the presentation with them, page by page. I discuss where the restaurant is located and the demographics of the surrounding community, how much disposable income they have on average, and the surrounding buildings, as well as the competing restaurants within walking distance—there aren’t many. Then I tell them about the projected overhead and build costs and what type of capacity we’d need every night to turn a profit. Finally, I go on about my concept for the restaurant and talk up Jacques and how he’s made the restaurant I work in now so successful.
By the end of the presentation, I feel good. I was concise and knowledgeable and, if you ask me, I did a damn good job of showing them it’s a solid investment.
“That all sounds pretty good, son. Do you have enough to buy-in?” my dad asks, setting the presentation on the table.
“No, and that’s why I’m here talking to you. I have some money saved, but it’s not enough. I applied for a loan at the bank, but they turned me down because I don’t have any assets beyond my Jeep. I was hoping you guys would agree to co-sign a loan for me?”
My request hangs out there, met with a wall of silence from our parents. They look at one another briefly, having a conversation of their own without words.
“I think it all sounds great, Keane,” Marlowe pipes up to break the tension.
“It sounds like you have a handle on everything this involves, but we can’t co-sign a loan for you,” my dad says.
My shoulders sag in disappointment. “But you just said it all sounds good.”
“True, but that doesn’t mean we want to invest in it. We’re retired now. We don’t have the benefit of years on our side if we were to lose that money.”
“In other words, you think I’d screw up this opportunity?” I pick up my mixed drink and down it.
“It’s not that we think you’d do it on purpose,” my mom adds.
“Gee, thanks. That makes
me feel so much better,” I mumble, chewing on the ice from the bottom of my glass.
“Keane.” My mom waits until I meet her gaze before she continues. “You have to admit that things don’t always work out well for you, despite your best efforts.”
“Mom—” Marlowe says.
“I’m sorry, but it’s true. You’re thirty years old and you don’t have a serious relationship, you don’t own your own home—in fact, you’re sleeping in your sister’s apartment.” She turns toward Marlowe. “Thanks for that by the way, sweetie.”
“I must be doing something right in order for Jacques to offer me this opportunity in the first place.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” she says. “But your father and I think it’s important for you to learn how to stand on your own two feet.”
“I’m not asking you to give me the money. I just want you to co-sign a loan.” My voice raises.
Mom’s gaze takes a quick sweep of the room to make sure no one is paying us any attention. “Lower your voice.”
“We are proud of you, son, but we can’t do what you’re asking us to. We’re just not in a position to do so.” My dad leans back in his chair.
With a huff, I cross my arms. That’s such bullshit. My parents aren’t mega rich or anything, but they could afford to be on the hook for that money and not bat an eyelash. They’re set for retirement and we all know it. Plus, I’d rather die than ever let them be responsible for one dime of the loan.
I’m not even sure what I’m more pissed about—the fact that I’m watching my dream die like a fish flailing on a dock, or the fact that after all I’ve achieved, my parents still don’t believe in me.
“You just haven’t proven to be a responsible person,” my mom says gently. “Remember Zoey?”
I glance at Marlowe, whose face is riddled with guilt.
“Of course I remember Zoey. You’ve never let me forget about Zoey.” Sometimes I think that’s where my parents’ opinion of me started, which is unfortunate because they don’t even know the truth.
“Well, I loved that dog. If you hadn’t left the door to the house open, he wouldn’t have gotten out and been hit by the neighbor’s car. That’s the kind of thing I’m talking about. Even when you mean well, you never do what it takes to see something through.”
Three's A Crowd: A Best Friend's Older Brother Rom Com (Love in Apartment #3B Book 2) Page 13