Page 92 of 10 Rings I Hate About You
“Mm.” I would not push. I was a good friend. And I was absolutely not going to mention that she’d glanced at the door four separate times since we walked in.
“Dessert table?” Adele asked, clearly desperate to change the subject.
“Dessert table,” I confirmed.
We loaded up two plates and an extra for Cheryl, who was apparently still in active negotiations with the bartender and had just handed over her phone for him to type his number into. She winked at him as she took it back, and his heated gaze tracked her to our table.
“Well look at you, you goddess.” I grinned when she sashayed over.
She grinned back, and the slight turn caused the gold sequins to catch the light. “I finally have a free night. I’m going to useevery single minuteof it.”
“Good.” I squeezed her arm because she deserved every one of those minutes and then some. “Now grab a dessert plate. Penny made it all.”
I took my first bite and made a sound that was genuinely embarrassing in public.
Penny, already seated front and center at a table with a prime view of the stage, waved us over. “Come sit with me! Graceis helping backstage, and everyone seems to think this is VIP because they keep sitting elsewhere.”
We settled into three of the seven remaining chairs, and I took a second bite of whatever the chocolate thing was. Penny caught my blissed out expression and laughed. “I’m so happy you like it. Glamma and I took weeks dreaming up the perfect recipes for tonight.”
“It shows,” I said reverently. “I missed dinner, and I feel nothing but gratitude.”
Two women approached our table. I recognized one—Victoria—and the other woman beside her had perfected looking both bored and annoyed. Victoria, ten years older than me, had babysat me when I was younger and Aunt Jem had plans.
“Oh hey, Victoria. Sit down.” Penny waved them over.
“How’s your mom enjoying retirement?” Cheryl asked, making room.
Victoria laughed, settling into her seat. “About as well as you can expect for someone who taught third grade for almost fifty years. She keeps herself busy though, and has gotten incredibly involved with that town meetup group for dog owners.”
“I loved having her as a teacher. Third grade was a tough year for me, and she really made it better,” Cheryl added.
Victoria’s face lit up. “I’ll let her know.” She gestured to the woman beside her. “Everyone, this is my boss, Janine. I’ve told her so much about Ruby River, she just had to come experience it herself.”
Janine gave us all a patronizing smile that didn’t reach her eyes, or her cheekbones, or anywhere above her throat, really.
Before Victoria could even begin introductions, she asked, “So tell me more about this Kingsley family?”
Victoria, to her credit, tried. “I told you, they’re one of the founding families of Ruby River. Glamma practically runs thistown. Three sons—Ted, Robert, and James. Robert and Ted run Kingsley Jewelry?—”
“Fascinating.” Janine’s tone suggested the opposite. Her gaze swept the room with the calculating efficiency of a woman running a cost-benefit analysis on every man within a fifteen-foot radius. “Are there any eligible bachelors among them?”
I looked at Cheryl. Cheryl looked at Adele. And Adele looked at Penny. We shared the kind of conversation that required no words.
This woman!
Victoria’s hands waved slightly, an involuntary flinch toward apology on behalf of her own boss. Poor thing. “Well, yes, there are quite a few grandchildren.” Her eyes scanned the room.“Over there—that’s Adam.”
“Ohh,” Janine said. “He’s yummy.”
“He’s a great guy,” Victoria said tightly. “Does excellent work on my car. And doesn’t try to screw you over when you bring it in.”
“He’s amechanic?” Janine frowned. “I thought their family had money?”
The lie arrived so fast I didn’t even fully formulate it in my head. “Yeah, but he hates spending any of it. I hear he’s actually living paycheck to paycheck,” I said, lowering my voice to the conspiratorial register, the one that implied genuine insider information. “Between us?” I did a quick glance of the room for effect. “I heard they don’t even get their inheritance until they’re fifty. Minimum.”
Around the table, Cheryl, Adele, and Penny nodded with the solemn conviction of a well-established fact.
“Oh,” Janine deflated. “Well. That’s unfortunate.” She picked up her phone, and we ceased to exist.
