Before I get my answer, she bolts to her feet, peering behind me. “Mrs. Blakeman?”
I twist in my chair, my gaze finding a slender Asian woman with shoulder-length hair, wearing a red maxi dress and heels that match the charcoal belt around her waist.
“We thought you got lost, Basil, dear.” The woman’s tone is as assertive as her body language. “I requested that Sunny keep an eye out for you. I would’ve called, but we had to handle a situation in the main hall. Some insidious trout destroyed two sets of pearl curtains and a patron’s outfit. A sticky mess and no perpetrator in sight to skewer. Of course it was during the one time our security cameras went down.”
Basil?That’s a beautiful name. I watch Basil suck both lips into her mouth and smile, then tighten my jacket around herself. That explains a lot. My phone vibrates in my pocket.
Without another word, I rise from my seat, fighting to avoid Basil’s burning glare as I pass. Ditching her seems cruel, yet people-pleasing isn’t my top strength either. Can’t argue with karma biting someone’s ass. I’ll pick up a dirty chai latte in her honor from next door. Steps from the doorway, I hear my name and look up.
Lynn?
The energetic butch from the bar barrels forward, arms wide open with a childlike excitement. Why is she like this?
“Twice in one day, huh?”
I retract my steps with a nervous smile and wave until I’m standing with Basil and Mae. On second thought, Basil doesn’t seem so bad now.
Lynn snorts a laugh and rushes over. “Wait a minute.” Her sandals clack as she approaches with an exaggerated jaw-slacked expression and pauses next to the woman in the red dress. Her finger wags in my direction, then Basil’s. “Basil Jones—as in the VP of sales for Elixir Wines—is your wife?”
“Actually, we’re not—”
Roaring laughter cuts me off.
Lynn looks left, andthatMrs. Blakeman must be her wife. “Mae, this is the woman I was telling you about. Caroline.” Another side hug. “Hot damn. It’s a small world, or should I say, island.” Her teasing grin shifts to Basil. “By the way, you look great for the rough night you had. I hope you’re feeling better.”
In an instant, the room’s temperature skyrockets. My mind races for respectful ways to get Lynn to shut the hell up; meanwhile, Basil’s skin blooms a shade of red I didn’t know existed.
“It’s great to finally meet both of you in person,” Basil says awkwardly, blush still evident in her cheeks.
“Let me tell you about the time we went to Amsterdam—”
“Stay on track, love. The appetizers are getting cold.” Mae flashes her wife a thin smile and grabs her hand. “Shall we? Our table’s this way.” Her and Lynn start walking ahead.
We shall not,I want to say, then I feel a gentle hand on my back. I turn my head and meet Basil’s blue eyes. They’re beautiful. We don’t exchange words, instead I nod in agreement, giving into them, just like I did back in Seattle.
Inside the other room of the restaurant, we sit at the Blakemans’ table. The food looks incredible. I’m not here to eat a meal I didn’t plan for, but the smell of roasted garlic and lemon from the shrimp makes my mouth water. I can’t help myself and join the others eating.
“Sunny will be here any second,” Mae says across from Basil and I. “So why don’t you tell the Joneses the delightful news? We have thirteen minutes until our meeting with the Tier One members.”
I pray that this nightmare doesn’t get any worse.
“Raaaat!” The scream is loud enough that heads across the room turn. “There’s a fucking rodent on your pants!” Eyes wide with terror, Basil chucks my jacket at Lynn’s crotch. Thankfully, her aim is awful. “It’s a mutated porcupine rat. They’ll multiply. We have to burn this place down. Now!”
“That’s a hedgehog, dear,” Mae calmly states amidst Basil’s meltdown. “His middle name is Compromise.Marriagecompromise. You know the rules, love. No hogs at the table.”
Lynn shields herself from Basil a seat over. “Quilliam just wanted to say hi…”
“Notat the table.” Mae gives a stern look.
Basil cringes and populates dramatic choking motions as Lynn carefully places the animal inside the shoe box–sized carrier. “Why is it foaming at the mouth?”
Lynn puts hypothetical earmuffs around the carrier. “Self-anointing isn’t Quilliam’s most appealing quality, but calling him a rodent is simply disrespectful. He’s a member of the Erinaceidae family.”
“Shouldn’t someone becallingWildlife Control—if burning the place down isn’t an option?”
Basil, who’s officially sitting on my lap in a non-sexy way, frantically searches the table for answers. “Am I the only person who sees that mutant creature right now?”
We all stare, speechless.Please don’t get any closer,I almost say. She reeks of cocktail sauce, sweat, and stupidity. Clearly, Basil doesn’t get out much. Or maybe she just discovered a new phobia.
