“That’s why we have you to look into all this for us. Grant said you’d know who to talk to about stuff like that.”
Oh, had he now? Rebekah felt her unappeased hunger give way to annoyance.
“Um, speaking of your nephew,” Rebekah sneaked a peek at her phone screen, which had two new text notifications from her dad. “Is he still around?”
The two sisters looked at each other quickly before turning their faces to Rebekah.
“Did you want to talk to him about something?” Bunny asked. She was the more absentminded of the Whitaker sisters. Very sweet, but usually had her head in the clouds. There was no way the woman would have reason to think something was up.
“Um... I only wanted to talk to him about the pictures he was going to use for the brochures.”
“Oh, he got some great ones of the kiddos sitting on the new wooden bleachers Bobby Doyle built. Doc J had the llamas out and half the class was raising their hands wanting to ask questions. He said he’d email the photos to us when he gets back to Jacksonville tonight.”
Rebekah’s head jerked back. “He went home already?”
The sisters shared another look and she realized she needed to get her emotions under lock and key. She certainly didn’t want them knowing that their precious nephew was supposed to be having dinner tonight with her parents so they could all talk about the pregnancy nobody was supposed to know about yet.
“I mean, I figured he was leaving, but I wanted to make sure none of his shots showed the children’s faces. We would need signed release waivers to publish their images and...uh...we’d probably rather not have to deal with that entire legal headache.”
“Well, why don’t you call him?” Birdie, the more sensible and pragmatic sister, asked. “His plane should’ve landed by now.”
Her bosses stared at her expectantly and Rebekah was relieved that her answer was completely honest when she sank back in her seat and said, “I don’t have his number.”
Birdie rattled off the digits and then they both sat there as though they had no intention of leaving until Rebekah actually called the man. There was no way she was going to have a conversation with Grant in front of the women. Who knew what the guy might say? Or what her own facial expressions might give away?
“Why don’t I just send a text? That way, I’m not bothering him if he’s still at the airport and he can respond whenever it’s convenient for him.”
The ladies still didn’t budge, so Rebekah somehow managed to keep her fingers from trembling as she typed in the number and then wrote a quick message asking about the pictures for the brochures. She pressed Send and the whooshing sound echoed in the office.
She used her thumb to discreetly set her device to vibrate and then shoved it deep in her purse, just in case Grant responded and his aunts wanted to know what he’d said. “So, I’d better be off. I’ve got to drive to Raleigh tonight and have dinner with my parents.”
“Oh, no.” Bunny scratched at a loose gray curl near her temple. “We didn’t get to talk to your mom while she was here. Grant kept us out and about all day. He even took us by that old house on Second Street where he thinks the little gray dog might be hiding.”
Rebekah was already on her feet and shoving her laptop into her tote bag when her ears perked. “Did you guys see him?”
“How do you know it’s a him?” Birdie asked.
“Or her.” Rebekah quickly corrected. She actually had no idea what gender the thing was but she’d been leaving little treats near that same porch every day and, with the exception of the soy bacon she’d accidentally ordered last Sunday at brunch, all of the food was gone the next day. So the dog—or whatever other wild creature lived under there—definitely had a healthy appetite.
“Nope.” Bunny shook her head. “No sign of the little dear.”
It wasn’t until Rebekah was out in her car that she realized Grant had actually followed through with something besides showing up for her doctor’s appointment. He’d kept his aunts occupied all day so that her parents didn’t see them and accidentally reveal anything about her pregnancy.
Maybe the guy could be useful, after all.
Chapter Seven
As soon as the plane landed and he powered on his phone, Grant saw a text from an unknown number. When he realized it was from Rebekah, he smiled as triumph coursed through his body. She might be talking about business stuff and legal releases, but at least he now had her number.
Taking whatever minor victories he could get at this point, he typed in a reply.
Don’t worry. All of the pictures I took showed the kids facing away from me. I may not know much about babies, but I know all about marketing and licensing agreements.
Not expecting a response, he was surprised when he got to the long-term parking garage and felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.
Thanks for keeping your aunts busy today. You filled their heads with lots of crazy talk about Fur Balls and animal-themed weddings, but at least they don’t suspect anything about us.
He wanted to tell her that she couldn’t keep the babies a secret forever. Instead, he wrote,
Sorry for bailing out before dinner with your parents tonight. I figured you’d prefer me not being there to make things even more awkward, but I still hope you’ll make my apologies to Mike and Sheila.
A few dots appeared, indicating she was typing something, then they disappeared. When he got to a stoplight, he saw a new text from her.
Yeah. Awkward is one word for it.
Now that he finally had her texting him, he wanted to keep the conversation going. But a horn sounded behind him and he had to drive.
When he pulled into the underground parking garage at his condo complex, he saw that she’d sent a follow-up message.
To be honest, I also bailed out on dinner. It’s been a long day and I need more time to prepare myself for all their questions.
