Deeply Personal

Chapter 12

“Fake it till you make it happen.” —Patty Preston, YouTube Influencer, The Allegiance, 20.5 million views

Jessica

“Are they inside?” Jessica asked. She was breathless and excited and nervous as a longtail cat in a room full of rocking chairs. The air was nippy, biting, and Christmas cold. The darkening sky was cloudless and a flock of birds flapped their wings above her. Birds. They were everywhere.

Paul was standing in front of Annie’s House, a popular restaurant in the Gulch, which featured healthy options, mainly vegetarian, and organically raised meats as well. The Gulch was a retail shopping district close to downtown Nashville. Dressed in a puffer jacket, a white shirt and slacks and looking handsome as could be, he greeted her with a broad smile. He looked so good. Dammit ! Too good. Like a decadent ice sundae.

“They’re waiting. Are you psyched?” he asked with a grin.

“More than psyched. Are they inside?”

She’d worn what she thought would make the best first impression: a blue-and-gold-patterned slit-hem dress with a gold necklace and Vince Camuto mid-heel booties.

He nodded. “They picked me up at my condo, and I drove in with them. I came out here to wait for you. Come on.” He looked down and shoved his hands in his pockets, his gaze lingering on her. “You look great, by the way.”

“Thanks.” She smoothed back her hair and felt caressed by his words. “You look pretty good yourself.”

She really was glad to see him. Meeting Paul was like discovering a new fabric, a rare pattern that stood out and was different but still went well with everything else.

“I say we just go with the flow,” Paul said. “But we need to get our stories straight. Remember?”

Two days ago, they’d had a phone call about what they would say.

“The way I see it, we’ve been together for about three months, right?” Paul had said.

“Yes. And we met when I came over to look at your condo for the upgrade.”

“What about, say, we met at a nightclub, though?” Paul scratched his head. “And you were sitting at the bar by yourself and—”

“No. Your condo, Paul,” Jessica said stiffly, cutting him off. “You were impressed by my suggestions, okay? You thought I was a great interior designer.”

“Fine. But honestly, we did meet first at the Turkey Trot, and then at the Frothy Monkey, but if we say that, it couldn’t have been three months ago, and—”

“Your condo, Paul. Let’s just stick with that. It makes the most sense.” Jessica took a long breath. “Are you sure you can pull this off?”

“Who me? Of course. I’ll put on the greatest fake dating act ever.”

But now that the day had arrived, she had her doubts. Even though he was the one who’d initiated this whole plan, the guy seemed far too honest to go on a fake date—a good thing normally, but not under these circumstances.

“Remember. Your condo, right?” Jessica asked.

Paul nodded, but his eyes suddenly took on a glassy stare that bothered her, as if he had just been presented with a complicated math problem that needed to be solved in thirty seconds. “Uh . . . right.”

‘“And what’s my favorite band?” she asked.

They’d gone over the basics in order to keep their stories straight. Favorite band. Favorite movie. You never knew what would come up in conversation.

“Uh . . . Radiohead?”

“No! It’s Coldplay.” Jessica let out an exasperated breath. “We have to get all the details right if we want to get away with this,” she said. “And don’t forget. My pet name is ‘sweetie’ and yours is ‘babe.’”

“Right.” Paul clenched his teeth together with a new sense of resolve written on his face. “Of course, babe, I mean, sweetie,” he said.

Jessica shot him a wary look as he opened the door for her, and in they went. She was growing more unsure by the second.

As they entered, conversation rambled around them. The homey smell of delicious food filled the air. Photographs of green pasture land and grazing cows and hay hung on walls, which gave off a rustic, barnwood feel. Jessica knew this wall product well. It was durable, long-lasting, and required a nail-up application. The flooring was tobacco road acacia solid hardwood, typically four inches wide. The look was designed to be down-home and to tug at a person’s country side. She would have chosen a different pattern for the . . . God, she had to stop thinking about the damn decor.

Paul led her to the table where Mr. and Mrs. Buchanan were sitting, perusing menus. They were affluent-looking seniors, well-dressed, the kind of people who were obviously used to the good life—AARP medallion members, if there was such a thing.

“Tom, Alice, I’d like you to meet Jessica Chandler,” Paul said, his voice shaking slightly. He placed a hand on Jessica’s back as he spoke, and she felt his touch down to her bones. Did he have to do that? The entire situation made her knees feel like they were about to buckle.

Mr. Buchanan stood and shook her hand with a firm grip. “Nice to meet you.” His gruff voice was laced with confidence. Tall and good-looking in a silver fox kind of way, he was dressed in a light-blue Ralph Lauren sweater and dark slacks, his clear blue eyes filled with a vivacious light, his thin lips upturned in a welcoming smile.

