Ticktock Love

[17] Arizonan Holiday

The original plan was to spend my Saturday sunbathing on a flamingo pool float and watching Roman Holiday on my iPad. I was still in a food coma after last night's snack fiesta, so I cradled my bloated belly in front of the mirror, determined not to move an inch for the next six hours. My idea of a relaxing afternoon blew out fast when Aiden texted me around two p.m., inquiring if I would be up to laying the groundwork for our film project video for Mr. Sanders.

Of course, I said yes. What I didn't expect was that Aiden wanted me to come over right away. I took a leisurely walk of about three minutes to his front door and tentatively knocked, realizing way too late that the doorbell was expertly hidden under an embossed mermaid which rested in an oversized shell. Heavy footsteps shuffled on the inside, and an intimidating man materialized on the doorstep, looking like he had just arrived from the set of a Godfather remake.

In fact, he was the spitting image of Vito Corleone, if only a decade or two younger. I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing myself to raise my chin and meet his penetrative gaze. For a second I hoped that there was a total sweetheart hiding under that stern, rough exterior. No such luck. I kicked myself mentally for not coming up with something better to say than a meek hi to the man, especially since his own mustache looked like it was afraid of him.

"Did he knock you up?" the mafia boss grumbled as he sized me up, and my eyes instantly widened.

"What?"

"I'll take it from here, Dad," Aiden showed up and subtly pushed him out of the doorframe. He beamed at me with a panicked smile which screamed 'I am so sorry, I swear I'm not related to him' more than words ever could.

"Don't forget you're making dinner tonight," his father gruffly reminded him before disappearing down the corridor. Aiden sighed as he let me step in, and I was immediately welcomed by a flashy, Instagram-aesthetics hallway, a huge 'Home is where the heart is' sign spreading over most of the north wall.

"Ridiculous, right?" he scorned the decoration when he noticed what I was staring at. "Mom got it as a present from one of her fans."

"Is she away on a book tour or something?" I asked, tempted to wipe away a speck of dust resting on the shoe cabinet.

Aiden blinked in confusion. "No. She's just writing."

One of the worst sins I could have committed – assuming that a guy cooking dinner meant the household was in dire need of a woman and insinuating the house was falling apart without her. Living in an all-female home had made me such an asshole, even though my own mother frequently hired the cleaning services to take care of the problem.

"Oh. I just meant—"

"Because she's not here to greet you?" I silently blessed his mind. "She's in her zone right now. She'll probably pop up later to say hi."

"Sure." Nothing excited me more than meeting the parents, especially if one of them had first thought I was pregnant.

"Okay, want to go up?" he asked me as he pointed to the spiral wooden staircase. I nodded, so we slowly climbed the stairs until the top, every step slow and slightly creaky. We reached his bedroom after two tiring flights, and like a talented actress worthy of the Golden Globe, I pretended I was a fit individual who was definitely not out of breath.

"Wow," I masked my heavy exhale as amazement when we entered his haven.

The room had floor-to-ceiling windows, and the filtered sunlight seeping through the semi-transparent screens painted the floor bronze. In spite of the outside temperatures being in the low hundreds, the air was pleasantly cool and crisp, the soft-humming AC blowing in fresh oxygen. In fact, everything here was in its rightful place – Aiden's bed was made, his socks missing, his desk clean and organized. But what astonished me most were all the pocket-dictionary-sized movie posters, dated from the early nineties to the recent years, duct-taped on the walls in sensible, tasteful patterns instead of some tacky wallpaper.