The Fake Boyfriend Experiment(41)

Which we weren’t. I knew that, but there was no way for me to lie to myself as I walked past him and onto the front steps. I wished we were. I wished Rafe was there as my boyfriend, and he was taking me out for a real date. I really did.

It was going to be a long night.





CHAPTER TWELVE


Twenty minutes later, Rafe knocked on the side door of a bar in downtown Boston. A bar! We were actually going to a bar! And my parents had agreed! I shifted restlessly beside him, inspecting the street for a policeman looking to bust us. “Aren’t we going to get in trouble? It’s not like we’re twenty-one.”

Rafe winked at me. “It’s not that kind of bar.”

Yeah, whatever, I was way too stressed to go all ooey-gooey over his wink. Well, okay, I was a little ooey-gooey. Argh! I had to stop letting him get to me! This was about piano tonight, not dating!

The door was opened by a gorgeous woman who looked about the same age as my mom. She was in a black silk dress and high heels and exuded class and sophistication. She smiled at us, her eyes bright but a little wary. “It’s so good to see you, Rafe.” She reached out and hugged him, but I saw Rafe tense just before she grabbed him.

Who was she?

She released him and looked at me. “And who’s your friend?”

Rafe put his arm around me. “This is Lily Gardner. She’s a pianist. Lily, this is my mom, Rose Turner.”

His mom? As in, the one who’d ditched him? No way.

Rose’s face lit up and she beamed at me with genuine warmth. “You play the piano? How lovely! Maybe you’ll play for us tonight?”

I froze. “Um, sorry, but I’m retired.”

Rose smiled in understanding and touched my cheek, in the same way Rafe had done before. “Of course.” She stepped back. “Come on back. The doors won’t officially open for another twenty minutes, so feel free to wander around.” She trailed her fingers through Rafe’s hair, giving him a sad look, then she turned and strode off into the back of the club.

“Sitting up front’s best.” Rafe cleared his throat and started walking through the club. There were tables everywhere, with little white candles in the center of each one. Along the perimeter of the room were black pianos. There were five on each side, with two grand pianos at the front of the room. All the pianos were on risers, so they were a couple feet off the ground. The ceiling was pretty high and sort of curved, with all sorts of beautiful carvings. “What is this place?”

“You’ll see.” Rafe parked himself at a table in the second row, right in the middle. “This is my favorite table.”

I sat next to him and scanned the room. There were people bustling around, shouting and getting things organized. It was a frantic kind of energy, but not a bad one. Sort of excited and fun. One guy tossed a bundle of napkins over our heads, and someone else caught it and sprinted off, hollering at someone else. I grinned. “This place is cool.”

“Yeah.” Rafe leaned back in his chair, surveying the place with the expression of someone whose very being was connected to the room. He looked so at peace, so supremely content to be there, despite the frenetic energy of the place.

What was this place to him?

A woman in a maroon vest and white shirt came over and set a couple waters, two sodas and a plate of veggies and chips in front of us. “Good to see you, Rafe. It’s been a while.”

“Thanks, Jeannie.” He grinned at her, and she smiled back.

As Rafe picked up his drink, I eyed him. “You come here a lot?”

He shrugged. “I used to. My mom and dad own the place, so it’s basically where I grew up.”

I inspected the room more carefully. This was Rafe’s parents’ place? No wonder he’d seemed so at home here. This was his turf. “Where’s your dad?”

“Probably hiding out back. They try to avoid each other, since they can’t be in the same room without screaming at each other.” The bitterness in his voice made me look back at him, but he was glaring at something invisible on the stage. “I stopped coming when this place became a war zone,” he muttered.

“Oh.” I couldn’t imagine my parents fighting like that. Rafe’s shoulders were all tense and his jaw was clenched. Without thinking about it, I touched the back of his hand. “That sucks.”

He glanced at my hand on his, but he didn’t pull away. “Yeah, it does.”

“How long has it been since you were last here?”

He flipped his hand over so his palm was against mine, and curled his fingers through mine, his thumb rubbing on my palm. “Since the day they told me they were getting a divorce. About eight months.”