LOL: Laugh Out Loud (After Oscar, #2)(63)

“How did the two of you meet, again?” I asked. There was no explanation for their pairing. It was like seeing Angelina Jolie hook up with Mr. Bean.

Larry opened his mouth. “Grind—”

“Zzzzzt!” Thankfully, Lolo cut him off with giant exaggerated eyeballs toward Roman’s nieces. “Christian Mingle dot com!”

Diana, Earl, Roman, Larry, and I all stared at Lolo.

He let out a huff. “Okay, fine. A dating app. No need to name names,” he muttered, spearing a cube of cantaloupe with a fork.

“But how did any app…” I was going to ask how any dating app made these two a compatible pair, but then I remembered that Grindr had nothing to do with compatibility in that way. “Never mind.”

Roman’s eyes twinkled at me knowingly.

He then cleared his throat and gestured to his sister. “Lolo, Larry, this is my sister, Diana, and her family,” he said, making the introductions and explaining that Diana was the one who’d graciously cooked the big breakfast. As soon as Lolo realized he’d made some insulting assumptions, he began his charming apologies. I ignored him and bent to face Sonya, who’d been tugging at my sleeve.

“Mister Scotty,” she asked in her little voice. “Will you please help me get more toasties?”

I reached across to the platter and forked another slice of french toast onto her plate, cutting it into bite-sized pieces before adding a generous glug of syrup.

I notice Roman watching me as I helped his niece with her breakfast. For a split second, it seemed like the buzz of everything and everyone else faded away, leaving the two of us there staring at each other across the large wooden table. I had a stupid dreamy moment of imagining this was real life, that Roman and I were together and had a house full of family and guests. No more solitary nights in a rented room in Queens where the closest thing I had to company was my own Grindr hookup or a Netflix marathon on my phone.

I’d never had this. I’d never known what it was like to sit around a breakfast table with heaps of plentiful good food and even better company. Even my best childhood memories only featured my mom, my grandfather, and me sitting at a card table in my grandfather’s apartment. He’d had a handful of neighbor friends who came over on Sunday afternoon to watch football games, but that was as close as I ever got to this kind of feeling.

It was nice. More than nice. My heart ached from wanting more. I remembered watching television shows and wondering if those big Thanksgiving scenes were real. Did families actually get together like that, or was it all made up for TV?

And here I was sitting among friends and family just like from one of those shows, all because the man across from me had let me barge into his life and make myself comfortable as if it was no big deal.

But it was.

Roman didn’t have to trust me. I was no one. More than no one—I was someone who was clearly desperate for money. Yet he trusted me to sit here among his family, to see him naked, to hear about the most vulnerable moments in his life, and to not sell any of it to the tabloids.

Why? Was he simply gullible and trusting?

I didn’t think so.

“What’re you thinking about over there?” Roman asked softly, reaching across the table for my hand. “Your forehead looks like an accordion.”

“Thank you for this,” I said around the lump in my throat. I looked down at where his thumb traced over my knuckles. It was such a small gesture, such a quiet reassurance, but it struck me to my very core. He gave of himself so willingly and easily, and I didn’t understand how I could be so lucky as to be the recipient.

“It may not seem like much to you,” I continued. “But…”

I was interrupted by Larry’s exclamation as he glanced at the time on his phone. “Balls…ack… Balzac!” he cried, glancing worriedly at the girls. “Was a French novelist. But, uh, more importantly, we’re going to be late for our ski lessons. Lolo, shake a tail feather.”

One of Lolo’s perfectly manicured eyebrows shot up in indignant surprise. “I do not have tail feathers. And my ski instructor cannot begin instructing without pupils.” He waved a hand in Larry’s general direction. “Finish your coffee, love chunk.”

Larry’s eyes glanced furtively around the table as he took a final guzzle from his mug. “Uh, thanks for breakfast, Diana. Lovely to meet you all. Sorry to eat and run.” He set his mug on the table beside his dirty plate and started backing from the room.

Lolo dabbed a napkin at the corners of his mouth and elegantly rose, like a merman rising from the sea. “Yes, we must away. Many thanks for such a rustically aesthetic meal.”

Diana blinked, not quite sure whether to take the statement as a compliment or insult.

“Uh, aren’t you forgetting something?” I asked them.

Larry froze, dancing from foot to foot. “Uh…”

Lolo pressed a hand to his chest. “Oh, of course, aren’t you a dear for pointing it out.” He snapped his fingers at Larry. “Be a doll and make me a tea for the road? Chamomile. Loose, not bagged. Two lemon wedges. Elderflower honey. And…” He tapped his finger against his lips, thinking. “195 degrees water. No, make that 200. It’s nippy out there.”

That wasn’t at all what I meant. “I meant, aren’t you going to help clean up?” Growing up, that had always been the rule. We may not have had much, and dinner might have consisted of a pan of water and a box of mac and cheese more often than not, but we’d still adhered to the “he who doesn’t cook, cleans” rule.