Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
“I watched The Philadelphia Story and I know it’s a compliment. Take it and pretend it means ‘you look nice,’ ” she grumbled with a pretty pout.
“Noted. And though inaccurate, thank you.”
She took a deep breath and gestured to the man next to her, pulling his attention from his friends. “This is my fiancé, Sterling. He’s in business like our dads and he used to play football, right, hon?”
“Yeah. Hi, there. Nice to meet you.”
Sterling was tall and good-looking, but nowhere near Thomas’s level of gorgeous. And let’s be real, his so-called “athletic” days were a decade behind him. He rocked an “I work out with a trainer a few times a week” vibe. Trust me, folks…gym commitment is all well and good—but, it does not make one an athlete. However, he seemed like a nice enough guy.
Thomas smiled when the two older couples approached. He hugged the tall brunette, shook hands with the distinguished gentleman, then turned to introduce us.
“Mom, Dad, this is Noah.” He set his hand on my shoulder and left it there for a beat. The contact conveyed a subtle message that we were a couple…and I liked it.
“Hello, Noah. I’m Cynthia and this is Tommy’s father, Frank,” she said, gesturing to the serious-looking but very handsome older man beside her. “Tommy has kept you a secret.”
“How did you two meet?” his father asked.
“Um, well…we met when I cut his hair,” I replied.
Commence awkward silence.
Cynthia gave a half laugh. “Ah, you did a lovely job, Noah. Tommy looks very dapper.”
I could have kissed the white-gloved server in a tux who magically appeared with champagne. I took a flute and guzzled half the contents just as his father announced that it was time to join our hosts on a tour of their vineyard.
I tipped back my glass and reached for a second before following the Hartwells and Remingtons. A little champagne went a long way. I hoped.
Mr. Remington was tall and thin with slick black hair. He reminded me of an old-time movie star who’d had a great career but couldn’t land any new roles, so he made do with talking about the things he owned. I nodded and smiled, sipping champagne and admiring his vineyard, his barn, and his Olympic-sized pool while Thomas ambled behind us with his parents and sister.
“You brought a stranger? Is he wearing lip gloss?” That was his dad.
His sister chuckled. “I like it. He’s kinda hot.”
“He’s nice, but…where’s Holden?” Yep, that was Mom.
Look, my parents disowned me, so I really didn’t have room to talk, but this was an odd group. The Hartwells seemed to genuinely care about each other, but they had a dysfunctional way of showing affection. His dad picked, his mom fawned, his sister alternately preened and posed, flitting between her friends and family, while Thomas remained stoic and ruthlessly polite.
I would have loved to grab a cosmo, hang out on a chaise lounge, and people-watch, but I was determined to be a charming date. I had a feeling Thomas needed me to be the truest version of myself to be comfortable in this crowd.
My version of “being myself” was to up my charm quotient times a hundred. I grabbed my third glass of bubbly from a tuxedoed server post tour and flitted from group to group, introducing myself and making small talk like a champ.
Observe…
To the hipsters clustered around the fireplace: “The canapés are fantastic, aren’t they? Now how do you know the happy couple?”
Or the older folks pretentiously swirling and sniffing their wine on the terrace: “I’ve heard the Remington’s Pinot is top-notch. Are the wineries in this area worth a visit?”
The key to small talk was to feign interest and ask questions. Thomas wasn’t so great at that, but I was a freaking master. I gently pulled him with me, weaving our way through guests, sipping cocktails, and munching hors d’oeuvres. It was easy enough, but a bit tedious after a while. Thankfully, the food was good and the views were spectacular.
It was more of the same at dinner.
We were ushered into a wood-paneled, stately room dripping with crystal chandeliers and lined with stuffy landscape paintings that probably should have been in a museum. Everyone was dressed to the nines in glittery gowns and tailored blazers. They clung to their dates like life preservers as they peeked at the place holders on the long tables topped with fine linens and elegant floral arrangements.
In my champagne-lubed state, I thought this might not be so bad. And it might have been okay if we’d been able to do a seat switcheroo. Some of Tabitha and Sterling’s friends were fun once their buzzes kicked in, but no…Thomas and I were in the family section, smack between the Remingtons and the Hartwells.
“I hear you’re a scientist, Tommy.” Mrs. Remington smiled as she speared her romaine lettuce with precision.