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I looked up from my plate. Gran gave me her knowing smile. Oh shoot. She knew there was something off with me. But why was I surprised? Gran had practically raised Kimberly and me, after all.
"I'm sorry I didn't touch your apple pie." And good thing I didn't, because one thing was for sure—if I had as much as a spoonful, I’d totally run my mouth. Kimberly and I were certain it had magic powers.
“Whatever it is, Reese, you're strong enough to face it, my girl.”
I completely mellowed. Even more so when she opened her arms. I willingly stepped into her hug.
"Thanks, Gran." She knew me better than anyone else—except perhaps Kimberly.
"And I'm also here to talk if you need to."
I winked at her, chuckling. "I don't right now, but I'll keep it in mind."
I ordered an Uber and paced in front of Gran's bungalow. While waiting, I was tempted to run back inside and spill my guts.
No, Reese, come on. Be strong. You don't want to worry Gran. You’ll be fine.
I arrived at the venue twenty minutes later. As soon as I stepped out of my Uber, I tensed up. I was on high alert, looking for my ex and his wife. Thankfully there was no sign of them outside.
I was surprised by how efficient everyone was at the entrance. The friendly hostess informed me that I was assigned to table seven. As I took in the room, I noticed the modern decor with metal-and-wood light fixtures. There was a table with sweets but no buffet or chafing dishes, which meant dinner would be served at the table. I’d attended several charity events here over the years but had never been inside this particular room.
"A glass of champagne for you, miss?" the waiter asked. He had a tray of flutes and was making his way around the tables.
"Yes, please." I needed some liquid courage. I accepted the glass, then walked quickly to my table.
My phone vibrated in my small evening bag. I made to remove it with my left hand, but then several things happened. I lost my footing and my right leg stumbled, and although I recovered quickly, I still managed to spill champagne everywhere—mostly on the only other guest sitting at table seven.
"Oh my God, I'm so, so sorry," I exclaimed, dropping my purse on the chair, then salvaging the rest of the contents in the glass. That’s when I realized I’d poured half of it on the poor guy.
Holy shit!
When he looked up at me, the disgust was obvious in his dark green eyes. He was so handsome that I forgot where I was, what my name was, and even how to breathe. It was simply not possible for anyone to be so attractive. He looked vaguely familiar, but that wasn't a surprise; everyone here was famous in one way or another.
"I'm sorry. I'll get some more napkins. I'm not even sure what to say. I'll pay for dry cleaning. Or you can give your shirt to me, and I'll take it to the cleaners," I babbled.
Why would I offer that? That was the most ridiculous thing that has ever come out of my mouth. What's he supposed to do? Strip?
"I can't believe it. Can no one give it a rest tonight? This is really not the best way to get my attention.”
I straightened up at that. Hot guy is a douchebag.
"I’m sorry, what? You think this was a ruse to get your attention? I'm sitting at this table. And I lost my balance."
He glanced at my dress. "And yet you didn't spill anything on yourself, just on me."
"Have you ever lost your balance before? You can’t plan which way you land."
He snorted. "Right. I'm off to the bathroom to clean this mess."
I took a step back as he lurched up from his seat.
Damn, he was tall and well-built. Pity he didn't have his temper under control. Whatever. I had too much on my mind tonight to try and second-guess why my tablemate was such a grumpy ass. That was none of my business.
I sat down before my nerves got the better of me. I glanced around the room again. I still couldn't see Malcolm and Francesca anywhere. Maybe they weren't going to come tonight after all. That would be wonderful.
So much for not being a chicken.
As I sat here, I was sure that seeing them together wouldn’t help me heal. Quite the contrary—it would reopen an old wound.
