Page 62 of Meant to Be

CHAPTER 15

Joe

A few nights after the paparazzi busted Cate leaving my apartment, I went to dinner with my cousin Peter, his fiancée, Genevieve, and Berry. I’d invited Cate to join us, but she’d turned me down—for the third day in a row—alluding to not wanting a repeat of the paparazzi incident.

“So, who’s the latest model?” Berry asked me just after our drinks were brought to the table. It was the first time I’d ever kept her in the dark about anything significant in my life, and I wasn’t even sure why I had, other than a general feeling of protectiveness toward Cate. This question confirmed my instinct—and I felt annoyed.

“I thought you didn’t read thePost?” I said.

“I don’t. It’s trash,” she said. “I saw it over someone’s shoulder on the subway.”

“Likely story,” I said as Peter and Genevieve listened with amused expressions. “Just admit it—you stalk me.”

“You wish,” Berry said, taking a sip of her wine. “So…what’s the deal? Is it just a fling?”

“No,” I said. “It’s not ‘just a fling.’ As a matter of fact, I’ve been seeing her for two months.”

“Wow. Twowholemonths?”

“Yes,” I said, ignoring her sarcasm.“Exclusively.”

“Aww,” Genevieve said in her usual sweet voice. “Good for you, Joey.”

“Okay,” Berry said. “So. Tell us about her.”

“Her name’s Cate Cooper,” I said, overcome with the warm, tingly feeling that Cate always gave me. “She’s amazing.”

Berry stared back at me and said, “Where did you meet?”

“In the Hamptons.” I hesitated and then said, “She’s the one you told menotto date.”

“I did?” Berry said.

“Yeah. About a year ago. I met her while she was working on the beach. Remember?”

“Oh. Yeah.Thatmodel.”

“Formermodel. She retired.”

“And what does she do now?”

“She works with Wilbur Swift.”

“Who?” Berry said.

“Wilbur Swift, the fashion designer?” Genevieve said.

I nodded.

“Never heard of him,” Berry said.

Genevieve filled Berry in. “You’d love his stuff. His designs are so clean and minimalistic.” She turned to Peter and said, “You know that navy dress I have with the white piping?”

“The one you wore to Laura’s shower?” he said, referring to our cousin’s baby shower—which was months ago. It wassoPeter to keep track of such details.

Genevieve nodded, looking proud of her attentive fiancé.

With Wilbur now legitimized, I shot Berry a smug smile, then turned in my chair, kicking one leg out to the side of the table and pointing down at my loafer. “These are Wilbur driving mocs. Softas butter. My new favorites. Anyway. Cate is Wilbur’s right-handwoman…. She has impeccable style—and she’s just really…cool,” I said, wishing I had the words to capture her essence. “And yes, she sold me these.”

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