Yours Truly Page 5

  It was true. My place was filled with wood—a gorgeous Amish rocking chair I’d picked up at a flea market, a huge wooden coffee table, book shelves, side tables, the little kitchen table we sat next to. No IKEA particle board for this girl. I was all about the solid wood, and almost everything was oak—my favorite. It had the most beautiful grain.

  “Not sure this qualifies as sickness…you haven’t seen my place yet.” His forehead wrinkled like he was mulling something over. “Hey, if you’re really serious, I could show you my stuff now. I’ll take you to my workshop.”

  My apartment was clean and ready, I’d already been to the grocery store, and my parents weren’t getting in for about five hours.

  And I hadn’t asked him yet to be my faux fiancé.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’d love to.”

  I only hoped I’d figure out a way to ask him soon.

  The first thing I noticed when we walked in was the smell. Wood and turpentine. Just like Josh.

  Already I liked it.

  His workshop was at one end of this gigantic warehouse down on the Lower East Side. Huge windows at the top of the walls bathed the space in light. Work benches lined the walls, interspersed with a plethora of fun and dangerous-looking saws, drills, and other machinery that I had no idea what they did.

  I reached over and smacked his arm. “I can’t believe we’ve been friends all this time and you’ve never invited me here.”

  “I don’t invite anyone here.”

  “Really?”

  He shrugged. “I mean, every once in a while a client might stop by to see progress on something or make a design decision, but most of the time I go to them with drawings or pictures. Usually it’s just me. I like working by myself.”

  “Hermit. Recluse. Loner.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I already said I was wrong.”

  “But this girl never tires of hearing it.”

  “Ha ha.” He made a face, then turned and waved a hand toward one side of the shop, away from the tools. “Those are the finished pieces I haven’t delivered yet. Or made just for fun.”

  Tables, chairs, and cabinets stood to one side. Dressers, shelves, headboards, and chests—it looked like he had it all. I moved through the maze of furniture, examining each piece, running my hands over the smooth surfaces, letting my fingers trace the decorative designs. Each piece was perfection, made with incredible skill and care.

  I’d known Josh was a carpenter, but I hadn’t realized he was a craftsman. An artist. I guess I’d always pictured him putting up shelves, or installing kitchen cabinets. It had never occurred to me that he created beauty.

  One little side table really caught my eye. It was so simple in design—just a table top and four long, square legs—but the design on the wood was striking. Long, inlaid stripes ran across the top and down one side of the legs. And the feel of it was satin-smooth.

  Looking up, I found Josh watching me.

  “This I like a lot.” My fingers traced the length of it again. “Bamboo?”

  “Yeah, it is.” He grinned. “You know your wood.”

  “Clearly, I know YOUR wood.” I joked.

  He raised an eyebrow, and my face tingled and grew warm.

  “What I meant,” I said, clearing my throat, “was that I know my favorite cutting board. And I can also pick out oak and black walnut, but other than that, I’m lost.” I willed my face to return to its natural ghostly pallor, and turned back to the little table. “But this is gorgeous. It’s deceptively simple in design, but intricate when you see it up close. It’s stunning.”

  “That’s probably my favorite. Though not my most popular.”

  “You designed it?” I said, and he nodded. “Wow. That’s just…how are you not famous when you can do this?” I turned in a circle to take in all of his creations.

  “Who says I’m not?”

  “Wait…are you? Are you famous in furniture circles?” I grinned. “ARE there even furniture circles? Furniture of the rich and famous? I bet you’re in the furniture secret society.”

  “You mean you’ve heard of the Woody Society?” He opened his eyes wide in mock surprise.

  “Of course. ‘The Woody Society: Nailed or Screwed, but Always Tongue and Groove.’ Isn’t that on the crest?”

  “So you HAVE heard of us.” He leaned back against a workbench and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m impressed. And all this time I thought we’d kept it under the table.”

