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“I think Elliot wants to know if she’s single and if you would be okay if he asked her out,” Ophelia called from the other end of the room.
I looked back over to Elliot, who had a stupid grin on his face. His teeth clenched as he waited for my answer.
“I’m not. . . I’m not dating her,” I stammered.
Elliot heaved a sigh. “I just saw you guys dancing and—”
“You know everything that’s been happening in my life these past few months, and you still thought—” I shouted, a bit louder than I intended. Ophelia laughed as she came up to me and kissed me on the cheek.
Elliot shrugged. “You danced with her that night and seemed pretty cozy.”
I glared at him, Ophelia’s giggle still lingering in the background. “I literally have a date this Saturday”—I pointed at Ophelia—“with this one, and you thought you had to ask me about Jamie?”
“Clay.” Ophelia groaned. “Jamie is a wonderful girl, Elliot, and I’m sure she would love to be asked out.”
Elliot looked at Ophelia, giving her a sweet smile before turning his head sharply back to me. “See? Was that so hard?”
I shook my head at him. “I’ll just stick to your accounts and not your dating life.”
Elliot scoffed. “Well, thank you, Phe, for the insight. And for the record”—Elliot pointed at me—“I didn’t know you askedherout.”
“I did, and she said no.”
“But you just said—”
“ThenIaskedhimout, and we have plans on Saturday, hence why we are here now.” Ophelia came up and poked me in the shoulder. “We need to finalize these details, and since you know this place better than anyone. . .” Ophelia gave him a cheesy grin, one that made me smile and want to pull her close. I loved all her facial expressions, but the ones that made herherwere my absolute favorite.
Elliot folded his arms and narrowed his eyes at me. “Well, the party is what, in three weeks? So, we need to plan on who’s attending. We need a headcount so I can tell Craig so he can tell the staff. I’m assuming they are providing drinks?”
I nodded, turning back to the bar top behind me. “We have their favorite waffle truck catering, and invitations have been sent out. There is about thirty people on the list, and we have a few RSVPs, nothing too crazy.”
“Thirty is a good-sized crowd. Is uh. . .” Elliot walked past Ophelia and me, heading toward the empty bar. “Is Jamie coming?”
Ophelia laughed, rubbing her hands through her wild hair. “Yes, Elliot yes. . . Jamie will be there.”
“Oh, well, that’s great news.” Elliot cleared his throat and began to talk about how Craig would set up and staff the event.
Every detail had flawlessly come together, and the stress of the party was dwindling. I could even see the load come off Ophelia’s shoulders. Her week had been nonstop. Fitting Madeline for the final time into her dress, setting up more and more posts and having more and more meetings with JoAnn as her store came together. Even though it was, to quote Phe, “all coming together,” there was still a lot of work that had to be done, and checking this off the list was going to make everything easier.
And then there was our date. The only detail I had was to be at Madeline’s house at 6:00 on Saturday, and she would take care of the rest. The days just weren’t moving fast enough, but at the same time they were moving too fast.
“Wanna know what would be a blast as centerpieces?” Ophelia spun, catching both mine and Elliot’s attention. “Trivia cards. All about Madeline and Milo’s relationship. We haveyearsworth of trivia. That would be perfect.”
I chuckled. “Yeah, it really would.”
She gave me her brightest smile, slowing time down just a bit. “I’ll get right on them. I bet I know more than you.”
“Oh, that’s a challenge.”
I parked in Madeline’s driveway, surprised that no barking husky greeted me as I walked up the steps and knocked on the door. I dressed casually, yet nice enough if a fancy restaurant was involved I would fit in. Dark jeans with a white button-up shirt, a blue tee underneath that poked out at my collarbone. I combed back my hair, which was getting unruly and needed a trim, and shaved, nearly nicking myself a thousand times thanks to my shaky hand.
The last date I’d had been on was with Ophelia ten years ago. I never dated in Seattle. I always met the girl at a bar or work meeting and we ended up back at my place. Clay Nolan didn’t date, and that was known around Seattle. But that wasn’t who Clay Nolan was supposed to be. And the fact that it was Ophelia who answered the door, her smile greeting me and lighting up the entire world, made every nerve fade away.
She was stunning. Her hair pulled back into a tight bun on the top of her head, a green ribbon tied around her head like a headband. The green dress she wore hit every curve and stopped just at her knees, showing off her perfect legs. Her nails were painted white, standing out as she reached her hand to me, palm down. I gently took it in mine and brought it to my lips, giving it a sweet, soft kiss.
“Hi,” she whispered.
“You look beautiful,” I whispered back. “I am very underdressed.”
