“Mitford,” she corrected me. “That’s my married name.”
“Oh, okay. Vivian Mitford, this is my friend, Preston Englewood. Preston, this is Vivian. Don’t wake up her baby, or she’ll kill you. And let her sleep while I’m getting drinks.”
Apparently, I sounded strict enough, because when I returned with cold-brew coffees for Preston and myself and an iced guava tea for Vivian, he was sitting perfectly still, and she was snoring gently, her head lying against her arm on the table.
“Do we wake her up?” Preston whispered, his eyes darting down to her.
“I don’t know.” Carefully, I set down the drinks. I didn’t think I’d made a sound, but I’d no sooner placed Vivian’s plastic cup on the table than she jumped upright.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, though to be honest, I wasn’t sure why I was apologizing.
“No, no, no.” She reached into one of the backpack’s pockets, producing a soft white cloth, and dabbed it over her chin. “Sorry. Was I drooling? Charlie says since I’ve had the baby, I fall asleep in nanoseconds and go deep so fast, I always snore and drool.”
“Nope, you’re fine.” Hey, I wasn’t going to tell the sleep-deprived new mama that she’d been snoring. “Here’s your tea. Can I get you anything else?”
“I’m good, thanks.” Vivian yawned widely and sipped her drink. “Mmmmm. Perfect. Thank you, Harry. You’re a peach.”
“You’re welcome. I’m just grateful you agreed to meet me here. You know, I would’ve been happy to come to you. I didn’t realize that coming out with a baby was so much hassle.”
“Ha! This isn’t hassle, hon. And trust me, I’m thrilled for the excuse to get out and chat about something other than cracked nipples and diaper rash.”
Preston made a sound in his throat, but I chose to ignore it, just as I was pretending I hadn’t heard what Vivian had just said.
“So, with the baby and everything, have you had much time for writing?” I tested my cold-brew.
“Not much, but I wrote a bunch of columns ahead of time, while I was pregnant, and we’ve been using those for the time being. One I get little man on a more regular schedule, I’ll be able to get some newer stuff out. I hope.”
“That’s good.” I turned my glass in a circle on the table. “Um, Vivian, I was hoping maybe you’d have some ideas for how I can crack the publishing world. I thought there might be a contact from theSunbeamstill around? Or, uh, if you’d have something I could do for you—research or promotion . . . heck, I’d fetch coffee for you, if it might lead to something more.”
Vivian tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “You don’t want to get mixed up with theSunbeam. None of the old guard from the paper is around anymore, and the likelihood that you’d get any decent writing opportunity is slim to none. But—”
“Dude, she’s leaving. Do I say something? Do I stand up, and you know, declare myself?” Preston gripped my forearm. “What if she goes, and I never see her again? What if she’s meant to be my wife, and I miss this chance, and that’s it for me? Like, monastery time?”
The blonde beauty was indeed standing up, her napkin balled in one hand and her empty drink cup in the other. She was rummaging in her pocketbook for something—her keys or sunglasses were my bet.
I turned back to Preston. “It’s now or never, my boy.”
He bolted to his feet and closed the distance between the woman and him in three long strides. I couldn’t exactly make out what he was saying to her, but I could read the myriad of expressions crossing her face: surprise, guarded interest, concern, amusement and then finally, regret.
A few moments after Preston had left us, he returned, his shoulders sagging. “She’s already hooked up with someone. Like, about to get engaged and all that.”
I reached over to brace one hand on my friend’s shoulder. “Sorry, Preston. But hey, you know there’s plenty of fish in the sea. She wasn’t for you. Someone else will be.”
“Exactly.” He sighed. “Just another low point in the roller coaster ride that is cuffing season.”
Vivian had been listening to us with interest, her eyes pinging back and forth as though she was watching a tennis match. Now she rested her elbows on the edge of the table and leaned forward.
“What’s cuffing season?” She looked intrigued, if a little bit concerned.
Preston’s eyes lit up. Vivian had accidentally hit on one of his favorite topics. “Well…” he drawled, and I knew that he was stretching it out on purpose. “You know how no one wants to be alone for the holidays? You know how sad it is when there’s nobody with you during that time of year? No one to stuff your turkey, no one to fill your stockings?”
Vivian’s eyebrows rose. “Um, actually . . .”
I touched her arm and gently shook my head. “He’s not using a double entendre,” I assured her. “He’s talking about all of this literally.”
And it was the truth. For all of his use of lingo and preoccupation with certain topics, Preston was the least profane and most courteous guy I knew. He almost never swore with what the world considered to be real cursing words. The most shocking thing he ever used was the B-word—and by B word, I mean bunny, as inWhat the bunny?
Vivian nodded. “Okay,” she said cautiously. “So, you don’t want to be alone for the holidays. I get that.”