  “Well, you know how hard it is to hide a Woody…”

  He burst out laughing. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  We grinned at each other for a moment, then he slowly lowered his hands to cover his crotch.

  “Yeah, right,” I said, laughing. “I’m SO sure.” I wandered back into the shop side of the space. Sawdust gathered at the base of the machines like little tan snowdrifts. Everything was covered in a fine dusting.

  I wanted to say something about it or ask about the tools, but suddenly all I could think about was what if he really was getting turned on. Here we were alone in his shop. He could put on his tool belt…I could just hold onto the edge of his workbench and—

  Dear god, I needed to get laid, and I needed to do it SOON. I could not be getting turned on by Josh. It wasn’t right.

  I mean, this was Josh.

  My date on Friday could not come too soon. I sent up a little prayer that this guy would at least make it through the sex before doing something stupid.

  Otherwise I was going to have to invest in more batteries.

  “Will? You okay?” Josh had come up behind me, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder as he bent down a little to search my face.

  Nodding, I met his gaze. Breathe, Will. Okay, this was my opportunity. If I was going to ask, now was the time.

  “My dad is still having heart problems.”

  When you’re asking someone to do you an insane favor—and not think you’re crazy for lying about this in the first place—it’s best to go for sympathy.

  “Oh, god. I’m so sorry, Will.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me into his side.

  Seriously, I am SO going to hell.

  I won’t lie to you—it felt good. A little too good, but I was too busy feeling nervous about asking him to really notice.

  “Yeah, me too,” I said, leaning my head against his chest. I listened to his slow and steady heartbeat for a moment before continuing. “So my parents are coming into town this evening, actually, so he can go see some specialist about a pacemaker. And they’re staying with me.”

  “Wow.” He leaned his chin on the top of my head. “If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”

  Here it was. He’d opened the door, I just needed to walk through it.

  I took a deep breath. “Well, actually…”

  “What? Whatever it is, the answer is yes.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling my face go red again as I spit it all out in a rush. “I kinda told my parents that I’m engaged. To you.” I cringed. “I mean, not YOU-you, but to a guy named Josh because yours was the only name I could come up with in the moment when I lied and told them I had a boyfriend like a year ago.” I was talking so fast trying to get everything out. “And I only did it because they were worried about me and it seemed SO important to them that I have a boyfriend. Then about five months ago I accidentally told them we’d gotten engaged, and I never thought it would be a problem—never thought my two worlds would collide—but now they’re coming here and they want to meet ‘Josh,’ and I’m wondering if you’d be at all willing to pretend to be him. My fiancé.”

  I held my breath, frozen in his arms, the weight of his head still resting against the top of mine. He didn’t say anything right away.

  “I based him on you, if that helps. I mean, you always wanted to be a character of mine…and now you are. Kind of.”

  “Yes.”

  “Only it’s in real life and not on the page, and I promise I will turn you into one of my leading men.
The next book is yours, I swear. I just…my parents are WORRIERS, you know? And I didn’t want them worrying about me, so I lied to them.”

  “Will, I said yes.”

  “And you just happen to be my best guy friend and so it was really easy to just tell them about you.” I was breathing so fast now, I was practically hyperventilating. “It doesn’t mean anything—I SWEAR—I am not harboring a secret love for you and hoping that you’ll succumb to my feminine wiles and fall in love with— Wait…what?”

  “Yes. I’ll do it.”

  “Seriously?” I squeezed him hard, like bear hug and a half. “Oh my god, thank you.” I paused, not wanting to say this because I didn’t want to give him any reason not to help me, but knowing I had to for his sake. “This isn’t going to screw things up with you and this girl you’re in love with, is it?”

  “Nope,” he said. “In fact, it just might help.”

