Page 6 of From the Embers
The shame in his tone was clear to every ear in the room.
And damn if that seed of guilt in my stomach didn’t grow. “Oh. Yeah. Sure. Let me just grab—”
“Take the Dom,” Rob interrupted.
Eason scoffed. “I’m not taking that for game night. Save that for—”
Rob slanted his head in challenge. “I said take the P3 Rosé. Oh, and grab the Bollinger too.”
My eyes flared. Holy shit. That had to have been at least three thousand dollars in champagne.
Rob and I did okay ourselves—more than okay if I was being honest. My once-small side gig sewing custom comforters for the girls in my dorm to earn beer money had taken off shortly after I graduated. Armed with a business degree, I’d rebranded Bree’s Blankets into Prism Bedding and moved to mass production and distribution to department stores all across the country. I loved my job, but the minute I laid eyes on my baby boy, my heart wasn’t in it anymore. Keeping it in the family, Rob took over as CEO and not long after landed us an eight-figure deal with the biggest hotel chain in North America to exclusively supply all five thousand of their hotels with private-label bedding. We’d spent that night celebrating in a penthouse suite in Vegas with a bottle of each Dom and Bollinger.
However, unless Jessica had left out some seriously important details about this celebration we were having for Eason, I wasn’t sure Dom and Bollinger were necessary.
I assumed Eason shared my thoughts when he nearly choked on his tongue. “Have you lost your mind?”
My husband shook his head. “My best friend is a musical genius who has decided to grace the biggest artists in the world with his songs before eventually writing more and dominating the entire industry as a solo artist. I did not spend a summer with you in a nineteen ninety-two Ford Aerostar van, taking two showers a week—combined—to celebrate your future successes with shitty champagne. End of discussion.” With that, he patted Eason on the shoulder and carried Luna out the back door to Evelyn.
“Jesus,” Eason breathed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “As if taking champagne from you guys wasn’t bad enough, now I have to add half a million dollars of bubbly to my infinite debt.”
I offered him a tight smile. “It’s not that expensive, but should you find yourself the biggest artist in modern history like he expects you’ll be, we’ll be happy to accept half a million dollars as repayment.”
He huffed. “I wouldn’t hold your breath on it.”
I wasn’t, but if Rob had that kind of faith in him, the least I could do was walk down to the wine cellar and get the champagne.
EASON
I was dumping the last of the chips into a bowl just as the doorbell rang. “Jess?”
“Yeah, I got it.”
Wiping my hands on a towel beside the sink, I surveyed my handiwork. Chips with homemade salsa and some random cheese that the lady at the grocery store had promised would be delicious along with a plate of fancy crackers, each one looking about as appetizing as a piece of cardboard. It wasn’t perfect. All in all, it had cost less than twenty bucks. But it looked good and that was more than enough to appease my wife.
“How’s it going?” Rob asked, walking in carrying a bottle of wine, as if the champagne hadn’t been bad enough.
“What’s that?”
“A gift for our hosts.”
I leveled him with a glare. “Seriously?”
Laughing, he shook his head. “Don’t give me shit. Bree insisted. Besides, a little extra wine never hurt anyone.” He arched an eyebrow and turned a pointed gaze on the ladies who were already huddled around the sofa table I’d converted into a makeshift bar.
Jessica was sporting a massive grin, so I gave up being annoyed at my best friend’s gratuitous generosity, took the bottle, and put it in the fridge.
“Can I get you a Scotch?”
He quirked a dark eyebrow. “Are you expecting me to play Pictionary tonight?”
I chuckled and started toward the bar. “Right. I’ll make it a double.”
Together, we walked over to the ladies, where I went in for the hug on Bree. “Hey, long time no see.” As usual, her return embrace was short and stiff, but I’d long since given up on reading into it. “How were the kids when you left?”
Rob coughed. “Don’t.” Another cough. “Mention.” He cleared his throat. “The kids.” He grinned at his wife. “Champagne or wine, sweetheart?”
Bree rolled her eyes. “I’m fine. Stop making such a big deal about it.”
“Of course you are, my love,” Rob crooned, shooting me a wink. “Champagne?”
After the pop of a cork that cost more than my mortgage and a quick toast to me with some bullshit about new beginnings and a bright future, we migrated in different directions. Jessica took Bree to Luna’s nursery to show her the new letters we’d hung over her crib while Rob and I meandered into my fortress of solitude that I shared with Jessica’s car—the garage.
