“Like I said, Taylor and her mom, Priscilla, know I’m C.S. Hilton. Besides, we’re only going for dinner.” He didn’t look at either of his cousins when he answered.
Gray narrowed his eyes and looked at him. “She lives with her mother. Exactly how old is she?”
“Don’t go there. She’s a DEA agent in Boston. She lives next door with her mother and niece. I don’t know the specifics, but Reese’s mom isn’t around. Taylor and Priscilla are bringing her up.”
Trent laughed. “You’re going to take a federal agent out for dinner and not tell her who you are? You realize she might figure it out, right? Investigating is part of her job.”
“He’s right,” Gray agreed with a shake of his head. “Can’t believe I just said that.”
“She believes I’m Curt Hilton, an author from Boston who likes to renovate old houses. Why would she investigate anything?”
“And what happens if you decide you want more than one dinner out, dude?” Gray asked, bringing up something Curt had already considered.
Trent gave up trying to keep Kendrick from sampling his roasted chicken, and raised his fork containing the tiniest amount toward the baby’s mouth. “You’re asking for trouble. Take my word for it, women don’t like secrets.”
“Damn it. I have to agree with Trent again.” Gray sounded disgusted. “And secrets have a way of coming out. Much better to be up-front with her now. Either that or avoid your neighbors altogether, if you really want them to believe you’re Curt Hilton.”
Taylor intrigued him too much to stay away. And he saw no reason she’d suspect he was anything more than he told her. “Trust me, it’s no big deal. Everything’ll be fine.”
Both Gray and Trent laughed knowingly. “Famous last words if I ever heard ’em,” Trent said with a smirk.
Gray smiled and shared his comment, too. “Yep. Make sure you let us know when it blows up in your face.”
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