Page 12 of The False Flat

He cocked his head, considering. “You’re right. It’s entirely possible I’m sporting a Henrietta.”

William threw his arm over Grant’s shoulders. “Male, female, nonbinary, can we all agree either way it’s ridiculous so we can go get some food?”

“I’m going to apologize in advance for the two of them,” Deanna said, then clapped her hands together. “I hope you don’t mind being my guinea pig tonight. I’m practicing for an event I have coming up.”

“Whatever it is, it smells heavenly,” I said.

“Everything D makes is heavenly.” William winked at his wife.

“Grant, take Pen to the dining room,” Deanna instructed. “William and I will serve.” William absently ran his hand over Deanna’s back as they walked to the kitchen.

I wondered what it would be like to have what they obviously had. I tried to picture Chad rubbing my back. Then I wondered why I was thinking about him at all.

I’d been in this house for less than five minutes, but I felt it already, that closeness, that ease people have with each other when they’re family and they belong to each other, that knowledge of no matter what happens, I got your back. I braced myself. I’d definitely made a mistake in coming here. I was way out of my league. These people knew how to do family, and maybe William and I shared a racial background, but the three of them shared history, pleasant history. I was an outsider.

Was it too early to feign a stomachache and head out the door?

Alone in the dining room with Grant, I felt the warm golds and burgundies curving around my shoulders like a straitjacket. This was one dinner, I told myself, breathing the herbed air into my nostrils and counting the lights in the chandelier. One dinner. I could do this. I needed to do this. Because maybe they could be friends and distract me from the thing I definitely wasn’t going to do: date. Growth, right? But having friends meant making friends, and making friends was hell. I sat straighter, pulled the linen napkin tightly over my lap.

“So, you ride, Penelope?” Grant steepled his hands, elbows on either side of Deanna’s creamy, gold-rimmed place mats. Everything matched here.

And why is he calling me Penelope? I mean, that was my name, but my mother was the only one who called me Penelope, and maybe the occasional person, like Marketing Lynn, but Grant only knew me as Pen.

“Sort of. I’m not a professional or anything, but I started about ten years ago. I don’t like being stuck in a gym.” If I worked out in an enclosed space, all those feelings bounced around the room and came right back to me. I went to the gym anxious and left tired, sweaty, and . . . anxious.

“Once I started, I fell in love with it,” I continued, talking to fill the uncomfortable silence. But I seemed to be the only one finding the silence uncomfortable. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. His shirtsleeves were rolled to expose his forearms, and I ignored the muscle definition and the smattering of hair that matched his mustache as he looked at me as if what I was saying was the most fascinating thing in the world. My leg bounced. I manually stopped it, determined to appear as he did—absolutely fine.

Where are Deanna and William?

“Here we are,” Deanna said in a singsong voice as she and William entered with loaded plates. Did I ask that out loud? “I hope you like it.”

I picked up my fork.

“William, would you say grace?” Deanna asked.

I put down my fork.

When it seemed appropriate, I picked up my fork again and filled my mouth with a huge piece of tenderloin, an excuse not to talk. Plus, the faster I ate, the faster dinner would be over. And I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to be here or whether I wanted to leave.

“They’re always trying to get me to go on a ride,” Deanna said. “That’s what you and Grant were talking about, right? Cycling?”

I nodded; then my phone buzzed in the pocket of my dress, startling me because I didn’t remember the dress had pockets. I peeked at the screen. A number I didn’t recognize. The call went to voicemail, and then I immediately got a text from the same number.

Can we please talk? I miss you so much. And I had a conversation with Vicki, we’re on the same page. Did you get my email? I sent it this morning.

I rolled my eyes. Blocking Chad hadn’t stopped him. I’d been thinking of unblocking him anyway because he was a client, a client I needed because I had so few. Several of my previous clients had chosen to stay with Houston, who’d convinced them that working with a company was safer than a solo adviser. There was nothing I could do about that. If those clients didn’t trust me, then I didn’t need them, but I needed who I had.

I hadn’t talked to Chad since he’d materialized by my car window, but I had read his email, a well-thought-out list of why we belonged together using lawyer lingo that concluded with a picture of his divorce papers.

“Riding is my adventure,” Grant said. When I looked up, he was looking right at me. “The thing I do for myself.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” Deanna said. “Cycling may be number one, but he loves any kind of adventure.”

“Like our Quebec trip with Chuck.” William pointed at Grant. “Sleeping in an ice hotel was Grant’s idea.”

Grant nodded, the hairs of his mustache standing out around his grin as he continued to look—at me.

“Aww, Chuck!” Deanna stuck out her lower lip. “Have you talked to him recently, Grant?”