Mrs. Buchanan, wearing a green sweater dress that complemented her hazel eyes, shook Jessica’s hand as well. She had a peaches-and-cream complexion that Jessica envied. Even at her age, the woman hardly required any makeup. “Hello, Jessica,” she said, her voice lilting and soft. “It’s so nice to meet you. Paul has said so many great things about you.”

“Yes. We’re so excited to meet Paul’s new girlfriend,” Mr. Buchanan jumped in.

A feathery thrill ran through Jessica. Girlfriend. She cast a furtive glance Paul’s way. “I’m really excited to meet you too.”

Her cheeks warmed as Paul put his arm around her, and she leaned in next to him. The scent of his woody cologne wreaked havoc on her self-restraint. Emotional seatbelt on? Well . . . maybe. She took a breath to gain control of herself. Best Fake Girlfriend of the Year. She was determined to win the award.

“Paul’s the best,” she said sweetly. She placed her napkin in her lap as she tried to project the image of being happy, calm, confident, thrilled—and of course a successful business professional—all at once, while inside, her nerves were prickling. “We’ve been together, what, how long now, babe?” she asked, turning to Paul.

Sweat dotted his brow, and his eyes looked as if he’d seen a cyclone heading his way.

“Oh, at least three months, I believe, uh, sweetie, babe . . . uh, sweetie. Actually, three months, ten days, and—” Paul looked at his watch, then at Jessica—“thirteen hours?”

Such a sweet lie.

“You sure it’s not fourteen hours, babe?” she asked. She exaggerated the word— baaaabe —then flashed a smile around the table that was so wide and so broad and bright that surely she was damaging a few facial muscles in the process. The Buchanans chuckled as well.

Happiest girlfriend on the planet, yessir. That was Jessica Chandler, no doubt about it.

Sure.

“Why, that’s fantastic,” Mr. Buchanan said. The thrill in his voice was contagious. “So, tell us: how did you two meet? We’re dying to know.”

“Oh, it was simple, really. Fairly ordinary. Basically, we, uh, met when I was doing an upgrade for Paul at his—” Jessica said.

“We met at a nightclub,” Paul chimed in over her.

What?

He had spoken right on top of her words, causing a stranglehold of confusion, a goddamn verbal collision.

Now Mr. and Mrs. Buchanan looked back and forth at each other, their faces confused as Jessica shifted in her seat.

She explained. “Actually, we met at a coffee shop.” She paused, trying to control her nerves. “And later on, we, uh, sort of double met at a nightclub.”

“Yeah.” Paul nodded eagerly. “Same day, coffee shop, nightclub. How strange is that?” Paul was over-grinning. Jessica grabbed his hand and held it, giving him a loving look, trying to settle him down.

Mrs. Buchanan stared at her, then back at Paul, with a wary look. “So you two double met, then, is that right?”

“Yes. Exactly,” Paul said. “It was the old double-meet sort of thing. You know, kind of like Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga in A Star Is Born?”

“Did they double meet?” Mr. Buchanan scratched an ear. “And who the hell is Lady Gaga? I thought A Star Is Born was with Streisand and, what’s his name? Oh, yeah. Kristofferson.”

Mrs. Buchanan leaned forward. “My husband does not keep up. Sorry.”

“No, the characters don’t double meet in the movie,” Paul went on. “But it would have been a great idea, don’t you think? Two strangers, they meet at a bar and then they meet at another bar, and so on.” His laughter was so sudden and shrill and shrieky that they all turned their heads to stare at him. “I wonder why the writers didn’t think of that?”

Jessica clenched her teeth and nudged him under the table.

“Well, sure, sure. Of course. I guess.” Mr. Buchanan cleared his throat. “Anyway, coincidence is as coincidence does.” He laughed.

“Exactly,” Jessica said, as if Mr. Buchanan had just given the correct answer on a game show. She pointed at him, forcing another convivial chuckle, her insides feeling like a racetrack with a five-car pileup, fire engines on their way to control the flames.

“When I saw her for the first time, I couldn’t take my eyes off her.” Paul peered at Jessica, his face growing soft and warm. “She was just so beautiful, so interesting. I said to myself, ‘Now that’s a woman I want to get to know better.’ And fortunately, I did. She took my breath away.”

Jessica blushed. He sounded so honest when he said it that she couldn’t help but wonder if it was true. Don’t get sucked in, Jessica!

