One Moment Please (Wait With Me #3)(52)

She steps inside, and Josh’s dad barrels in behind her, mumbling about traffic while removing his hat and gloves. When their backs are turned, I fling the offensive apron off and smooth my demure black dress with a square neckline that I thought looked nice and classy. I touch the pearls that my grandmother left me around my neck and shoot a silent prayer up to Gran for strength tonight.

Lana turns and glances at herself in the hallway mirror, quickly smoothing her silver bob of hair.

I take the moment to respond to her earlier question. “Um, I’ve actually never made crab cakes. I don’t really care for seafood.”

“What kind of caterer doesn’t care for seafood?” she exclaims with a haughty laugh.

“The kind who dies if she accidentally consumes shellfish.” I force an awkward laugh.

“Oh,” she replies and looks me up and down. “You’re very pretty for a chef. And skinny. You don’t see that combination a lot.”

I flush from her compliments. “Thank you but I’m not really—”

“What in God’s name happened in there?” Josh’s dad gapes at the living room like it’s some sort of science project that exploded. He’s a tall, domineering man, very similar to his son. “Did Josh seriously mount a TV on an original 1930s stone wall? What the hell is the matter with that boy?”

He stomps over to inspect the work. I cringe. I didn’t even consider that the stone wall was special. I thought a living room needed a TV. I’m like Joey from Friends—I don’t understand where to situate furniture unless it’s all pointed toward a TV. And since one whole wall is floor-to-ceiling windows…the pickings were kind of slim.

“I’m afraid I can’t answer any questions about the stonework, but why don’t you both have a glass of wine and head out to the deck?” I gesture over to the counter where I have prefilled glasses. “It’s a beautiful night, and the fireplace is lit. There’s charcuterie out there.”

Lana’s brows lift appreciatively as she saunters to the counter. She winks at me. “You’re good.”

I force a smile. “Josh should be home any moment now.” My face falls at how stupid and robotic my voice sounds. They’re going to think I’m a nut job.

“Any moment means any hour with our Joshy. He focuses on one thing and one thing only—his job,” his mother huffs and grabs two glasses of red wine off the counter. “But if there’s wine, we’re fine.” She makes her way to the living room. “Stop fretting over the stonework and come have a drink, Harv.”

I let out a heavy breath and ignore his grumbles as I run to the oven to check my food. The chicken looks good. It needs another ten minutes, and then I can take it out and tent it so it’s nice and moist.

Suddenly, the doorbell rings again. I cringe. It must be my parents, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep this charade up without Josh.

I open the door. My mother’s red hair glistens beneath the stoop light as her eyes immediately fall to my belly. “Oh, Lynsey.” She shakes her head. “You’re not eating Oreos again, are you?”

I bite my tongue and welcome them inside. My mother makes her way around the space and scopes out every last detail like a nosy Nellie. “If you can afford this kind of place with your new job, then why can’t you afford some new furniture?”

I force a tight smile. “I’ll explain all that to you over dinner, Mom.”

My dad gives me a quick hug before heading into the kitchen to inspect the appliances. He then ends toward the living room and points at the wall. “Is that original stone?”

I press my lips together. “I believe so.”

What the hell is with the original stonework that is so special?

His head jerks back. “I hope the previous owner was the moron who put a TV mount on there and not you. Otherwise, your landlord is going to go berserk.”

I cringe, and then nearly jump out of my skin when I turn. Josh stands in the doorway watching us. I lower my gaze and am surprised he’s not dressed in his normal scrubs that he usually wears home from work.

Tonight, he has on jeans and a button-down. He must have changed because he sensed something was up.

He frowns at my parents and then at me. “The driveway is blocked.”

“Oh, I’m afraid I parked there,” my dad bellows and tosses his keys to Josh like he’s some sort of valet driver. “Sorry there, pal. Go ahead and move it.”

“What’s going on, Jones?” Josh asks, his tone dubious as his view moves from my parents to the windows in the living room that clearly displays his parents sitting out there sipping wine and munching on charcuterie like it’s a normal Thursday night.

I move to grab Josh’s arm. “Mom, Dad? This is Josh Richardson. Excuse me…Dr. Josh Richardson.”

My mother practically salivates at the mention of the word doctor. “Is this your boyfriend, darling?” she asks, coiffing her short hair and batting her eyes at Josh.

“No. Look, can you guys just maybe…have a seat at the dining table? I have something I want to tell you.”

“How mysterious,” my mother tuts and turns to follow my dad to the table.

“What the hell is going on?” Josh seethes, his tone acidic as his parents wave at him through the glass.