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If Sean’s last prediction is accurate, she’s currently in the midst of a sexting spree with her first ex-husband. His name escapes me because everything became a blur after she told me about her wedding night with her second husband.
That’s a conversation that should be filed away for eternity under ‘never should have happened.’
I take a sip of wine while Delora feverishly taps her fingers against her phone’s screen, stopping briefly to take a side-eyed selfie complete with duck lips.
How the hell did Sean know all of this would happen?
As if on cue, I glance up toward the entrance of the restaurant to see my savior on the approach.
Is this where the Saint nickname stems from?
Does he swoop in and save people from horrendously uncomfortable situations?
Sean shoots me a smile as he nears our table. He sends another one in the direction of our waiter. He’s a friendly, patient guy who seems to be in his early twenties.
The waiter nods as if Sean sent him a silent message.
I watch as Sean grabs a vacant chair from a nearby table. He keeps his gaze trained on mine as he steps up next to Delora.
“What do we have here?”
His voice startles Delora enough that her phone juggles in her hands before it falls to her lap.
“Sean,” she says his name in a breathless rush. “What are you doing here?”
He sets the chair down and drops onto it, so he’s sitting between the two of us. “How’s the wine, Delora?”
“So good,” she murmurs. “I’m just finishing up something with Larry. I’ll be back in two minutes.”
Sean doesn’t say anything until she’s nearing the ladies’ restroom. “She’ll be gone for at least the next fifteen. Dean is bringing you a big brownie sundae, Champ.”
“Dean?” I question.
“Your waiter,” he says, his gaze dropping to the red dress I’ve been wearing all day. “You need that dessert after what you’ve been through tonight.”
I grin. “Thank you.”
A slow smile spreads across his lips. “It’s my pleasure, Calliope.”
Chapter Eighteen
Sean
I trailCalliope as we leave the restaurant.
Our time spent with Delora after she ‘finished with Larry’was fun.
She told a couple of good-natured stories about the early days of Wells. Back then, Declan and I were flying by the seat of our collective pants. We were drawing on words of wisdom bestowed upon us by our grandfather, Stetson Wells. Stetson founded one of the most successful whiskey brands in the country when he was old enough to consume it legally.
He built it up with hard work and determination until he sold it shortly before his death. I hated him for that. It was always my dream to take that company’s reins one day. At my grandfather’s funeral I found out that my older brother carted that same dream around with him.
Declan went to law school to appease our mother, but his career path changed after graduating.
With part of our joint inheritances from the old man, we launched Wells.
It’s taken grit and a hell of a lot of stubborn resolve, but we’ve accomplished not only our wildest dreams, we’ve also surpassed them ten times over.
Once we’re clear of the crowds exiting Sérénité, Calliope glances over her shoulder at me. “Have you met Larry?”