“We’re so glad Paul’s with someone again,” Mr. Buchanan said, a sincere smile blossoming on his face. “After that last relationship of his.” He cleared his throat. “And well, the one before that, to be honest. And, anyway . . .” He paused, casting a sudden regretful look at Paul.

Jessica glanced at Paul. How many past relationships had this guy run through?

Mr. Buchanan seemed to realize that he’d said too much. “But you know what they say.”

“No. What do they say?” Jessica asked, leaning forward.

“If you fall off the horse, the best thing to do is to get straight back up. Dust yourself off, and climb right back on. After checking for a broken hip, that is.”

“True, so true,” Jessica said. She force-laughed, her stomach was in knots. And she was supposed to eat too? Would it even be possible to get down food?

“We’re just so glad we found each other,” Paul said, giving Jessica’s hand a comforting squeeze. “Aren’t we, babe?”

A spark lit up her heart at his touch. God. She hated to admit it, but it felt amazing. It had been a long time since someone had touched her at all. She took a deep breath, trying to control her nerves. She looked around at everyone with another fake smile for a fake date.

She studied the menu, trying to regain her composure. “So. How’s the food here anyway?” she asked, smiling brightly.

“Food’s out of this world. They’ve got this amazing mushroom Wellington,” Mrs. Buchanan said. “That’s what I’m going to get. Paul?”

“I’m having the same thing,” he said. “It sounds delish.” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

When she flipped to the back side of the menu, there was a picture on the back of an organic chicken farm. “We treat our 100 percent organic free-range chickens like part of the family,” said a caption beneath a photo of a farmer holding a chicken. The chubby man was beaming at the camera, and Jessica could swear the chicken was beaming too, as if it was loving the attention. That chicken was surely a ham.

She chose the sticky tofu bowl. After they ordered, Mr. Buchanan peppered her with questions right off, and Jessica’s mouth grew dry as her senses heightened. This was exactly what she’d been hoping for. This part, she didn’t have to lie about.

“How long have you been in business?” Mr. Buchanan asked, sipping his mountain spring water, which they’d all ordered.

“Ten years. It’s really been great.” She leaned forward, drawn in by her love of talking about her job. “I’m growing all the time, too. New staff and projects are coming in left and right.”

Well, uh, hopefully, at least?

“Best interior designer in Nashville,” Paul said, nodding his head toward her.

“It’s great that Paul believes in me so much. I don’t know about being the best or anything, but I do love it,” Jessica said, feeling herself blush as she acknowledged Paul, then turned back to Mr. Buchanan. “It’s architecture and art and serving people to give them the most comfortable living space possible. I wake up every day and can’t wait to get to work.”

The waitress set a plate of warm bread in front of them, and Paul passed it around.

“I went over your proposal with my staff just this morning, knowing we were meeting,” Mr. Buchanan said.

“Really?” Jessica nearly leaped out of the chair and almost knocked her water glass off the table. Those were the exact words she’d been dying to hear.

“Yes.” Mr. Buchanan chewed on his bread. “And as a matter of fact, something may be coming up in a few weeks that might just be right up your alley.”

Jessica’s heart rose inside her chest. Blood rushed through her ears. There was a possibility? “Oh, Mr. Buchanan, that would be so great. I would love to hear more about it!”

“I studied your work personally, Jessica, after talking to Paul,” he cleared his throat, “and to be honest, I must say, I was very impressed. Now, look. We’re still in the final consideration phase, so don’t lose hope. We’re still relooking at a few of the top proposals. And I really think you have some strong ideas, especially concerning the lobbies.”

“I appreciate that, Mr. Buchanan. I really do.”

“He’s very impressed,” Mrs. Buchanan said, with a winsome smile and a nod.

Jessica didn’t know what else to say. She was shell-shocked. Her breaths came quickly.

“By the way, I love your earrings,” Mrs. Buchanan told her.

Jessica let out a long exhale as her hand went to her right earlobe, a blue Topaz drop. “They were a gift from my father, actually.”

“Very nice. And so is your boyfriend.”

“Yes, well,” Jessica said. “He is, isn’t he?” She giggled as part of the act and put an arm around Paul’s broad shoulder for just a second before pulling it away. “How long have you been training with Paul, Mr. Buchanan?”

“Oh, two years, at least. Wait until you see this.” Mr. Buchanan pulled out his phone and scrolled until he found what he was looking for. He passed it to Jessica, who stared at the picture on the screen. Mr. Buchanan was indeed significantly overweight, standing next to a Cadillac, his hair tousled by the wind.

