Page 51 of Shy Girl
“N-not c-coffee at the shop?” She attempted to sound scandalized, but it came out as more of a laugh than breathy shock. I grinned.
“Black, n—”
“No c-cream or s-sugar,” she said, interrupting me. Her voice dropped an octave in a poor imitation of me. “L-like a man. Five stars.”
I laughed. “Okay, point taken. I have my patterns.”
“Y-yes,” she murmured, “you do.”
A bright red, sequined dress slipped close out of the corner of my eye, and I looked over in time to see Victoria approach alone. Before this trip, I'd rarely seen her by herself. Men or other women always accompanied her. She reached out to put a hand on my arm, but I grabbed a passing wine glass and she withdrew a second before the rejection would have been blatantly obvious.
“You look as handsome as ever,” Victoria said to me, as if Dagny weren't standing less than an inch from my side. Dagny's smile had become fixed, but I could have sworn I saw more intrigue than concern.
“Thank you,” I said.
Victoria paused, as if waiting for more, then motioned to the table. “I've already claimed a seat at this table.” She motioned to a round one not far from a table with seashell clasps holding cloth napkins together. “Would you care to sit next to me?”
I opened my mouth to protest, but another couple in deep discussion slid into place instead, oblivious to Victoria's attempts. Someone rapped a fork on a glass in a delicate tinkle that floated above the crowd.
“Attention!” called a distant voice. “Ladies and gentlemen?”
People quieted as they looked to the front of the room. The rest of the attendees funneled to tables nearby, or crossed the room to their seats. Victoria pressed her lips together, but before she could respond, Dagny motioned to two seats on the other side of the table.
“H-how ab-bout across from you?” she asked Victoria.
Victoria gave a bland smile. “Perfect.”
After everyone found a seat, a quick thank you speech came from Grady's parents who ran the dinner. An army of waiters appeared from a pair of swinging doors at the back. The cleared area between tables filled with the delicious smell of food and the song of ice water filling glasses. Dagny leaned closer to me.
“D-do you know anyone here?” she asked.
I shook my head.
Her nose wrinkled. “Is th-that normal for a B-best Man?”
“Probably not.” I muttered. “Grady could have chosen someone more immersed in his world for this job. I'm more a remnant of his past than a daily part of his life now. But the Merry Idiots have never done anything the normal way.”
Her face illuminated as she grinned and quietly said, “Touché.”
Victoria's voice sailed over the clink of plates and silverware as a salad plate appeared in front of us from our right hand side. “So,” she said brightly, her lips pulled into a candy-apple-red smile that matched her dress. “Tell us what you do for a living, Dagny.”
The other four people at the table gazed politely at us. Dagny's face heated a little, but she responded easily.
“I'm a b-barista.”
Victoria's eyebrows rose. “Oh? Like at a coffee shop?”
Dagny nodded.
“Interesting.” Victoria leaned forward. “And are you doing that while you attend college?”
“Y-yes. I'm d-doing an online d-degree. The sh-shop is my f-full time j-job.”
“What is your major?”
“C-construc-ction m-anagement.”
Victoria's gaze became one of polite disinterest. She had a sip of water. The two women to my left—Grady's distant cousins, I thought—fell back into conversation together. An older couple with white hair and bored expression acted like they couldn't hear us.
