Page 54 of The Grump Next Door
“See? You’re learning.”
I run a hand through my hair, probably making it stick up worse. “This is insane.”
“This is a wedding.”
“Same thing.”
She studies me for a moment. “You really hate this, don’t you?”
“What gave it away? The clenched jaw or the eye twitch?”
“Both, actually.” She softens slightly. “Look, I promise we’ll be as unobtrusive as possible. You’ll barely know we’re here.”
A tent pole crashes to the ground with a sound like thunder.
We both look at it.
“Starting when?” I ask.
She bites her lip to keep from laughing, and I absolutely don’t notice how that makes her mouth look.
“I’ll buy you breakfast,” she offers. “As an apology for the wake-up call.”
“I don’t eat breakfast.”
She looks positively offended. “Everyone eats breakfast.”
“I drink coffee and judge people. That’s my breakfast.”
“Well, I make excellent coffee and I’m extremely judgable, so…” She gestures at herself like she’s presenting evidence.
Another crash—this time, it’s a whole section of tent.
“Son of a—” One of the contractors starts swearing creatively.
Poppy winces. “I should probably—”
“The oak tree has a weak branch,” I say. “On the north side. If they set up under it, it’ll come down in the first strong wind.”
She blinks at me. “Oh. Okay. Thanks for being helpful.”
“I’m not being helpful. I’m preventing a lawsuit.”
“Right. Very practical.” But she’s smiling now—the real kind, not the professional one. “Gary! Not under the oak! Move it six feet south!”
Gary gives her a thumbs-up.
She turns back to me. “Any other lawsuit-preventing advice?”
“The sprinklers go off at six-thirty.”
“Shit. Really?”
“Every day.”
She’s already speed-walking toward the contractors. “Everyone move your equipment! Sprinklers in twenty!”
I should go inside. I should remove myself from this situation. I should definitely put on a shirt.
