“Andy is working with Patrick,” Shannon said to Lauren. “And Lauren is my future sister-in-law.”
It was impossible to keep their stories straight—they looked alike and talked alike, and were in and out of Patrick’s office all day long. I vaguely remember hearing about someone’s fiancée, but I couldn’t remember which one.
I forced a smile at the blonde, and my fingers closed around the bunch of basil when it dawned on me: she was probably engaged to Patrick. I was a little embarrassed—I did spend the week lusting after him and sent a few overtly flirty texts last night—but I was a lot irritated. She wasn’t right for him. I felt my eyebrow arch into my forehead while I studied her.
“Matthew,” Lauren supplied with a bright smile. “Matthew’s mine.”
A wave of relief crashed over me, and I released a breathy laugh. I looked around the market, hoping to find the source of my rapid onset possessiveness among the kale, hand-churned butter, and purple potatoes.
“We were going to grab some lunch, Andy. I’d love for you to join us,” Shannon said.
“Hm.”
I glanced between them while scanning for appropriate lunch conversation topics with my boss’s sister and my boss’s future sister-in-law. It wasn’t as if I could discuss my surging jealousy at the prospect of Patrick’s engagement or my struggle to reach a decent orgasm.
“Don’t worry, Andy. No business on the weekends, and lunch with us usually involves mimosas and a thorough examination of Shannon Walsh’s men—the ones she dates, not the ones she’s related to.”
“As long as you’re not reporting back to Patrick.” It sounded ridiculous the moment I said it—he wouldn’t care about me having lunch with Shannon and Lauren. Or would he?
This wasn’t healthy. Must get my thoughts away from Patrick.
Lauren hooked her elbow through mine and, inexplicably, I was walking through the farmers’ market with a blonde and a redhead. We must have looked like we were filming a shampoo commercial.
“He’s probably still where we left him—begging for death in Matt’s den,” Shannon said.
“He just needed some food,” Lauren replied. She looked up at me—even in flats, I was at least five inches taller. I couldn’t imagine such a small woman next to Matt. “He had a few cocktails last night—”
“A few? Honey, please, he was trying to put alcohol out of business. Between Patrick and Matt, I think they drained all the whiskey in Boston.”
Lauren shrugged and steered us across the street toward a bakery cafe. “You were no better, and if anyone stumbled away with the first place medal, it was Sam. Besides, those boys have been drinking whiskey since they were two. As soon as they get him a new phone, I’m sure he’ll be barking orders in no time.”
“What happened to Patrick’s phone?”
Did he remember texting me? Or see my response?
Shannon nibbled her lip while scanning the menu, her shoulders bouncing back and forth. “He smashed it.”
“Smashed?”
“I think he was trying to put it down and, being the ogre he is, accidentally smashed it into a table, and then it flew across the room and hit the wall.” Lauren layered her menu over Shannon’s before looking at me. “So Matthew went out with him to get a new phone. I’m getting the brie and arugula with red peppers.”
“Chicken with jicama and avocado,” Shannon said.
They glanced at me expectantly, and I scrambled to skim the menu as the waitress arrived to collect our orders. “Grilled portobello and pesto.”
Our mimosas appeared within minutes, and when our glasses clinked together, I noticed an enormous diamond ring on Lauren’s hand. “Oh my God,” I yelped, grabbing her hand and gazing at the sparkling stone.
“Right? It’s a headlight. Isn’t it amazing?” Shannon laughed. “That bastard didn’t even ask for my help. I want to be insulted but…he did good.”
Lauren blushed and acknowledged my outburst with a gracious nod. “Do you have a date set?”
“We do,” she replied, an undeniably gleeful smile pulling at her lips. “Late May.”
“And she’s not pregnant!” Shannon stage-whispered. “We all thought it.”
“Hm.” Not knowing how to handle Shannon’s comment, I sipped my mimosa and contemplated my reaction to Lauren’s ring. In all of my twenty-four years, I never expressed more than obligatory politeness at weddings and babies. I went so far as debating the purpose of engagement rings in a day and age where a man’s proof of possession over a woman was illogical, and marriage no longer required down payments or dowries.
“Is it all planned?”
