Accidental Knight: A Marriage Mistake Romance(52)

“So does your old man ever talk?” Drake asks once we’re back in his pickup.

“Sometimes. Not a lot, honestly. Mom does most of the talking for him. Always has.”

“For him?” He starts the truck. “Shit.”

For some reason, I burst out laughing. It isn’t really funny how strange and toxic the three of us are, though. Gramps was the only thing normal and happy.

“For all of us,” I admit. “That’s what she does. What she’s born to do, probably.”

“I gotta ask, do you really want to have lunch with them at the diner?”

I shrug. “Not really, but...if we don’t, they’ll drive out to the ranch, and I’d rather they didn’t come out there again.” I roll down my window and rest my elbow on the door as he backs up. “I honestly thought they would’ve flown back to California by now. Retreat, and try again in a few months. The fact they haven’t tells me a lot.”

“Like?”

“Like they aren’t leaving.” The weight in my lungs is so heavy “Not any time soon, Drake.”

Gramps probably knew this would happen too. I’m starting to appreciate his forethought more by the hour.

I’d be royally screwed right now if he hadn’t taken the steps he had.

I know myself. It’s so much easier to just give in to Mom’s demands. I’ve known that for years, and that’s what’s always come naturally.

But I can’t this time, and it disgusts me almost as much as it pisses me off.





We get to the restaurant first.

Stepping through the glass door with the jingly bell hanging overhead is like stepping back in time. The metal tables with the worn Formica tops, that at one time had gold flecks in, but are now stark white, are the exact same as when I was little. I’d eat here with Gramps every time we came to town.

The chairs were the same black Naugahyde then. So are the bench booths today, with black duct tape covering little rips and tears.

“Booth or table?” Drake asks.

“Mother hates booths, so...booth.” I shuffle over to the first open booth we see.

It’s crowded today, plenty of people at the tables.

“Brave, darlin’, deciding to poke the bear dead on,” Drake tells me, sliding into the booth beside me. It’s a tight fit, his huge body shadowing mine, reminding me how tall and thick and imposing he can be.

I smile. “Am I? Or am I just making a decision?”

He grins, scratching at the stubble on his chin. “Whatever you’re doing, keep it up. ’Cause here we go.”

My parents slide in across from us a second later. Mom’s puckered lips could be due to the booth, but it could be because she saw us whispering.

I smile at her. “Slim pickings today. The only open table was by the bathroom doors.”

Luckily, that’s the truth.

Mom glances toward the short hall that leads back to the bathroom, and at the only empty table everyone using the hallway has to skirt around. Then she rolls her eyes, muttering something under her breath.

“We could sit there if you prefer,” I say.

“It’s fine.” Her nose wrinkles as she glances around the room. “I see this place hasn’t changed a bit in fifty years. Not even the pictures on the walls. Just shameful. I’m sure the food is just as awful, too.”

Why did you even come here? I wonder, but I know better.

She wants to get to me.

Honestly, I always loved it when we came to town and ate here. It’s refreshing to go somewhere that doesn’t have a ten page wine menu, their go-to choices back in Portland.

I pluck the worn menus out from behind the ketchup and mustard containers, then pass them out to everyone else while looking at the board on the wall. Nudging Drake with my shoulder, I say, “Today’s special is two beef enchiladas.”

“You had four last night,” he says. “Have some variety, darlin’. Nobody can live by enchiladas alone.”

I love the way his eyes twinkle. Almost as if they’re smiling even when his lips aren’t. “You did good. I was starving.”

Because both my parents are looking at me, at us, bewildered, I lay my hand over the top of his. “I bet theirs aren’t half as good as yours. Let’s be real.”

“Burgers are their specialty. Old Mack in the back never screws ’em up.”

I may be pushing it, but I can’t help myself, threading my fingers through his.

Screw it. I want my parents to think there’s more between us than silly food jokes.

Because when the time comes, I don’t want them knowing about the proxy marriage. That could get really ugly. “Cheeseburger it is. I remember they were good, stacked up with so many onion rings I can never finish.”

“Ugh, all that deep-fried dreck. A salad would be a better choice,” Mom says, her eyes flicking across the menu. “On the other hand...iceberg lettuce and thousand island dressing? Lord, it’s like the land that culinary time forgot.”

Drake, catching on, rolls his hand over mine. “I’ll have the Mack Burger. Four kinds of cheese, deep fried pickles, and peppers that could curl your tail. Guarantee they’re better here than the ones we had yesterday.”

“Those weren’t bad for fast food, but the fries were a little cold.”