A flush curled into her face at the angst with which he said it. Clearly, their relationship meant something to his parents, so much so that he was possibly willing to give up fifty grand to lie about it being over.
“Okay, then we’ll tell them you got fired.”
He shook his head. “That’s not easy either.”
She bit her lip, not wanting to voice the next option because of the loss to herself but also for the position the whole situation was putting him in. “Take the hit, then?”
Chuck shook his head once more. “I’m not losing you that much money.”
Olivia let out a discreet breath of relief and then flopped her hands at her sides. “Well, we have to pick one of them.”
“Charlie!” his mom lovingly sang from the other room, and they both tensed again.
A few strained beats of silence passed between them.
“Chuck, we have to pick one,” Olivia repeated.
His eyes traced zigzags on the floor like he was trying to find a map back to safer territory. He shook his head once. “We will. Just…follow my lead for now.” He started off toward the kitchen.
“What?” Olivia said, and hurried after him. “What are we going to do?”
“Improvise.”
“Chuck! I can’t improvise! You know I’m not a good actor!”
“Well, I’m a good director, so keep up.”
She grumbled and silently stomped after him. She tried for a welcoming smile when they rounded the corner, but it landed somewhere closer to a nervous grimace.
Barb was already at home in the kitchen, fluttering around and placing groceries in the fridge. She’d pulled pots and pans from cabinets and had Sam set up on a stool with a glass of sparkling water. She was a little homemaking tornado. “Charlie, sweetheart, bring those groceries over here, would you?” she sweetly asked.
“Sure, Mom. But you don’t have to cook for us.”
“Oh, nonsense. I love cooking for my family.” She flapped her hands and dumped a handful of whole peaches into a colander. “Where can I find a paring knife?”
Sharing a love for the kitchen and unable to resist Chuck’smom’s infectious spirit, Olivia found the knife for her and grabbed a bowl. “At least let us help,” she said, and pulled the peaches over to begin slicing.
Barb sweetly smiled at her. “If you insist. But let Charlie do that; it’s easy. You help me with the chicken.”
Chuck scoffed. “Relegated to the simple tasks, I see,” he said sourly, but smiled.
“Pull up a stool, son,” Sam said, and patted the one next to him. They fell into conversation while Olivia and Barb unpacked the rest of the groceries.
“For dinner, we’re doing roasted chicken with fingerling potatoes and vegetables and a kale salad—I know you love your kale out here in California.” She leaned in and warmly bumped her elbow against Olivia’s with a wink. “I want to get dessert in the oven first so that it’s an edible temperature by the time we finish dinner.” She pulled a tub of vanilla ice cream out of a bag and put it in the freezer. “Charlie, I do hope you’ll indulge in a little treat; I know you keep so strict to your diet.”
Chuck paused his conversation with his dad to sweetly gaze up at her. “I’ll eat anything you make, Mom.”
Olivia’s heart swelled at the love in his voice. She suddenly hated the producers for putting them in the situation they had. With Barb and Sam looking at Chuck like their absolute pride and joy and one of their favorite people in the whole world, she ached for that connection she’d never felt and thought that fifty thousand dollars was well worth not doing anything to hurt them.
“Good,” Barb said with a smile. “Don’t slice them too thick.” She nodded at Chuck’s hands slicked with peach juice where he was peeling and slicing yellow wedges into a bowl.
Olivia met his eyes before he went back to talking to hisdad, and he gave no indication of which truth they were going to tell, so she kept helping his mom.
“Olivia, how is your grandmother?” Barb asked, and cracked an egg into a bowl. Olivia noticed that as she talked and moved around the kitchen, she was just as skilled as Chuck at ignoring the cameras. Sam’s eyes kept drifting toward the lenses, and Chuck would gently nudge him to refocus.
“She’s doing well,” Olivia told Barb. “Her birthday was last week, and we had a little party.”
“Oh, how nice. Excuse me. I need to grab some sugar.” She rinsed her hands at the sink and glided off toward the pantry. She was halfway there when a horrifying realization struck Olivia like she’d stuck a fork in a light socket.