The reception down here was nonexistent (like their relationship), so Grant waited until he’d let himself into his condo to respond. He stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors that looked out over the Atlantic Ocean, but he didn’t notice the view because he was too busy staring at the electronic keyboard on his screen. Finally he typed, If you want, I can fly back this weekend and face them with you.
Thanks for the offer, but I think having you there would only make me more flustered.
So I fluster you. He added the winking emoji then pressed Send.
Of course. Her reply caused a burst of satisfaction to swell through his chest. His pulse sped up. Then a second bubble appeared right after. The whole situation has me all out of sorts.
Grant knew that her addendum was an understatement. He’d also been thrown for a loop when he’d found out they were having twins. While they’d both been active participants that night and had taken steps to prevent this exact thing, he only had to deal with the mental and emotional aspects of her pregnancy. Rebekah had the added physical and hormonal burden.
I was reading that stress isn’t good for the babies. Is there anything I can do to make things easier?
He expected her to tell him to stay as far away from her as possible. Instead, she answered, Go to dinner with my parents on my behalf.
He was about to tell her that he’d book a flight right then, but she immediately added, I’m only kidding. I’m sure once I get through their interrogation this weekend, it’ll get easier telling everyone else.
Then let me help prep you for all their questions.
What do you mean?
I’ll pretend I’m your parents and ask you whatever parents would ask in a situation like this.
Grant collapsed on his leather sofa while he waited for her reply. He could almost imagine the sound of her breathless sigh as she wrote, Fine.
Okay. First question. What’s your due date?
&
nbsp; Easy. March 1. But sometimes twins come early.
They do?
Is this a question from you, Grant? Because I’m pretty sure my parents know everything there is to know about babies. Even twins. My mom has a master’s in early childhood development and my dad has published several books on newborns and being a foster father.
Grant stood up to retrieve his iPad out of the backpack he’d left near his carry-on suitcase. He opened the internet search engine and typed in the name Mike Taylor. Her dad’s picture popped up along with links to several of his bestselling books. No wonder the guy had laughed at Grant’s suggestion on the flight.
Sorry. I’ve only had time to scan through some of the reading material Dr. Singh had suggested and I must’ve missed that part.
He started to type that he wished her dad had clued him in when they’d been on the airplane together, but it was probably best not to remind her about his accidental information leak in the first place.
All right, back to THEIR questions. Are you going to find out the genders?
I think I’m going to want to know the closer it gets to the due date. You know I’m a planner and like to be prepared for everything ahead of time.
Grant let out a whoosh of air. That was good to know. Personally, he was dying to find out if they were going to have girls or boys. Or one of each. Since they hadn’t really had the chance to open up with each other and discuss it, this role-playing-via-text thing was actually working out in his favor. But it would only succeed if he legitimately sounded as though he was channeling her parents and asking questions they would ask their daughter. Which was difficult because the only thing he knew about the Taylors was that they lived in Raleigh and they were apparently experts when it came to babies.
He returned to his internet search on his iPad and typed, biggest issues for new parents. An article entitled “Breastfeeding versus Bottle” popped up and Grant quickly turned the device off. Nope. There was no way he was going to ask Rebekah anything about her breasts. At least, not yet. Although, he did like to think about them often. “No, focus,” he told himself.
We can’t wait to hold our grandbabies. If you move back home, we can help take care of them.
He pressed Send, then wondered if that sounded too over the top. But surely her parents would want to be close to their new grandchildren.
I would love for you guys to help out on the weekends, but I’m happy at my job and my home is in Spring Forest.
Her townhome was nice, but it was one of the smaller units with only two bedrooms. And if Grant remembered correctly, one of those bedrooms was set up as her office.
You’ll probably need more space when the babies get older. Maybe a place with a yard.
He remembered the way she’d looked when she was talking about the old brick house on Second Avenue and he wondered if she was thinking about that exact yard. Finally, she replied,
Well, I’ll have to see what I can afford when the time comes.
Speaking of money, what about the father? What’s his name again? Greg?
Grant. Her response could’ve been keeping to their roles, or it could have been her rolling her pretty hazel eyes at him—meaning knock it off and be serious.
So he quickly added,
Well, we’re sure this Grant guy is going to help you out financially. He seems like a responsible and dependable sort who wants to be active in his children’s lives. And he’s incredibly handsome.
She didn’t respond for a few minutes and Grant walked over to his kitchen to grab a beer. His fridge contained three Coronas, two expired containers of yogurt his sister had dropped off when she’d delivered some groceries over a month ago and a nearly black banana from one of the boxed lunches he usually brought home from his work cafeteria.
He bet Rebekah’s fridge was full of healthy meals she’d already prepared earlier in the week and then labeled in containers with color-coded lids. He opened the beer and was swallowing the first frothy gulp when his phone lit up with her response.
He’s kind of handsome.
Kind of. Kicking off his sneakers, he took another drink and opened the doors leading out to his twelfth-floor balcony. He could get her to do better than that.
