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“Ship-building too?” I press. I know I’m being nosy, but somehow, I can’t help feeling it’s important.
“No, he imports coffee. I do the shipping.”
I gasp as it dawns on me. “Oh my gosh. The Gold Medal guy! I would have wanted to meet him! I’m such a fan of his coffee.”
A wan, almost sad smile crosses his lips then he abruptly changes the subject. “You seemed a little taken aback there. Didn’t you want to tell Gina about Harriet?”
“No, it’s alright, I’m glad it’s out of the way really.” I’m still thinking about his meeting with the coffee mogul, but I don’t press my luck, considering how he got the last time we talked about the man.
“So, who is this Chad?” I ask instead, filling the silence.
“Gina’s on-again, off-again boyfriend, and the only man who seems capable of surviving her for longer than a month.”
“Really!” I smile, intrigued. “What does she do to them?”
“I don’t want to know. But the guy must be a glutton for punishment. They’ve been at it for years, even I am now a believer in his staying power. If only she’d remain in the relationship long enough to let the guy propose.”
“I can’t wait to meet him then.”
“That’s highly unlikely. Not tonight”
“Why?”
“He won’t get any further than the front door. She’ll ditch him post-haste, post-tryst.”
I laugh. “That sounds... dramatic.”
He smirks, a fleeting gesture. “Drama’s their middle name.”
“And what about us?” I venture. “What’s ours?”
“Smoke and mirrors. Ready baby?” His smile is sharp, yet there’s an overwhelming chill beyond the usual. Something upset him.
I nod, letting the moment pass. Now’s not the time for probing questions. The show must go on.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Stella
Maybe it was all the prep work or the adrenaline, but walking into the Fairchild gardens felt like diving into a snake pit. As we step out through the French doors, applause fills the air.
Thanks to Seattle’s love affair with rain, there’s a huge marquee set up in the back just in case. But the weather is holding up, so most people are out enjoying the autumn sun.
Ryan gives the small of my waist a reassuring squeeze, his way of telling me to smile. Not that I need the reminder—I know how to handle a crowd. After all, dealing with high-maintenance models and demanding directors in photo shoots shouldn’t be too different from mingling with the elite, right?
We’re quickly swallowed up by a flurry of hugs and air kisses. Ryan introduces me to his uncles Russel, Reid, and Ralph, and their families. They’re actually his cousins many times removed, but for simplicity he calls them his uncles and those who are nearer Ryan’s age, he calls cousins.
Although I’ve not met most of these people before, I feel like I already know them. I notice Ryan does the introductions like he’s ticking off some sort of official checklist, moving from the oldest to the youngest.
After the last cousin disappears into the crowd, Ryan hands me a champagne flute. I try not to preen under the look of pure admiration he levels at me.
“That wasn’t too shabby now was it?” Ryan breathes. “You aced the introductions, remembering just enough to tickle even Uncle Ralph.”
“You told me he’s passionate about sailing.”
“Yes, but I didn’t tell you he has the disposition of a stone wall. And I certainly didn’t mention that he once won the regatta. That was all you, baby.”
“A stone wall!” I groan, “And there I was laying it on thick, practically flirting!”