  “Really?” I had no idea how, but honestly I didn’t care. I was just so relieved. “You have no idea how much this means to me. With my dad’s heart right now, it just wouldn’t be a good time to tell them that fake-Josh and I had broken up.” Leaning back, I looked up at his face. “And we WILL break up. I’d always planned to tell them it hadn’t worked out with us. Once things calm down for them and they aren’t worrying about me as much. You know, like when I’m forty. I mean, at some point they’ve GOT to realize I’m old enough to take care of myself.”

  “It’s fine, Will.” He was laughing as he let go of me. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

  Relief flooded me, and I closed my eyes and breathed for just a moment.

  More calmly, I said, “Thank you. Really, really.”

  “No problem.” He grabbed my hand and squeezed. “But don’t break us up too soon. I might like to see your feminine wiles. It seems only fair since I’ve shown you my wood.”

  seven

  “Willowbee!” As soon as I opened the door, my dad was reaching for me, pulling me into a tight hug. “How’s my girl?”

  My eyes teared up a little.

  Yes, I was worried about him—I was my parents’ daughter, after all.

  “Hi, Dad.” I squeezed him hard, feeling like a little kid again. What was it about a father’s hug? It made everything feel right again, if only for a moment, and all the bad stuff faded away. I’d swear it was magical.

  They should bottle that stuff up because there is nothing like a hug from your dad. Especially when you haven’t seen him for a while.

  Especially when you’re worried about him.

  Grabbing their bags amidst protest, I ushered them into my apartment and put all their stuff in my bedroom. Already tucked into the corner of my tiny living room were pillows, sheets, and a blanket for me.

  My mom took a quick look around the apartment—which, in all reality, you could almost do by simply turning in a circle—then she bustled over and crushed me into her flowery-smelling embrace.

  “So…” She glanced around again. “Where’s Josh?”

  “HI, MOM,” I said, staring pointedly at her. “It’s so nice to see YOU.”

  “Hiiii, sweetheart.” She spoke the words slowly, then got back down to business. “Now…where is he?”

  “He’s not here right now. Obviously. He’ll be over in a little while for dinner.” I tilted my head toward the kitchen. “Which reminds me. I need to get cooking.”

  “We’re not going out for dinner?” My dad sounded disappointed. “I thought we’d go to one of these places listed in my Zagat’s.” He pulled the long, wine-colored book out of his coat pocket. “I was studying it on the plane.”

  “I can’t believe they still make those. Most people just google restaurants now, Dad.” I laughed. My parents were so old-school sometimes. “How about tomorrow?” I wasn’t up for pretending to be in love with Josh at a restaurant tonight. With my luck, we’d run into people I knew and it’s just not something I wanted to try to explain. Especially not in front of my parents. Staying home seemed a safer choice. Plus, I could say he had plans tomorrow and wouldn’t be able to join us. “I just kinda wanted to keep it low-key, have a quiet evening in. Is that okay?”

  “Of course it is, Bee.” My dad tucked the book away and patted his pocket. “So…you want some help in the kitchen?”

  In our house, Dad cooked and Mom baked. He was a marvel with a skillet and a few ingredients—he could have been a chef if he’d wanted. My mom…not so much. She made a mean carrot cake, but was not exactly gifted when it came to making meals. They were the perfect team, though. Complementing each other’s strengths and weaknesses.

  Truthfully, I’d grown up believing in true love and true partnership thanks to my parents. But Life had made me realize it doesn’t happen very often, and I’d never been one to settle for less than what I wanted.

  If I was ever going to commit my life to someone, then he had to be up to my standards. He didn’t have to be perfect—the only perfect guys were the ones I brought to life on the pages of my novels—but he had to be perfect for me. I had yet to date a guy that could measure up. Or even come close. So I wasn’t planning my life around finding someone to marry.

  I was fine on my own. I LIKED being alone. Other people drove me crazy—there’s a reason I don’t have a roommate—I was capable and intelligent, and I had friends. I didn’t need a man.

  “I got this, Dad.” I patted his shoulder and headed for the kitchen.

