Page 34 of The Fine Art of Faking It
“Did you get her a corsage?”
“You didn’t wear that, did you?”
The questions flew fast and loud around them.
“I actually stood her up,” Davis said.
Eden felt a grim satisfaction at the looks of horror and disappointment on the faces of their rapt audience.
“That doesn’t sound like you, sweetie,” Mrs. Hasselback frowned.
“No, it was very much like him,” Eden said, unable to hold back on the dig.
Davis didn’t make a move to defend himself. “It was a mistake I’ve regretted ever since then,” he said simply.
“Awh,” swooned their audience.
“He showed up at the dance with another date,” Eden added.
“No!” Nia gasped.
Davis nodded and poured a round of chardonnays. “I’m afraid so. I was young and dumb, and my parents didn’t approve of me going with Eden.”
“Star-crossed lovers! And now here you are under one roof for a second chance,” Marty Bigelow, an insurance salesman from Idaho sighed dramatically.
Eden shook her head. What the hell was in the wine Gates was serving up? Liquid romance?
“That ship has sailed,” Eden said with a cheery smile she didn’t feel. “Now, who would like a pecan tassie?”
“But you two practically smolder when you’re in the same room,” Marty’s sister-in-law Judith said, her dangling cat earrings jiggling with vehemence.
Davis met Eden’s gaze, and Eden pretended not to notice said smolder.
“See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Judith said pointing at them. “It’s like he wants to rip your clothes off, and you want to break his face kissing it!”
“How much did you give these people to drink?” Eden demanded.
Her guests erupted into a loud discussion of all the reasons why Eden and Davis should give each other a second shot. Eden’s polite proprietress smile was frozen on her face.
“Everyone. Everyone!” The room quieted down at Davis’s tone. “We both made mistakes, myself especially. And sometimes there are no second chances.”
Someone in the small crowd booed.
“Besides,” Eden added. “Our families have been feuding for decades. It would never work out.”
Tierra grabbed the bottle of sparkling wine from the table and started filling cups. “This I’ve gotta hear.”
“Well, it all started in 1960 when Davis’s grandfather hit my grandma with his car,” Eden began.
“That’s not how it started.”
She turned to look at Davis. “Excuse me?”
“No, it started when your great-aunt broke into my great-aunt’s store and stole all her flour.”
“That’s not what happened,” Eden argued. “Your great-aunt refused to sell my great-aunt any cake ingredients soshecould win the baking contest.”
“That actually does sound like something she’d do,” Davis said, rubbing a hand over his dimpled chin. “Great-Aunt Vera was mean as a snake. She hit her husband with a rolling pin every time he asked what was for dinner.”
