God, he made me laugh. “Have you seriously never cooked spaghetti? It needs to soften.”
He shrugged at the pot before pulling me in and kissing my cheek, smelling all minty too. He must have used my mouthwash. “I have never cooked spaghetti.”
“Jesus. How did you survive college?”
“I lived at home.”
“Did your parents never teach you?”
“They tried. When I burned some expensive pot, my mom made me promise I wouldn’t try again.”
“You weren’t allowed to cook after you burned a pot?”
“Well, that and some of the kitchen.”
I think my mouth fell open. I was speechless.
He shrugged. “It wasn’t a big deal. Mom wanted to remodel anyway.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, in that case, when you cook for me, it might be best if you wait for me to get there.”
He rolled his eyes. “Want me to set the table? I think I can manage that.”
I kissed him. “Thank you.”
While we ate dinner, he asked about my new client, and I told him everything. I didn’t want him to think I was doing anything behind his back, and if this whole actual-boyfriend-thing was going to work when my job was to have fake-boyfriends, I needed Andrew to know every detail.
“But you couldn’t find this guy?”
I shook my head. “Not really. He’s moved address and changed jobs. He has no Facebook, not that I could find. Even Lance the Tosser said his profile is gone. Sounds like his parents made him cut all ties.”
Andrew frowned, probably knowing this case sounded a little too close to home for me. “Do you think he’s okay?”
“I have no clue. Lola has a job in town tomorrow so she’s going to drop me off at the college. I’ll look around, see what I can find out. If it comes up empty, I’ll contact Lance and tell him it’s a no-deal.”
“Then what will you do?”
“Move onto the next job.”
“Just like that?”
“Sure. I had a message on my phone today from a prospective client. I’m never out of work for long. I called him back and got his voice mail.”
He made a face that was hard to read. “I had lunch with my mother today.”
Oh. Random subject change, but okay. “How’d that go?”
“Oh good,” he said, a fond look upon his face. “She wanted to know all about you. She’d seen the photos of course, and Sarah told her I had a new boyfriend.”
Well, this could go any direction. “And what did you tell her?”
“That you’re Australian, and that you’re incredibly good-looking,” he said. “That if there was a magazine called Aussies Living Sexy in LA, you’d be on the cover.”
I snorted. “Really?”
“Yep. She argued that Hugh Jackman or Chris Hemsworth would be on the cover, and I just laughed at her. I said, ‘Wait till you see him,’ and then of course she asked when she would… see you, that is.”
“Oh.”
He chuckled quietly. “Don’t worry. I told her ‘When we’re ready for that.’ No pressure.”
I was relieved, I couldn’t deny it. Meeting parents—meeting anyone’s parents—and hoping for their approval was not something I did well. I wiped my hands on my thighs and swallowed hard. “I just struggle with parents and acceptance, that’s all. It’s nothing against your folks, and it’s not indicative of what I think of us in any way.”
Andrew reached over and put his hand on my arm. “I know that. It’s fine. She was completely understanding. I told her I was trying to take things slower with you and that meeting the parents wasn’t conducive to taking things slow.”
“And was she okay with that?”
“Yes, more than okay. She said it was a good thing I was trying to put the brakes on a little.”
“Oh.”
Andrew laughed. “It wasn’t about you,” he said. “It was more about me not diving in head first like I normally do.” He collected our empty plates and took them into the kitchen. He put them in the sink and turned to face me. “She asked what you did for a living.”
Oh.
“I told her exactly what you do. I said you’re like a relationship fixer,” he said. “I told her exactly how we met, that it was originally a ploy to get Eli back.”
I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “And what did she say to that?”
Andrew shrugged. “Not much. She never really liked Eli.”
I snorted. “Did anyone?”
He pulled a face at me. “Anyway,” he continued, “my point about telling my mother what it is you do, is that I don’t have a problem with what you do for a job. I’m not hiding any part of you to anyone. I told Michelle, my friend at work, what you did for a job, and she thought it was cute. But I’ve always been a firm believer that what we do for work doesn’t define us. I draw cartoons for a living, but it’s not who I am. You’re no different.”
I swallowed thickly. He understood me so damn well, and my honesty was the least I could offer him. “Can I tell you something?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t need to be a relationship-fixer.”