Still, I’m standing behind Holden with a polite smile coating my face for a man across the table as old as my dad, and Lori and Harry are staring at me peculiarly from around the circular table. But when Holden offers me a faint smile, a mixture of surprise and gratitude, then I know why I’m here. He didn’t ask outright, but I could sense that this night might be better for him if I was here. Such a crazy impression considering whatever we’re doing.
“Lexi.” Holden stands, ready to offer introductions. “John, this is Lexi, our interior designer at the Dizzy Duck. I thought she would be a useful addition to the discussion and your ideas.” Holden pulls the chair between him and Harry out like a gentleman, multi-tasking while indicating to the waiter for an extra wine glass for me. Holden and John already opened a bottle and are halfway through a glass of white.
“It’s so nice to have you join us. I can’t wait to see the end result at the Dizzy Duck. I hear there will be a big grand opening. Holden did share some preliminary photos, and I enjoy what I see.” John seems pleasant. I could imagine Lori and Harry wouldn’t find him riveting, but these days some folks just brush off any extras to the conversation in favor to talk purely business.
“I’m sure you must be excited for the prospect of another inn. Will it have a spa too?” I attempt to insert myself into the conversation, but really, I am interested too.
Holden’s eyes find their way back to me. “No spa, but he mentioned a pool. He wants it to be more family friendly.”
“You should have human-sized Jenga blocks,” Harry pipes up.
“As opposed to alien-sized blocks? We’re all human,” Lori snipes.
Holden smiles nervously. “I think what Harry means is large, outside-sized blocks,” he attempts, to defuse his kids’ bickering.
John chuckles. “That’s a great idea, Harry. This is why I wanted you here. I have a lot of grandkids, but they all live out in Colorado.”
“Well, wonderful kids are here,” Holden gushes. He has hard times with them, but he also relishes every moment he’s in. That’s the balance of fatherhood, right?
My wine glass arrives, and Holden pours from the bottle. I take a sip, noting to pace myself, since I drove here. “Don’t let my arrival disrupt wherever you were discussing,” I say. I use taking a sip of my drink as a cover for the fact that there are fingers swirling over my thigh under the table—fingers that aren’t mine. A pleasurable ache spreads down my skin.
“We should talk about timelines of what you’re thinking,” Holden suggests to John.
“I’ll be back, going to the bathroom,” Lori excuses herself, and nobody takes much notice.
I wink at Harry who picks at his bread roll out of boredom. Grabbing the basket next to him, I offer him one more, but he shakes his head to decline. More for me, I’m a little famished. I search for the butter because who wants a bread roll without it?
“A year and half could maybe be realistic, depending on the construction,” Holden discusses, and I clearly missed part of the conversation.
“Are you building from the ground up?” I wonder, as that’s quite a project.
John shakes his head. “Oh no, dear, I’m on the search for a historical property. It will probably need a lot of renovations.”
My whole body lights up. “Historical buildings are the best for charm. But you mentioned family friendly, which means you would for sure need to be cautious of interior choices.”
“No candles in bedrooms,” Holden volleys.
My sight whips in his direction, and a mischievous smile ghosts on his face, with his eyes narrowing on me, almost a message to prepare myself for being devoured or spanked later.
They continue their conversation, and after a few more minutes, I notice that Lori has been gone a while. Probably made an escape. Still, I should probably check, as John and Holden seem to be lost in numbers.
I quietly excuse myself and make my way to the restroom. When I open the door, it’s quiet, too quiet considering I didn’t come across Lori on my travels here. Walking in, I check the lock signs by the knobs of the stalls and see all are open except one. Bending over, I see Lori’s shoes and hear a sniffle.
Oh no. Tears. I don’t do well with tears. It makes me either cry like a waterfall or become dry as an alligator. There is no middle ground. It always depends on the person.
I bring my knuckles to the door. “Knock, knock, the houseguest I haven’t figured out if you like or hate is here,” I announce.
“Go away,” she says, her voice muffled.
My face screws up, aware that I’m going to have to reach her chip by chip. “No can do. The table conversation is kind of boring, and you seem to have found a great hiding place.”
“It’s a toilet,” she deadpans.
Well, her mood is still the same. That’s a start.
“I might as well freshen up my makeup. Want some lipstick?” I offer and meander to the mirror to color my lips.
“Your lipstick doesn’t match my dress.”
