“Ha! What about that fiancé of yours? Does he do all the cooking?”
Oh no.
Right before surgery, when the doctors were predicting the worst possible outcomes, Sydney had called, for what could’ve been the last time. Gram had asked the question she asked during every call with hope in her hazel eyes—have you met the man of your dreams yet. She had this idea that Sydney’s travels would result in a love connection. This ridiculous, impossible, outdated idea.
But this time, Sydney had caved. She’d looked at her uncharacteristically scared grandmother, so fragile in the hospital bed with the IV stand and the monitors beeping…and she’d invented a fake fiancé. To put a little joy in the woman’s subconscious as they wheeled her into surgery.
Then Gram…hadn’t died. Cause for rejoicing, sure. But tricky for Sydney in terms of this lie that had spiraled out of control. She couldn’t dump the fiancé until after Gram made it through chemo. No worries, no stressors—doctor’s orders.
“Gram, I—”
“What’s his favorite thing to eat? You should learn to cook that, at least. I can help.”
“Gram—”
But the interrogation continued without even waiting for Sydney to answer. “Are you moving in together? Once you stop taking pity on your poor old grandmother and go back to your real life? Some old biddies say to hold out for a ring. But I say you need to test drive every aspect of a man.”
She would lie about her imaginary fiancé as long as it took. Sydney drew the line, however, at hearing so much as another inference about her grandparents’ premarital sex life.
What could she make up as his favorite food that would be easy to learn to cook? Was steak too cliché? Pasta too predictable? Stalling, Sydney patted the fleece still draped over her arm. “I…I’ll just go hang this up. Be right back.”
The door opened, bell jangling. She paused, and couldn’t help but smile as Alex—the muffin man from two days ago—walked in.
His face lit up, their eyes connecting. Then his gaze tracked down to the fleece. “Going somewhere?” He thumped his hand over his heart, then dramatically whipped his head to the side. “After I came here just to see you?”
After a giggle at his obvious teasing, she said, “Me—or my unlimited supply of caffeine?”
“Sydney, you’re breaking my heart. How could you accuse me of wanting coffee more than I want you?”
Gram’s hand suddenly clenched with a surprising amount of strength around Sydney’s wrist. “That’s your fiancé?” she whispered.
No.
Nonononono.
Her grandmother leaping to conclusions made an already awkward situation even more complicated. How was this fair? A breezy, two-sentence banter with a handsome man. That’s all Sydney had wanted. Yet now it had turned into so much more.
Without waiting for a response—again—she said more loudly, even though Alex was walking closer, “You came here on a visit?”
His dark brows crinkled together. “No, I live here now.”
Clapping her hands together, she rocked so far back on the stool that Sydney thrust out a hand to catch her. “That’s the most wonderful news I’ve heard all year.”
“It’s January 7th. You’re setting a very low bar for the next eleven months.”
“Nothing could top you moving here.” She thrust out her hand. “You can call me Daisy.”
With a bemused smile, he shook. “You can call me Alex.”
In cartoons, a light bulb went off overhead when someone had an idea. Sydney felt like a lightning bolt crashed into her brain at that moment. Especially since her heart also started pounding like a jackhammer. Because she had an idea.
A crazy idea.
A no-way-would-it-work idea.
A reckless idea.
But…it would make things easier for the next few months. It’d get her grandmother off her back. It would also make the woman happy for at least eighty-eight more days. Relaxed. Distracted from the discomfort of chemo.
Which made it a completely necessary idea.
Patting the fleece, Sydney said, “Alex, would you come with me while I stow this jacket in the back?”
That look of bemusement teased another smile at the corners of his mouth. “Sure. I love sneaking behind the velvet rope and seeing off-limit spaces. Makes me feel like the president, going up the service elevator before a speech.”
“Gram, I’ll be right back. Keep your mask on. Don’t go near the food prep. Just sit there.”
Gram coughed out the word, “Spoilsport.”
Sydney cocked her head to indicate the direction of the door into the back. Wordlessly, she led Alex past the bathrooms, past the locked alcohol stockroom, to the utilitarian office. And then she