The Rom Con(34)

I hold a hand up in a “settle down” gesture despite knowing she can’t see me. “Okay, so this is where the weird part comes in. I’m not exactly seeing him, per se.” I take the next few minutes to fill her in on everything: my deal with Gran, the story, Betty, and finally, on Jack.

She whistles when I’m finished. “So you’re telling me you want to go out on a double date with me and Greg where you’ll attempt to trick this guy into saying or doing something incriminating?”

“It sounds bad when you say it like that.” I belatedly look around to see if anyone can overhear me. “But that’s the gist of it, yeah. And before you say it, yes, I know how ridiculous this sounds, and of course, you’re allowed to say no—”

“Say no?” she interrupts, then lets out a crazed hyena-cackle. “You must be joking. Cass, do you know how boring my life is? Last night I took the girls out for ice cream on a school night and it was the most excitement I’ve had in weeks! You’re offering me the chance to go undercover for a story and participate in a sting operation. It’s like something out of a movie!”

A loud laugh bursts out of me and an old man shuffling past on the sidewalk jolts in fright. I mouth “Sorry” at him. “But do you think Greg will be up for it? I hate to turn him into an accomplice . . .”

“Pshh, we’re not telling Greg! That guy can’t keep a secret to save his life. Trust me, it’ll be much easier if we leave him in the dark.”

“Are you sure?” I ask doubtfully. “Because I’m going to be saying some wacky stuff that’s very out of character. Pretty sure he’ll know something’s up.”

“Nah, he won’t even notice,” she says dismissively. “Now, I think I need an alter ego, too. Who’s my character going to be?”

I groan-laugh. “Stop it, no! I need you to be the normal one here. I need you to back me up whenever I say something outlandish, help refocus the conversation if it goes off the rails, that kind of thing.” Provide a human buffer so I don’t have to be alone with Jack, I add silently.

“So you get to have all the fun, then?” she pouts. “Doesn’t seem very fair to me.”

“Can’t you ever let me be in charge of anything?” The perpetual lament of a younger sibling.

“I can’t help it. Your life is so much more exciting than mine and I’m jealous.”

I’m about to correct her when I hear a crashing noise in the background, followed by a wail so loud I have to jerk the phone away from my ear.

Christine swears under her breath. “Ella, what are you doing? You can’t swing the wrapping paper roll around like that! You just hurt your sister!”

“She should’ve got out of the way, then!” Ella’s little voice hollers back, and I snort.

“Cass, I gotta call you back,” Christine says, sounding stressed. “But I’m totally on board and can’t wait for Friday.” Click.

I chuckle and shake my head, grateful that she didn’t feel the need to chastise me for what’s clearly an ethical breach—though I suppose her unwavering loyalty is one of the reasons I called her. Christine’s always had my back, from the cradle to the . . . hoodwinking of unsuspecting suitors, I guess. She’s who I’d want by my side in a knife fight. She’d be my first call if I needed to hide a body.

One down, one to go.

Since it’s nice out and I’m not in a hurry, I decide to call Gran right there from the park bench.

She answers on the fourth ring, sounding out of breath. “Is this my favorite granddaughter?”

I’m already laughing. “I’d be flattered if I didn’t know for a fact that you call all of us your favorite.”

“You can have more than one favorite,” she says defensively.

“By definition, I don’t think you can. But what do I know, I’m only a writer,” I tease. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Oh no, I was just finishing up my tai chi. And I did it for about five minutes, so I think that’s about enough working out for the day.”

I smile to myself. “Well, I’m calling for a couple of reasons. I wanted to give you an update on your birthday assignment-slash-blackmail, and also, I need your help.”

“I’m listening,” she says, and I hear her sliding glass patio door open and close.

“So I really hate to admit it,” I tell her, “but you were right. I tested out a few of those tips, and they actually worked. This is my mea culpa.”

“I knew it!” she crows. “Let this be your lesson that your grandmother is never wrong.”

I fill her in on Jack, our mishap-turned-meet-cute at the bar, and our subsequent tennis date, though I leave out the details of my con job. I know she’d never approve, and I’d rather ask forgiveness than permission.

“So here’s the thing: We’re going out on a second date, and I need more ideas. Teach me your ways,” I plead humbly, knowing that flattery will get me everywhere.

“Like intentionally forgetting your sweater at home so you can ask for his jacket?” she offers, a smile in her voice. “Or asking him if he likes your perfume so he’ll lean in close?”

Jackpot. “Yes, exactly like that,” I tell her, pulling up my Notes app. “What else have you got for me?”