Fiona chatted happily with Clara as I slipped on my shoes, which were at the door along with my jacket and purse.
Beau hadn’t moved. Because Fiona was in the vicinity and had a heck of a sharper eye than Clara. Beau and I knew what kind of pattern to settle into when adults were present. He was slightly less rude to me. Slightly.
I tried not to blush, mutter, and stumble over my words. I tried to seem like a well-functioning adult who didn’t hate her boss and desire him in equal measure.
“Well, goodbye, Beau.” Not knowing what to do in such close quarters, I stuck out my hand.
For a split second, with my hand extended in space, I looked down at it, horrified at my choice. I’d said goodbye to Beau then extended my hand for a handshake because I had no idea how to act in front of him with Fiona as a witness.
That wasnothow to act.
But it was too late.
Just as I was about to snatch my hand away and try to find a hole in the earth to jump into, Beau’s large, dry hand engulfed mine.
My body was shocked by the contact, the simple gesture people exchanged on a daily basis becoming a spectacle because of my awkwardness.
My neck burned as I quickly let go, mindful of Fiona’s gaze. I didn’t look at her, just crouched down, kissed Clara on the cheek, then hurried out the door.
Not subtle. Not casual. Not cool.
It wasn’t until we were in Fiona’s car and she was reversing out of the driveway that she spoke.
“Want to tell me why you shook Beau’s hand like he was your bank manager?” Fiona asked playfully.
“No.” I pursed my lips, embarrassment running through me like hot lava. "I do not."
Fiona was a no-bullshit type of person, from what I’d witnessed, so I half expected her to push it. I mean, it was an extraordinarily weird exchange to witness, so I wouldn’t have blamed her.
But she merely nodded. “Okay.”
The rest of the drive was not quiet. I didn’t think Fiona had the ability to be quiet. She spoke, asking questions. About nursing school, about when I planned to leave Jupiter, which school I wanted to go to, and what my plans were for the future. She seemed genuinely interested and somehow expertly skirted over subjects she sensed were sensitive to me. Like where I grew up. Boyfriends. Beau. Etcetera.
Fiona came across as direct, warm, teasing. But I couldn’t get over the idea that she was handling me with care. Like she could tell I was broken.
I didn’t know how I felt about that. Embarrassed? I wished I could embody the badass self-assurance that dripped from her seemingly poreless skin.
We pulled up to a small, well-maintained house that required a code at the gate to enter. The dense woods around the property gave it a cozy feel. A plethora of cars were already in the driveway. They were all expensive, but not flashy.
All the saliva in my mouth evaporated at the thought of the people I’d have to interact with.
Fiona patted my hand. “Don’t worry. They don’t bite. Not people they’re not married to, at least.” She winked then got out of the car.
Because I had no other choice, I followed her.
Though I was immensely nervous, I didn’t have the chance to feel self-conscious since the moment I walked in, people greeted me, thrusting food and drinks into my hands.
I took them, grateful to have something to do, and greeting everyone who, apparently, remembered my name. I hoped I didn’t commit the faux pas of forgetting someone’s. It was practically the same group that was at Clara’s birthday party, minus Calliope, the husbands, and the children.
“These are great,” Tiffany said to Avery, who was handing out drinks.
“You wouldn’t know there wasn’t any booze in them, would you?”
Tiffany's eyes widened, and her sweet face narrowed at Avery. “There’s no booze in these?”
“I put champagne in mine.” Fiona held up her amber-colored glass. “Anyone else want some?”
Fiona started pouring into Tiffany’s glass, averting whatever crisis had been about to unfold.
