Page 13 of A Certain Appeal
“Brunch withAndrea?” We’ve only ever had drinks with her outside of Meryton once. Jane and I left staggering. “I don’t know if I have it in me.”
Jane shrugs, using the motion to gain further contact with Charles’s bare side. “She plied me with an additional booking next week.” He squeezes Charles’s arm, then starts for the door. “You were there. You can vouch.”
“Andrea?” Charles replies, letting himself get escorted. “Yes, she can be very persuasive.” He turns to wave, Jane already in the hall. “It was nice seeing you again, Bennet. You, ah...” He smiles. “You made quite an impression last night.” The smile broadens into that charming grin of his. “EvenIappreciated your Four of Clubs.”
For Jane’s sake, I don’t share that I know perfectly well how shallow that supposed impression was. So I grin back, throwing my arms up in the same position as on the card—forgetting about my nudity.
In the split second it takes for the comforter to drop from my shoulders, I go from embarrassment to mortification. But the goose down piles into a barrier just above my boob region, and Charles is spared an eyeful.
He makes a show of covering his eyes, then continues to the hall, still chuckling.
I take my time getting ready, in case Charles and Jane need more than a few minutes to say or otherwise convey their goodbyes. The front door opens and closes late in my hair regimen, the scrape of the door over the thick mat competing with the hiss of my hairspray.
I poke my head into Jane’s room, hoping for some sign of whatever he and Charles got into during those predawn hours. But the space is as perfectly put-together as ever, the charcoal bedding and goldenrod throw at the foot of his bed with corners so tight, Jane barely makes an indentation where he sits putting on his shoes.
“So.” I settle beside him, almost bouncing on the taut bedding as I arrange my skirt. “How didthathappen?”
“He came back! Not long after you left, he and his friend came in for a drink.” He purses his lips in delight. “Helookedfor me. Spotted me at family meal and asked if I was free to join them.” His voice is dreamy, like he still can’t believe it.
“His friend excused himself, and after we finished our drinks, Charles came to the after-hours gig. I sang, then he had acarbring us down to the Slope and we caught another drink and a bite at the Black Horse, then, ah—” He averts his eyes. “Then we came here.”
Before I can voice my appreciation for my earplugs, he nudges me, grinning.
“By the way, his friend? Will, I think. Charles calls him by his last name, like how people do with you. Darcy?Gorgeous.I didn’t notice at first, because of Charles, butdamn.”
“Agreed on the gorgeous. Too bad he’s a dillhole.”
Jane smacks my shoulder. “He seemed nice!”
I share the overheard commentary. At this point, it’s kind of funny:“thoroughly tolerable”? Who talks like that? But Jane can tell it rubbed me the wrong way and sticks out his lower lip with an appropriate degree of sympathy.
“That is harsh,” he says. “Charles mentioned that he takes a while to warm up. Darcy doesn’t like crowds, and Charles sprung the show on him last-minute and got there late. Maybe he was in a bad mood?”
I shrug. Darcy said that “tolerable” line with confidence; he’d made up his mind. Still, I’m willing to entertain the possibility of redemption, if for no other reason than it would be a waste of such a gorgeous face for his personality to be so lacking. “You gonna see Charles again?”
Jane bites his lower lip.
“Wow.You are in some deep smit, friend.”
“He’sreallynice. And really cute, but he’s only around for a few weeks. They’re in from the West Coast for some business stuff. I dunno; I checked out during that part. I was watching his lips move.”
“They are very nice lips.”
“They areamazinglips.”
“Oh?”
“More like O-face.”
“Oh. My. God,” I marvel. “He has you making sex puns. This boy toy has potential.”
“Do you think?” His voice is bright.
I smile and stand, reaching out to haul Jane from the bed. “You are hopeless.”
When we arrive, the line at Stone Park Cafe has already curved around the patio seating, the potential diners shifting to accommodatethe constant flow of scooters and strollers en route to the playground across the street. I spot Andrea waving at us from a four-top, her large sun hat drawing us in like a black hole. Jane and I “Pardon me” and “Excuse us” our way through the front door, and the beleaguered hostess shows us to our seats.
“Quickly!” Andrea snaps her fingers to get a waiter’s attention. “Do either of you want biscuits and gravy? We have to get the order in immediately, they’re almost out.”
