Page 215 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 2

Rocking back in his chair, a crease forms between his brows. The tension seems a bit much for talk about his friends getting married. Then he steeples his fingers. I ask, “Am I intruding? You seem preoccupied. The marriage wedding mix-up. You keep looking at your phone like you’re expecting a call.”

“I’m always expecting a call.”

“Okay, you’re busy. I get it, but…”

Pushing back from the desk, he says, “Sorry. I’m present. Mind in this. Rad thinks Tealey will like the idea because she is a romantic. She’s also busy with the foundation, so he was hoping you could take charge not only because of your party-planning knowledge, but also know what she’ll love.”

“I appreciate the flattery, but I’ll need to think on this. I’m not sure how I’d feel about a surprise wedding.” My friend has never been about all the little details of the party. She’s told me many times that she’d prefer just being married to Rad than dealing with the rest. “You know, I’m starting to think this might not be such a bad idea.” I get up and start pacing the room. “If I can get her to plan the details without planning the details, this could be Rad’s greatest idea ever.” Giddy, a giggle escapes and I clap my hands. “It’s brilliant. Tell Rad, I’m in.” I nod toward the door. “Now I need to get back.”

“You can’t spoil the surprise, Marlow.”

“I won’t. My lips are sealed.” I pretend to zipper my lips and then toss the key to Jackson. He catches it and then shoves it in his pocket because he’s adorable.

Returning to the kitchen, Natalie is demonstrating smashed potatoes. “This is one of Jackson’s personal favorites that my mom made for us when we were growing up.”

“I missed how long they bake before we get to smash them,” I say, sitting on a barstool. I take a sip of wine and just happen to get a glimpse of Tealey, who’s busy smashing her own potatoes to take home.

“Rad loves potatoes,” she says.

I ask, “What about you?”

A quick bump of her shoulders appears to indicate that it might not be right for wedding food if she were choosing it. “I like potatoes.”

“You don’t sound excited.”

She and Cammie look at me, and she laughs. “They’re potatoes.”

“Noted.”

“Why are you noting this?”

I pop to my feet and grab the bottle because how am I going to keep this secret from them? It’s impossible. “More wine?”

I’m in so much trouble.At least it’s the good kind.

Jackson’s still in his office hours later. He ventured out for water and spent a few minutes chatting with his sister in the living room. It seemed like a heavier conversation, so I didn’t want to invade their privacy, but my heart has hung a bit heavier since.

She had to leave shortly after, but it was nice to bond with her for a few hours and learn a new trick to Jackson’s heart. I hope he likes the meal tonight.

With the food packed up and ready for them to take home, Cammie says, “This was fun. I can host next time. I’d like to try beef bourguignon, Julia Child’s recipe, and take my basic skills to the next level. I think Cade will love it. He’s got to be sick of all the casseroles I make.”

Tealey, holding her tote bag of food, says, “I’m in. Oh, you know what I’d love to learn how to cook?”

“What?” I ask so fast, I startle her. I think I’ve taken this secret assignment too seriously. We start laughing. “Sorry. What would you like to learn to cook?”

“Sourdough bread from scratch.”

Damn.That doesn’t help me . . . or does it. A bruschetta appetizer—simple and elegant. Man, I’m good at this.Maybe I should change careers.

Grinning, I say, “We could make this a regular thing—our very own cooking series. Once a month or whatever we decide.”

“That’s such a fun idea,” Cammie says, and then rubs her belly. “Maybe I’ll learn to make baby food.”

Tealey smiles, but if I’m not wrong, it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I should go. Hugs all around. Have a great week.”

She and Cammie walk out together. Closing the door, I lean against it for a few seconds before pushing off and then tending to the food. When I take the chicken I prepped earlier out of the oven, I then stick the potatoes in and pad down the hall in my bare feet.

With my hand raised, ready to knock, I stop when I hear him say, “Get the fucking lawyers in the office tomorrow. First thing, or they’re fired.”

---