Better With You (Better Love 2)

8

Ihear the doorbell seconds before Dylan yells through the house.

“RIGGS! Your fiancée is here!”

God, he’s such an ass. I hear Talia’s nervous laughter as I pound down the stairs. She’s kicking off her shoes, and when she sees me, she gives me a sweet smile.

“Hey, Tal.”

“Hey.”

“You ready?”

“Yeah.”

I turn to head back up the stairs, Talia trailing me.

“You guys don’t want to hang out?” Dylan asks, a lonely puppy looking for a playmate. He’s kind of like having a Jack Russell Terrier.

“Nah, Dyl,” I shout down the stairs as I shuttle Talia through the door to my bedroom. “We got plans.”

As I’m shutting the door, Dylan opens his fat mouth again. “Use condoms!”

I just shake my head and roll my eyes. He doesn’t know when to quit.

Talia takes a seat on my bed and fidgets nervously with her fingers. The sight fills me with regret. How did we get to this place? Where being alone together feels so foreign. How can someone’s role in your life change so drastically, so quickly? How is it that no matter how hard I try, I just keep hurting the people who matter most?

“We’ve got about ten minutes,” I say awkwardly.

She nods. “Okay. Um. Big plans for the weekend?”

“The usual. A session with Elbin, and then I’m gonna head home Saturday for a bit.”

“Oh, I could come with you.”

“Nah, it’s cool.” I don’t miss the hurt in her eyes at my rejection.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, and then the call on my laptop comes through. We position ourselves in front of my desk.

“Ready?” I ask Talia.

“Yep,” she says with a smile, then flashes her hands at me and wiggles her fingers. I roll my eyes playfully and return her smile. I take in a deep breath before turning back to the ringing computer. I accept the call and it connects, and my mom’s face comes over the screen.

“Coucou, mes amours,” she greets, and my smile is instantaneous.

“Coucou, Maman.”

“Coucou, Odette,” Talia chimes, her smile matching mine.

“And how is my favorite couple?” Mom asks, and I reach over and take Talia’s hand in mine.

“Good, Mom,” I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. “And how are you?”

“Fine, mon étoile. Tell me about your week. Tell me about your last date. I could use some romance.” My mother loves a good romance, and I’ll give her anything she wants.

When I look at Talia, she’s gazing at me. Her big green eyes are sparkling as she takes me in, and her plump lips are pulled into a wide smile. My heart squeezes at the love I see on her face.

“We went on a picnic a few nights ago, Odette,” Talia beams. “It was so romantic. Riggs made us the most delicious turnovers.” She turns her smile on my mom, the story flowing so easily from her tongue. “You’ve raised him well. Your son knows how to treat a lady.”

Another part of me breaks at just how wrong that statement is. She doesn’t even know the half of it. For as good as Talia has become at faking it, I can tell I’m breaking her little by little, too. The picnic isn’t just a picnic; it’s a hope. A fantasy. One I wish I could fulfill for her, but I don’t have the energy for any more facades.

I look into Talia’s eyes and flash my most charming smile, then look back at my mother.

“It’s easy with a woman like Talia,” I say. “I just want to make her happy.”

After the video call,I lead Talia to the door and send her off with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. I crack a joke about Hollywood, a thank-you veiled as a compliment, and she laughs it off. We’ll video call Mom again next week, and we make plans to meet up for lunch in a few days.

I come back to my room to find a new email notification on my computer. It’s from the Midwest Collegiate Culinary Association, which I’m only vaguely familiar with, and the subject line reads, “Congratulations on your invitation!”

I almost delete it, write it off as spam, but I remember Mom mentioning something about the MCCA, so I open it. It’s—shocker—an invitation, just like the subject line states. I scan the email and the wheels in my head start turning.

It’s a week-long holiday baking competition that will take place over the winter break. I’m already prequalified, since I won the cookie contest with Bakery On Main, which I hadn’t even realized was affiliated with MCCA. The winning team will take home ten thousand dollars. My excitement amps when I think of how happy Mom would be if I participate in this. Something real that I can give her. She won’t even care if I win. I could talk Coach into giving me that week off of training—pull the family card—and the team would be none the wiser.

I’m just about to download the registration papers when I remember one specific word.

Team.

It’s a contest for partners.

If I don’t have a partner, I can enter a lottery and chance being paired with another solo contestant, but that’s risky. Doable, but not ideal. I don’t want to share a kitchen with a stranger for a whole week of what’s sure to be stressful days.

No. A random partner wouldn’t work.

And unfortunately—or maybe fortunately—for me, only one name comes to mind.

Shit.

* * *