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“And I like the way you let me believe you were giving me a choice.”
One side of her mouth tilts up. “It’s the least I can do after your generous pour earlier.”
“Beautiful women never have to thank me for that.” I instantly want to take back the words. Because for one—spoken out loud, the words sound creepy. And two—mentioning that I’m giving out generous pours to every pretty girl at the wedding—which I’m not—isn’t a stellar flirting technique.
Not that I’m trying to flirt. I’m done with women.
Or at least, on a self-imposed sabbatical from women as I try to get my life together.
She flashes me an uneasy smile, which is more than I deserve, and turns her back to me. Dark hair is pulled up in an intricate updo,revealing a long neck and slim shoulders. The dress she’s wearing hugs her hips and shows off lean legs.
Despite my better judgment, and maybe because I just denied my own brother any kind of help and want to feel less like an ass, I lift the bottle. “If you’re going to trespass, you might as well have a drink.”
She whirls on me. “You’re the one—”
I throw my hands up in the air. “I’m joking. I just ... I had a crappy night too.”
A shift in cloud cover allows me to make out the features that caught my attention in the ballroom. She’s a blend of angles and soft lines, high cheekbones and full lips. Wide eyes full of indecision consider me.
“Is it that obvious?”
“You’re on the roof alone in the middle of a wedding ...” I walk toward the bench Darren had started building right after our dad died. It was supposed to be the start of a memorial garden, but Darren never got around to finishing it. “And I saw you get cornered earlier by that woman. Let me guess—mother nagging you about grandkids.”
She barks a laugh that could mean a thousand things. “God, no.”
“Much older sister trying to set you up with that bald groomsman?”
“Nope. He’s married.”
“Aunt asking why you’re not married yet?”
A pained expression dashes across her features, replaced immediately by a smile that looks more rehearsed than natural. “Close enough. You’re good.”
“In another life I was a writer for TV dramas. One of the job requirements is being able to read people, hear what they aren’t saying.”See what they aren’t showing,I think, as an irresponsible part of me notes the empty ring finger.
“Aah,” she says.
An awkward silence shivers between us. I twist the cap off the wine and drink. It’s impossibly sour while also being sickly sweet, and my mouth puckers. I must be making a face because she breathes a laugh.
“Good wine?”
I cough. “One of the finest bottles of twist-off red wine blend you can find on this side of the Atlantic coast.”
Her mouth quirks up. “Let me see.”
She approaches and takes the bottle from me. Her nose crinkles as she studies the label.
“Are you a wine expert or something?”
“I did bartend through nursing school, but no. I just want to remember which wine to stay away from if I make it back downstairs.”
“If?”
She grins, something abashed creeping into her expression as if she’s just admitted something she shouldn’t. “I meant when. When I get back.”
She lifts the bottle, drinks, and shudders. “Oh, that’ll wake you up. Even Dionysus would turn down that bottle.”
“Dionysus?” No ring doesn’t mean unattached. “Personal friend of yours?”