“That was me before Paul.” His cheeks colored as he spoke. “Back then, pulling the ottoman closer to my couch was my most intense form of exercise. Can you believe it? That thing was heavy!” He laughed sorrowfully. “I wasn’t disciplined enough. That was the problem. You try to do it on your own, and you tell yourself you can, but in all honesty, you can’t. You really can’t. You need someone on your team, someone like Paul to work you through exercising and eating right.”

Someone on her team. That thought struck home. Not someone who wanted to fly solo.

“I was a cheeseburger, Cokes, fries, and shake kind of guy, I hate to say, and my blood pressure was through the roof. I was taking all kinds of medications. The doctors said if I didn’t turn things around, I’d need bypass surgery. And even more meds. I’d get out of breath walking up a flight of stairs. But now—” Mr. Buchanan grinned— “with Paul training me, believe it or not, I’ve lost close to a hundred pounds, and my doctor’s given me a clean bill of health! Blood pressure’s normal, cholesterol’s down. I feel great.”

“Hear, hear.” Paul raised his glass.

The transformation was incredible.

“I owe my life to this guy.” Mr. Buchanan choked up with emotion, and for a minute, he couldn’t speak. His eyes grew misty and Mrs. Buchanan put her arm around her husband as she rested her forehead against his temple.

“I got on that same bandwagon with my husband,” she said. “Lost twenty-five pounds. Never felt better. Changed how we eat and everything. No more salami and fried foods, that’s for sure.”

The touching way the Buchanans spoke plucked strings of affection in Jessica’s heart. She turned to Paul, who was looking down humbly. He really did work miracles. She’d never met anyone like him. A real, caring guy who changed people’s lives.

“It wasn’t me,” he said, his voice gentle. “You’re the ones who did the work.”

“It’s more than that, and you know it,” Mrs. Buchanan said. “Way more. Why, if it hadn’t been for Paul here, I truly think I’d be a widow about now.” She looked back and forth between Paul and Jessica. “Or living with a very unhealthy man.” Tears filled her eyes as well.

Jessica’s heart melted.

“He’s just so dedicated when he works with us,” the older woman continued. “Paul never gives up. And he inspires you to go beyond what you think is possible.”

“He teaches you to dig deep, and that’s the most important thing of all,” Mr. Buchanan said. “You need someone like that. At least most people do, and indeed, I did. Still do.”

Jessica shifted in her seat as she looked away. It was as if he were speaking straight to her heart. You need someone like that.

“Not all heroes wear capes, you know? But hey, he’s got a heart of gold, and that’s what counts the most,” he added.

Jessica couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of the meal, which, it turned out, was delicious. He appetite returned, and the sticky tofu bowl was scrumptious. She was learning that you could make vegetables come to life with a few basic principles, like using tasty sauces. She didn’t have to eat the same old rice and beans and salads every day. The artichoke appetizer had been amazing as well. She really had to start eating like this.

After they’d finished dinner, Paul took Jessica’s hand in his. She glanced down at their fingers, locked together. The color rose on her cheeks. Her fake boyfriend. Why did it feel so close to real, then?

Mr. Buchanan kept looking at her and Paul admiringly, a warm light of approval shining in his eyes. “You know,” he said when the check came, “I own a lake house in Hendersonville that I hardly ever use. It’s got a boat dock and everything. If you two would like to go there sometime for a little getaway, just ask, okay?” Then he smiled. “As long as you invite me to your wedding, that is.”

“We haven’t gotten that far, Tom,” Paul said quickly.

“But we’re working on it,” Jessica blurted out. She clapped a hand over her mouth. Seriously? Where did that come from?

Paul’s eyes widened as he shot her a surprised look. She stared back at him, feeling like she wanted to hide.

Mr. Buchanan beamed. “Nothing like new love, right, Alice?”

Mrs. Buchanan said, “New love’s like smelling fresh-cut flowers. It brightens everyone’s day.”

“Old love ain’t so bad either, guys. You’ll see,” her husband added, smiling widely as he gently took her hand and kissed the back of it.

Jessica sat up straight in her chair. So touching. It hit her heart: They were penguins . A couple dedicated to staying together through good times and bad, here, right before her. The real thing.

Paul paid for Jessica’s meal. She felt bad since it wasn’t a real date, but what could she do? She’d have to Venmo the money to him later.

They all walked out of the restaurant together, Paul lightly touching Jessica’s back to lead her through the maze of tables. God. She had no idea she could act like that. Then she recalled her fake limp at the Turkey Trot. She’d pulled that off as well. She smiled to herself. If interior design didn’t work out, maybe she should try Broadway?