“Could you shut up?” Chandler mutters while he shoves four twenties at me.
“No, she can’t,” Devi answers for me. “And you’re short two twenties.”
“This is extortion.”
He’s right. He’s only short one twenty for the already inflated price we quoted him, but I’ll take Devi’s side over Chandler’s any day.
I would take a poisonous toad’s side over Chandler’s any day.
“You could try to find a new girlfriend without speed dating,” Devi says. “Maybe somewhere like Florida. Or in Europe. Or Siberia. Basically, anywhere thousands of miles from here.”
I gesture her into my seat. “Here. You finish. Grandpa, come on. I’ll introduce you.”
When I rise and turn, though, Zen is helping Mimi slip into the kitchen and six people are blocking our way.
And yes, she’s absolutelyMimito me now.
She insisted.
First impressions from this afternoon? I adore her just as much in person as I have on the phone.
An excited murmur goes up as Iris calls for all of the ladies to take a seat. She’s running things this year.
“Is Grey participating?” one more woman asks me. “That poor man. His divorce was awful.”
And that’s all it takes to set off the whisper chain.
“I saw a picture on Insta, and it looks like his sister’s still really close friends with his ex-wife. Like,they went on vacation together.”
“I heard she took his dog.”
“I saw an article that said he had to pay her a hundred-million-dollar settlement because of a loophole in their prenup.”
“Oh my god.”
“Ladies,” Iris calls again. “Seats! Gentlemen, let the ladies through. They’ll be seated while you move from table to table.”
Grandpa stills, looking at the kitchen.
“Madeleine Cartwright?” he says to me.
“That’s what she told me her name was. But do you know, I heard she went to Carnegie Mellon too. About the same time you did. I wonder if you knew each other.”
He eyes me with bright blue eyes that are getting watery at the edges. “You’re trouble.”
“You used the wrong word forthe best,” I squeeze his arm. “Want me to get you a seat by the window so you can watch everyone be totally goofy as we all try to put our best feet forward?”
His gaze wavers. He’s staring at the kitchen, but he looks to the table at the edge of the front window, where he used to tuck himself in to work on payroll and inventory or share a cup of coffee while chatting with artists who wanted us to display their creations and fellow business owners along Main Street.
He’s never participated in speed dating, but he’s always come to watch. Grandma used to come too.
“I’ll sit,” he says. “You go get a table. Find a nice man who makes you happy.”
Not likely.
Someone grabs me by the arm and pushes me into the nearest seat. “Numbers are uneven.”
“We could kick Chandler out,” Kayla whispers.
