If it hadn’t been for the glint of sunlight reflecting off the camera lens, Libby wouldn’t have spotted the photographer. Blending into the background must be part of the job. Sort of like Jefferson’s work, only more predatory.
“He’s not smiling,” Mr. L observed, peering around the edge of his map at Jefferson.
Uncle Richard gave a thoughtful nod. “It is a weighty decision. I don’t like the pressure myself, which is why I generally leave such things to Thelma.”
Libby stopped herself from pointing out that he wasn’t really going to propose to Hildy. The less talk about fake engagements the better, especially in present company.
Uncle Richard’s phone buzzed. “Yahtzee,” he said, checking the notification. “He got the shot. We’re in business.”
They rejoined Jefferson, who was still scowling at the glass display case as if it contained rotting meat.
“See anything you like?” Mr. L asked Libby.
Uncle Richard pointed down at a massive black pearl flanked by diamonds. “That one’s nice.”
She almost choked when she saw the price.
“I won’t count it against your… allowance,” Mr. L assured her. “Think of it as abonus.”
Jefferson frowned at him.
“A bonus gift,” her would-be husband corrected himself, smiling at his own cleverness. “To commemorate our pre-anniversary.”
“I’m good,” Libby said.
“What about a seahorse?” Uncle Richard was still studying the jewelry. “Hildy loves horses. She’ll talk your head off about them.”
Somehow Libby doubted that Hildy was still in her horse girl phase.
“Does she know the Lipizzaner stallions of Vienna?” Mr. L made a series of prancing hops, arms held in front of him like a second set of legs as he turned a slow circle around them.
The woman staffing the cash register flashed them a bright customer-service grin. “Are we shopping for a special occasion?” Her blue uniform shirt had a hibiscus print, and she was wearing a silk lei that partially obscured her name badge. Something ending in-cia.
“Wait, don’t tell me,” Felicia or Patricia said, after surveying the group with a practiced eye. “I hear wedding bells. You two must be her proud dads.” She smiled at Uncle Richard and Mr. L. “We do monogrammed cuff links, FYI.”
“I do love a cuff link,” Uncle Richard said, clearly pleased she’d recognized that about him.
“He’s not my father,” Libby told Maybe Morticia. “Neither of them are. And they’re not a couple.”
“Though I would be honored.” Mr. L bowed to Hildy’s uncle as if they were about to waltz.
“Likewise, I’m sure,” Uncle Richard replied.
“Okay.” The saleswoman nodded her understanding. “I get it. You have a complicated family.”
“I feel I’ve learned something from each of my marriages,” Hildy’s uncle mused. “Like water under a bridge. Turning the wheel that makes grist for the mill.”
“Did you know they have a waterfall here?” Mr. L asked.
“I did not.” Uncle Richard sounded intrigued.
Libby’s pretend husband extended an arm. “Shall we?”
“After you,” Uncle Richard said.
The saleswoman sighed as the two titans of industry walked off. “They’re sweet.”
“I’ve always thought so,” Jefferson deadpanned.