Kind of incredibly handsome. Your kids are going to be gorgeous. Hopefully with your dimples and his surfing skills. Plus, they’ll be smart.
Surfing, questionable (and only if it’s in shallow water). Dimples, maybe. Smart, probably. But that’ll also be from me.
Obviously, he wrote. So do you and this kind of incredibly handsome Grant with the amazing surfing skills plan to raise your children together?
I’m not sure how that’ll work. Hopefully, my parents aren’t going to ask for those kind of details.
Well, the role-playing gig had been good while it lasted.
Don’t you think they’ll have questions about our relationship, Rebekah? Like how long we’ve known each other. Whether we plan to get married. Things like that?
Again, she didn’t reply right away and Grant ran a hand through his hair and looked at the waves crashing on the beach below. His phone finally buzzed. But this time, it wasn’t a text. She was actually calling him. He nearly dropped the phone as he scrambled to slide his thumb across the screen and answer. “Hello?”
“I honestly don’t know what to tell them,” she admitted, not bothering with a greeting.
“There’s always the truth.”
“Grant, I can’t tell my parents that I had a one-night stand with my bosses’ nephew.”
“Do you think they’d disown you or something? Your parents seemed pretty reasonable and progressive to me.”
“Obviously, I can tell them. I just don’t want to. I’m their only child, the apple of their eye. High school valedictorian and top of my class at Duke’s School of Business. I love my parents and they love me, but you know how they used to foster all those babies? Well, that took up a lot of their time and energy when I was a child. They’ve always counted on me to be responsible and self-reliant and, well, now they’re used to me always doing things right. I’m not the type of person who makes mistakes.”
Ouch. Was she calling him the mistake? Or their children the mistake? He pinched the bridge of his nose and said, “So then don’t tell them it was a one-night stand. I mean, you heard your dad earlier today. He already referred to you as my girlfriend.”
“Because that’s what you told him on the plane.” The reminder still held a trace of accusation and Grant could feel the defensiveness building in his throat.
“Yet again, I had no idea that was your father. Besides, you weren’t exactly blowing up my phone with conversations and I had to talk to someone about it.”
She made a huffing sound, then grumbled through the receiver. “Well, I’m talking to you about it now.”
“So going back to my suggestion earlier. Why not just let people think we’re dating each other? Or do I embarrass you?” He wasn’t exactly a player, but he’d never really had to work too hard at attracting women. At least, he hadn’t until he met Rebekah. He held his breath as he awaited her response.
“Fine.” This time he heard her actual sigh and a current of electricity shot through him. “We can pretend we’re dating each other.”
“Can I pretend to take you out to dinner when I come into town next week?” he asked.
“It depends on what your definition of pretend is.”
“Oh, you know, the usual. I pick you up at your place and hold the doors open for you. Maybe you smile at me and laugh at my jokes as though you enjoy my company.”
“I’ve smiled at you before, Grant.”
“Only when you’ve had a couple of cocktails, which are now apparently off-limits according to my baby book.”
“I know. So is coffee, unfortunately.”
“So you’ll have to be sober and uncaffein
ated and smile at me anyway,” he added. “Possibly even hold my hand. I’d also be more than willing to engage in some public kissing displays, if you think it’ll make us seem more legitimate.”
“And you’re hoping that people will actually see us? That a dinner with some hand-holding—no public kissing displays—will convince them that we’re boyfriend and girlfriend?”
“They will if we go somewhere romantic. Not, like, too romantic because that would seem like we’re trying too hard. But maybe a nice place that requires you to wear the green, silky top you had on that night at happy hour. The one with the V-neck that showed off the magnificent view of your—”
“Grant.” Her voice came out in a squeak and she cleared her throat. “I don’t know if this kind of pretending is such a good idea.”
“Trust me. I’m in marketing and can make anything look believable. Besides, what could go wrong?”
* * *
“I should’ve told him that a million things could go wrong,” Rebekah said to the hole under the front porch of the old brick house the following Thursday. She still had no idea whether the scruffy gray dog was currently hiding under there, but every day she’d been stopping by on her way to work and something had been eating the specialty canine cookies she’d been adding to her usual order at the bakery.
“Grant Whitaker is like this flaky, buttery croissant right here. I know he’ll end up being bad for me, but I can’t seem to resist him.” She bit down, letting the layers of pastry melt into her mouth as she tried not to think about all the extra calories. Swallowing, she added, “It’s just that he’d been talking about my dimples and my cleavage and saying all these other flirty things that kept distracting me. My brain was flashing the warning lights, but my heart was bouncing around inside my chest and my hormones were going crazy, which is supposedly normal according to the research I’ve been doing. So, yeah, I guess that’s how Grant convinced me that we should pretend we’re boyfriend and girlfriend.”
A truck drove by slowly and Rebekah prayed the driver didn’t notice the crazy pregnant woman sitting outside of a house that didn’t belong to her and talking to an elusive stray animal that probably wished she’d just shut up and leave it alone. Or maybe find a human to whine to, instead.
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