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It’s an old joke, but we can never resist it. Flynn strokes the tabletop. “Rag on me all you want. Leave my hand-hewn timber out of it.”
“Got any updatesnotabout your timber?” Dash asks.
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Flynn cracks his knuckles, building suspense. He manages a building company that has scaffolds all across Manhattan. But the bar is personal. He did a lot of the work here himself, and he’s overseeing every detail of our new location. “Construction on the new location is on schedule. The place looks great, mid-centuryMad Menvibes, classic New York.”
“When do you think we’ll be ready for previews?” I ask, eager. One successful bar is nothing to sniff at, but I’m not content with just doing well. I want to build anempire.
“Another month, maybe?”
“Great. Let’s get it on the books.” But when I open my organizer, a stack of invitations slides out. I gather them up, but not before Austin snatches one.
“You have a side gig you wanna tell us about?” He grins at me, waving the paper at me. “Next venture: Stationery?”
“That,” I say, snatching it back, “is one oftwelveweddings on my schedule.”
“Twelve?” Dash coughs a little. “As in a dozen?”
I grimace. “This month alone.”
“That can’t be right,” Austin says. Easy to say for someone whose RSVP has almost always beenDeclines with Regret. He spent most summer Saturdays in baseball stadiums across America. The rest of us chumps were on the dance floor in stiff dress shoes. “How’s that even possible?”
“It’s New York in summer.” I shrug. “And pretty much everyone I’ve ever met decided to get hitched this year—present company excluded.”
“Wait, you have friends other than us?” Flynn cracks.
I laugh. “You mean, friends who aren’t good-for-nothing bachelors with way too much money? Surprisingly, yes.”
“Excuse me,” Flynn says. “I’m good for several things. Renovation, restoration, historically accurate—”
“Wood-touching,” I finish, and Austin laughs.
“So who’s the lucky lady who’s going to be your plus-one for the summer?”
“Oh, I’ve got a plan,” I say smugly, taking the invitations back. “I’ve got it all figured out.”
“Just be careful,” Dash warns me, “Women get the wrong idea around weddings. They say they’re cool keeping things casual, and the next thing, they’re stampeding to catch the bouquet.”
“Not this date.” I smile. “She’ll know exactly what the rules are. Now, can we move on?” I ask. “If not to work, then can we at least move to ragging on Austin for whoever he’s hooking up with these days?”
Austin grins. “Now, why would we badmouth your mother?”
I have to laugh. Magazine covers or not, I can never get too big for my britches. Not with these guys around to keep me in check.
* * *
After the meeting wraps up,I head out to meet my cousin, Olivia, aka the answer to my wedding date problems. Because Dash is right: If I took a real plus-one, they might wind up getting the wrong idea about our future.
Namely, that we have one.
I’m not in the business of leading anyone on. I always tell my dates upfront: I’m not a long-term commitment guy. If she’s just looking to have some fun… Well, I make sure that we both have a hell of a lot of fun.
Multiple times.
But anything more than that? No way. I’ve been there; starting to think in ‘forever’ and believe in ‘the one’. And look how that turned out. Like the magazine said, ‘Permanent bachelor Charlie Fox’. The starry-eyed Charlie Fox was me in a different life, and I refuse to relive it.
My phone buzzes. It’s Marco, my assistant and resident cyber ninja.
“Found her,” he says by way of greeting. “Grace Sommerville, formerly of Hayworth Indiana, currently of Brooklyn, New York. Sending you the links now.”
