My Mother Recognized My Fake Fiance From an Autumn Night Five Years Ago
“We met at the bookstore on Grand Avenue,” I said, my pen hovering over the pad. “The one with the green awning.”
Christopher set his mug down on the wooden coaster, his thumb brushing his left coat lapel. “I was looking for a book on timber framing. You helped me find it.”
“I work at the historical society, not the bookstore,” I said, twisting the plain silver band on my left thumb. “But we can say I was there on my lunch break, sorting through the local history clearance shelf.”
He nodded once, his eyes dark and steady. “Simple is best. If we add too many names or dates, we will trip over them.”
I wrote down the bookstore name in block letters, then added the month of May. My mother would want to know how long we had been together before the engagement.
“Six months,” I muttered. “That makes the ring plausible, but not so long that she will wonder why she has not heard of you before now.”
Christopher leaned back in the metal chair, his gaze drifting to the window where the morning light hit the glass. “She will still ask about my family.”
