Page 147 of Last First Kiss
“Is this the Armani?” Liz interrupts, still facing Jamie. She fiddles with his lapels before starting on the undone buttons. Jordan might scream. “I was hoping you’d wear the Dolce. It looksmuchbetter on you.”
“More professional,” Jeff agrees, before he takes a drink.
Liz’s gaze floats around. Discreetly, she says, “You don’t want anyone here thinking you’re… less than, do you?”
Jordan’s eyes narrow.
Less than what? The polite servers who are aptly attending to every guest as if they are royalty? The bartenders shaking up all the dull cocktails shouted at them?
Jordan,the event planner?
“Impressions are lasting,” Jeff tacks on.
Jamie nods, staring past his dad’s shoulder, clearly disassociating.
“You still look nice, son,” Liz swears, patting his jaw. It’s bare again. Clean-shaven. Jordan already misses the scratchy bristles under his fingertips and against his skin. “Just, next time, let Sloane pick out your wardrobe.”
At that, Jamie’s eyes slide back to Jordan.
Credit to himself, Jordan doesn’t react. Outwardly. On the inside, he’s chucked his iPad at the gorgeous macaron tower Sam’s posted up next to.
“Mom…” Jamie begins.
Liz ignores him. “You two are perfect for each other. I don’t know how you didn’t see it sooner.”
“Mom.”
“Fantastic girl,” Jeff agrees, before finishing his drink. “Smart. Pretty. Comes from a respected family.”
He sounds like a list of attributes found on a dating app for bland, rich white men. Blandr.List your net worth and your golf handicap for local trophy wives in your area.
Shoulders stiff, Jamie maintains eye contact with Jordan.
Jordan inhales. This isn’t his fight. In fact, he shouldn’t even be standing here. He’s just the wedding planner.
Jamie has everything under control.
“I’m so happy we set you two up,” Liz says, raising her glass as if giving another toast.
“She’ll make you a better person,” Jeff declares.
Okay, never mind. This has officially become Jordan’s business.
“I’m sorry,” he says, even though he’s not, “do you really believe Jamie’s incapable of finding the right partner for himself?”
Liz’s face pinches. “He hasn’t so far.”
“Maybe love takes time?”
Jesus, fuck, did he really just quote a Mariah Carey song as part of his argument?
“Please.” Jeff grabs another glass. “Liz and I were dating by eighteen.”
“We were barely out of college when we got married,” Liz tuts. “We were each other’s first loves.”
“That’s nice, but Jamie’s not you,” Jordan tries to reason.
“He’s a Peters,” Jeff says with a finality.
