“Where did you find this caterer?” Christa asks, inspecting a piece of lettuce from her canapé with a frown. Whatever’s about to come out of her mouth next will not be complimentary.
Ashley doesn’t answer, cracking a bottle of champagne and scampering away to top off flutes, even though there are wait staff in tuxedos to do that. She knows that what Christa is actually annoyed at is the fact that Zelda, Ashley’s psychic, not only showed up to our housewarming party, but she’s perched on the couch—Eric next to her, in his chair—and offering free tarot card readings.
The party that Ashley’s been trying so desperately to plan was delayed by a few months thanks to my chaotic work schedule. At some point, it morphed into a housewarming party slash holiday party slash retirement party for my father slash engagement party for my parents slash baby shower for Lawan, who is seven months pregnant. We now have seventy people milling around in evening wear, unsure of what to toast to first, and a violinist in the corner playing modern ballads.
“Seriously, my restaurant would have done a better job with the food,” Christa mutters, holding a sizeable vegan meatball on a toothpick up as if inspecting it for hair.
“But then you’d have control over what food was being served.” I gave Ashley carte blanche over the planning, though I’m footing the bill.
“Exactly.”
I pluck the stick from her fingers and force the meatball into her mouth before she realizes what’s happening. “Just be happy she finally kicked Chad to the curb for the last time.” As expected, Chad tried to worm his way back into Ashley’s heart. It was all the conversations with Eric, through his slow typing and struggle with words, that reminded Ashley that she deserves so much more than that chump.
Christa moans her agreement.
“Good food, right?”
She glowers at me, her mouth too full to respond immediately.
I take that as my opportunity to escape, leaving her to grumble to someone else.
I pause to take in the view across the room—of my parents standing arm-in-arm, laughing and smiling—and I shake my head in wonder. I don’t remember them being like that at parties when we were growing up, but life looked so different from that angle.
What’s more shocking is that my father is having an actual conversation with Rhett, one where their jaws aren’t tense and their postures aren’t stiff.
Lawan, a petite woman with jet-black hair and large, dark eyes, stands next to my brother in an aqua-blue evening gown that accentuates her swollen belly, quietly watching the peaceful exchange with the same amount of amazement on her face as I feel.
According to my mom, my dad has been unwinding these past months, as he slowly learns to let go of Calloway Group and entrust it to me. That’s not going to happen overnight, of course. “Retirement” to Kieran Calloway really means “semi-retirement,” with a seat at big meetings as well as Monday morning calls to update him on the goings-on—mainly so he can lecture me on what I’m doing wrong.
A burst of deep laughter pulls my gaze to the left, where David and Renée are in deep conversation with Jim and his wife, Renée’s hands gesticulating wildly while telling a story.
David, beaming down at her.
He pulled me aside last week to finally admit they’ve started dating. He was sheepish about it, afraid of my reaction, I’d hazard. David, being David, assumed I hadn’t already picked up on it. But I saw it coming two months before, when his eyes would linger on her, when their closed-door meetings would last longer, when they started strolling into work together. It was one of the worst-kept secrets in CG history.
I’m happy for him, though it means facing the arduous task of shifting assistants around. Jill, Tripp’s old assistant, has swapped desks with Renée, and David is none too happy about that. He’ll adjust.
The person I’ve been most worried about in all of this is Mark, who has managed to keep his head in his job despite dragging his feet around since news broke around the office.
Though I’ve noticed him stealing frequent glances at Ashley tonight. I think I’ll be making that introduction sooner rather than later.
But not right now . . .
I weave through the small crowd, making my way out to the patio, to the lone figure in a suit, leaning over the railing, taking in the city, his broad shoulders hunched slightly. The outdoor furniture has all been tucked away for the winter, but the canopy of lights remains and, with the dusting of snow that falls from the sky, it gives the space a magical feel.
The two glasses of champagne I just guzzled warm my body enough that I don’t immediately feel the bite from the cold air against my bare skin. I chose a sleek black satin dress for tonight. By the glow in Kyle’s eyes every time they touch me, I’d say I chose right.
“What are you doing out here all alone?”
“Enjoying the view.” I hear the smile in his voice, his back still to me.
I sidle up behind him, sliding my arms around his waist. “Who are you hiding from?”
“Lawan.”
I burst out laughing. My sister-in-law is a soft-spoken and kind woman who has likely never uttered a single harsh word about anyone. “What did he say now?” I ask with forced patience. My father wasn’t happy when I told him that Kyle and I had reconciled, but he wasn’t surprised. He’s been relatively tolerant of the relationship, with only a few jibes here and there. It’s almost as if he’s trying to accept the idea of us. That or he’s biting his tongue and waiting for us to fail all on our own.
In any case, I haven’t forgiven him for the past yet.
Kyle slides his hand over mine. “Besides telling me I needed a new suit?”
“Don’t listen to him. You look good.” I offered to buy him a Tom Ford but he refused, as Kyle refuses all gifts I try to give him. Which is why I’ll be buying him a custom suit for Christmas.
He smirks. “He also told me I should be applying for a supervisory position at Rikell. I took that as his way of saying I’m not a complete idiot, so I bolted before he could say anything else.”
I nestle my chin on his shoulder. “Yeah, I’d say that’s a good start. Though, you know he’s going to keep pushing you until you’re running the whole damn thing, right?”
“That’s not likely to happen.” Kyle shifts in my arms, allowing him to wrap his arms around my back and pull me into his body, into his warmth. “A supervisor isn’t a bad idea, though. I have more than enough years of experience. Maybe I’ll look into it.” Kyle is working front-desk security at a building six blocks away from mine. As much as I loved seeing him throughout the day, it was a good move. It forces me to get home at a reasonable hour every night, so I can spend time with him. If there’s one thing that my parents’ mess has taught me, it’s that I don’t want to repeat my father’s mistake of putting the business before my heart.
“Good idea.” I press my lips against the corner of his, where the tiny lip ring scar remains. “Maybe you can climb the ladder far enough to change the rules about face piercings and get this redone.”
His body shakes with his laughter. And then he’s kissing me, and the cold, the people milling in the background, the music . . . everything simply melts away.
“I see a lake,” a voice calls out.
We break free and turn to find Zelda watching us curiously from ten feet away, her garb—colorful beaded cloth, draped over her body in flowing layers, capped with a brilliant fuchsia overcoat—all the more striking against a snowy backdrop. She’s every stereotype I imagined Ashley’s psychic to be, right down to the wild mane of graying hair, the deep smoker’s voice, the piercing eyes.
“I see a lake,” she repeats, “and sunshine and warmth, and enduring love.”
“You’re telling us about our past.” Kyle’s arms tighten around me. “I’m more interested in knowing about our future.”
Zelda’s eyes crinkle with her smile.
