Page 64 of The Loophole
I circled around the pillow nest and went over to the fireplace, so I could get a better look at the photos. There were two of Bryson as a little kid with his dad, who looked just like him, and a shot of Bryson at maybe the age of ten with his dad and grandfather, in front of a Christmas tree. The other four were of him and me.
He’d framed the picture of our epic lift in front of the Las Vegas sign, along with a photo one of the rugby guys had taken during our wedding ceremony. There was also a cute selfie of the two of us with Dusty. Finally, there was a group shot of Bryson and me with the entire Pink Victorian crew, which we’d taken last Sunday when they’d invited us to dinner.
“I thought you should have a family photo on the mantel, too,” he said softly, when he came up behind me. “That’s why I framed the one with all your friends.”
“Thanks for doing that. I love this photo.” Bryson had held his phone at arm’s length, and everyone had piled into the frame. Even the dog, cat, and Vee’s parakeet had been included.
“I know. I love it, too.” He put the tray he was carrying on the coffee table and said, “Be right back,” before returning to the kitchen.
After convincing Dusty to move over—because of course, he’d curled up in the center of the pillow nest—I took a seat and glanced up at the mantel. Bryson’s grandfather was coming to dinner tomorrow night, which would be the first time in four years that he’d set foot in the house. That was obviously why Bryson had put up the photos.
It felt weird to still be selling the fake marriage, since we were actually involved now. I liked the genuine photos, the ones that showed our real life. The two from Las Vegas felt fake.
We couldn’t take our foot off the gas, though. As much as I wanted to be done with that lie, and as guilty as we both felt for deceiving his grandfather, we still had eleven months of this ahead of us.
Bryson needed that money. It was the only way he could hold on to the house he loved, and the only chance he had of getting to try again with a new restaurant.
I had to keep reminding myself of those things. They were my motivation to keep going, far more than my own dream of a cake business. Bryson had already given me the tools I needed to succeed at that—but aside from working with the designer on my website, I didn’t have a clue where to begin. How was I going to find people who wanted to buy my cakes? And why did I think I could run a business? I was worried about losing all the money I’d be getting from Bryson’s inheritance, if this was what I spent it on.
Bryson pulled me out of my thoughts when he came into the room. He was carrying a pitcher and two glasses, and he placed them on the coffee table before sitting down beside me. We both leaned against the couch, and when he put his arm around me, I curled into him.
I loved hearing the excitement in his voice when he told me, “I feel like I really dialed in tonight’s menu, and think you’ll enjoy it.”
No wonder he’d become a chef. He was a caretaker through and through, and making food for people fit perfectly with that. That was probably also why he seemed to get a lot out of very literally feeding me.
Letting someone do that for me—and admitting I needed and wanted it—made me feel vulnerable, but it was totally worth it.I’d never felt more cared for in my entire life. It was intimate and soothing, and it made me feel safe. I had no idea why. It just did.
Bryson picked up one of the beautiful morsels he’d prepared and held it to my lips. It was a small, golden-brown sphere, and I had no idea what I was biting into. It turned out to be warm and savory with melted cheese in the middle, and after I tried it he told me, “This is called arancini—risotto balls stuffed with mozzarella cheese, then breaded and fried.”
I meant it when I said, “It’s amazing.”
We went through the entire meal this way, with him feeding me one perfect little thing after another. He’d made enough for both of us, and while he occasionally popped something into his mouth, his focus was on me. The risotto appetizers were followed by caprese salad bites, made with hothouse cherry tomatoes, sliced in half and sandwiching fresh basil and little balls of marinated fresh mozzarella. The main course was mini calzones with homemade marinara and ricotta, and for dessert there were teensy cherry cheesecakes that looked like they’d been baked for a Barbie party. I ate four of them before I had to admit I was full.
“Thank you, Bry. That was absolutely delicious,” I said, as I climbed onto his lap.
Bryson kissed my forehead and wrapped his arms around me. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“You’re so kind and patient. I don’t know why you indulge me like this.”
“Because I enjoy it, and you do, too.”
“I don’t know how you managed to make all of that so perfect, especially the tiny cheesecakes.”
“Through trial and error. My first two batches were dry and crumbly.”
“I’m sorry I’m such a distraction.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were going to spend the day working on winter squash recipes for your restaurant,” I reminded him, “but this ended up taking a lot of your time.”
“That was totally by choice. I’m having a form of writer’s block, I guess, when it comes to the restaurant’s menu. I just don’t feel inspired. As far as this dinner goes, you never asked for a bunch of miniature foods. I could have made a regular meal and cut it up. But I did it this way because it was fun and challenging for me, and because I wanted to make you happy by presenting you with cute things you weren’t expecting.”
All of that made sense, but I felt guilty anyway. That was just how I was wired.
We relaxed for a few minutes, and then we cleaned up the kitchen together before turning our attention to the storage boxes. I said, “I know you hadn’t been in the attic since the house was remodeled and a bunch of stuff got packed away, so how was it?”
“Bittersweet.” He pulled a stack of photo albums from one of the boxes and sat back on his heels. “It made me miss my dad, which I knew it would. I teared up more than once, but I also found myself smiling as I went through a few boxes and made some discoveries.”