“Saylor, you’re sweet, but I used to have a Blockbuster card. Do you understand that? Whit and I grew up in the era where we rented DVDs and thought Bluetooth would give us radiation poisoning when they first introduced it. So, thank you very much for the compliment of asking me out but, I’m way too old for you. Not to mention, I have no interest in a romantic relationship right now.”
What does he expect? Does he think I’m hiring escorts to be swept off my feet? No, I’m only trying to appear, at least to the outer world, as if I’m not Greg’s leftovers and slowly succumbing to my inevitable fate as a childless spinster who has a hand-knitted blanket draped over her favorite creaky rocking chair.
He stares at me for a while, like he’s actively composing a Plan B in his mind. “What the hell is a Blockbuster?”
“Exactly.” God, I love it when people prove my points for me. I wear my smug smile proudly while I tuck the giddy school-girl excitement of a man like Saylor looking at melike thatdeep down into the pits of my gut. “Anyway, what did you need to tell me? You look stressed out.”
“Let’s go eat,” Saylor says. “Do you mind staying right here? If you’re okay with it I’m going to go find a friend and see if she can join us.”
Did this man just suggest a threesome after I turned him down? That’s quite the leap. “You made a friend? At a funeral?”
“Well, I’m very likable. Not to you, clearly. But to some women.”
“Ah, so now the pouting begins?”
“Brace yourself,” he says, his grin spreading ear to ear. “But no, there’s a situation I think she can explain better. Most definitely a conversation we should have away from all of this.”
I can’t argue with that. “Fine. Let’s go before Eleanor discovers I’m skipping her dinner and dispatches the catering staff to drag me back in a straitjacket to ‘enjoy’ the same five-course meal I’ve eaten at least sixty times in my adult life.”
“There. I see her. She’s near Eleanor though.” Saylor points toward the main building where guests are gathering in the foyer behind the floor-to-ceiling glass. “Why don’t you sneak around back. I’ll touch base with my friend and grab the car. Wait for five minutes, then meet me out front, okay?”
“Sure.” I don’t bother to hide the skepticism in my voice. But I am too emotionally drained to argue. And starving now that Saylor mentioned it. He hustles away and I absolutelydo notcheck out his behind. I’m blissfully unaware of how muscular his ass looks as he jogs out of sight and into the crowd. As instructed, I wait a few minutes then take the stone path around the building to the front entrance. I must be moving at a glacial pace because by the time I climb the hill in my very pissed-off Louboutins—Christian did not design these for exercise—Saylor is there waiting, my Range Rover already pulling around the valet station.
The closer I get, the more I hear. The more I hear, the more I’m horrified. Saylor lies with the ease of a spoiled house cat.
“It really was a nice speech. Such a shame you have to run out early,” the valet attendant says.
“Agreed. All Celeste’s words, not mine. She wrote such a beautiful message, and we hate to leave, but as it goes, she’s spewing from both ends, so it’s probably safer and more hygienic for everyone if we make our way out now.”
“Poor darling. Any idea what did it?”
“I’m thinking the truffle brie bites?” Saylor says. “She only had a couple, but their wrath was fast and furious. There’s a janitor’s closet on the second floor you just donotwant to go in.”
By the time I’m standing next to Saylor, my jaw is dropped and all I’m seeing is his faceless silhouette against a backdrop of angry red.
“Feel better, Ms. Celeste. Take care,” the attendant says, depositing the keys into Saylor’s hand. Saylor smoothly slips him a bill I can’t see before he scuttles away. Very suave, very masculine. Very above his years. Very much not important at the moment because the man just told a stranger I had explosive diarrhea.
“What thefuck, Saylor? What exactly are you accusing me of doing in a janitor’s closet?”
He places his hand across his chest. “I was planting the seeds of a backstory. Now, if anybody notices your absence, at least the valet team knows you weren’t feeling well.”
I hold up one finger. “Emotionally overwhelmed.” Another joins. “Family emergency.” I lift the third. “Searing migraine.” I wiggle three fingers in his face. “All better options to accomplish thesame thingwithout telling people I wasspewing from both ends!”
Saylor nods, trying to hold in his smile. “Oi, now I see it. I think I got stuck on your notes about the truffle brie and kind of ran with it. I should’ve went with migraine.”
I smack his arm with the back of my hand as his laughter breaks free.
Still chuckling, he opens the passenger door of my vehicle for me. “Your chariot awaits. Unless you want to drive?” he teases.
Rolling my eyes, I hoist myself into the seat, aggressively buckling like I’ve got a bone to pick with the seatbelt. My car smells a little unfamiliar. The blend of mine and Saylor’s scents—shampoo, soap, perfume, aftershave, a touch of freshlaundry. It all melts together to create something totally foreign. Something pleasant actually, borderline intoxicating.
Before he puts the SUV in drive, Saylor pulls out his phone, thumbing a quick text.
“Who are you messaging?” I ask as if it’s my business.
“The friend I told you about. She suggested a burger place about twenty minutes from here. Riptide, I believe.”
I can’t help my smile. “Riptide is still here?” I laugh, settling into my seat and my own glee, which is a nice momentary reprieve from the pain of this day.