  “So, how did you two meet?” My mom leaned her elbows on the table, resting her chin on clasped hands as she stared at Josh with great interest. “I want to hear the story.”

  My eyes darted to Josh as my heart slammed into my chest. Oh god. This night was not going to be easy.

  “On the roof,” I said as I reached for the bottle of wine my dad had brought. “I already told you guys that.”

  Mom waved me off. “Pfft. That’s not a story. It’s one minor detail. We want to know how it all happened.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but Josh was already talking.

  “About three years ago, not long after Will moved in, I was up on the roof staring at the summer stars. It’s something I’ve done ever since I’ve lived here, go up on the roof at night a couple times a week. You have to see the city from up there. It’s quieter. There’s space to think. To dream. To just be. It’s my favorite place to go.”

  He got this dreamy look on his face and sighed. I’d swear my parents sighed with him.

  God, he was good.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “this one night I’m up there feeling sorry for myself. I hear the door open and this beautiful redhead emerges, her eyes cast upward to the stars above. She doesn’t see me because she’s so busy looking up, and I kinda loved that. She closes her eyes like she’s making a wish, and then this gorgeous smile lights up her face. And that’s when I knew.”

  There was this heavy silence as we waited for Josh to continue and I realized all three of us were holding our breath. Immediately, I exhaled a little laugh like I knew what he was going to say.

  I had no idea what he was going to say.

  The thing is, on our way home from his workshop yesterday, I’d prepped him for this charade by telling him to do what I’d been doing—tell the truth as much as possible so you don’t get caught in a lie.

  I wasn’t kidding when I told you I was a professional liar.

  But here he was spinning this story out of thin air. And my parents were eating it up. I only hoped he had as good a memory as he did an imagination, and he’d be able to keep track of all the things he was making up.

  “What did you know?” Mom’s voice was breathless, bewitched. I glanced at my dad and he looked exactly the same.

  Josh raised his eyebrows just slightly, and said, “I knew that one day we’d be right here.” He tapped the table with one finger. “All four of us together because I knew I was going to marry that starry-eyed girl. It was love at first sight.”

  “Oh, my.” There were tears in my mom�
�s eyes and she reached out for my dad. He gripped her hand tightly, a look of deep happiness on his face. And I could visibly see them both relax.

  I was so going to hell.

  My dad lifted his napkin to wipe his eyes. “That’s a wonderful story. So much better than ‘we met on the roof.’” He winked at me. “Maybe Josh should be the writer.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Truly,” Josh said. “But I think my talents are better with wood—” Grinning, he shot me a glance. “—than with words.”

  I rolled my eyes, laughing. GOD.

  “It’s George. Call me George.” My dad beamed at him. “We’re practically family, you know.”

  My mom leaned over and whispered as she patted my hand. “Oh, Willow. He’s a keeper. You did so good, sweetheart.”

  Josh was charming the pants off my parents. From the moment he’d set foot in my apartment forty minutes ago, they’d been instantly enthralled.

  Part of me almost wished he wasn’t turning on the charm quite so strongly because it was going to be that much harder when I told my parents we were over. But a larger part of me was thrilled. My parents looked happier than they had in months. Maybe even a little relieved. Like their biggest worry had been lifted.

  It looked so good on them. My heart welled with gratitude toward Josh.

  “Josh?” A woman’s voice called out from the hallway, followed by loud banging on a door. “Sugar? Are you there?”

  My eyes flew to Josh’s. He stared at my closed door for a few seconds.

  “Joshy!?”

  He was up and out of his seat in an instant. “Excuse me for just a minute,” he said, casting an apologetic look my way.

  The three of us sat in silence, listening to their murmured conversation for a moment. The woman’s voice started getting louder, desperate.

  “But whyyyyy? I just needed to see you tonight,” she whined.

  My dad cleared his throat while my mom reached out and touched my arm.

  “Is everything okay, sweetheart?” she said.