I hadn’t planned to, but I sure as hell was going to now. There was plenty of time to dig up a date. It was positively…six hours away.
“Not Matthew,” Emily said.
I rolled my eyes. “He wasn’t that bad.” He was also out of town, or he’d be the first I called.
“He was worse. Good thing he didn’t even make par.”
“What’s par?” Ian asked.
“Anne never dates anyone more than three months.”
“That is so not true!” I said. “What about Kyle?”
“Four months,” she said. “And that was high school.”
“It still counts,” I said—and noticed Ian’s expression.
There was something wistful in his deep blue eyes. He was thinking about Charlotte. About tragic, doomed high school love. He knew Charlotte would be at the party, and he longed to see her. He knew she was famous, he knew she was married. He only wanted to watch her from across the room, his heart silently breaking. And, well, I know I shouldn’t have done it. You’d think I’d have learned my lesson last time: never invite Ian anywhere. But I’d learned nothing.
So I looked at his injured-puppy eyes and said, “Would you like to come?”
“To the reading?”
“If you’re free tonight?”
He smiled. “I’d love to.”
Emily fiddled with her water glass, and I thought, uh-oh. Not good, inviting Charlotte’s ex-boyfriend to Emily’s party. “That’d be…nice,” she said.
“If you’re sure,” he asked her politely.
“Of course,” she said.
“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” he said.
“Come or don’t come,” she snapped. “I could care less.”
“Then I’ll definitely come.”
“And I’ll definitely go,” I said. “Lunch break’s over. If I give Jenny a reason to fire me—”
“Another reason,” Emily said, as I left.
Okay, it was a mistake to invite Ian. But it wasn’t a disaster. It had been ten years since it happened, and he clearly didn’t remember.
Which was almost as galling as if he had.
Wren was fixing the window when I returned.
“Very avant-garde,” she said.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
She laughed and turned back to the mannequins, sorting them out with efficient, professional motions.
“It was a popular triumph,” I told her. “The people loved me.”
“But not critically acclaimed. Jenny isn’t happy.” She straightened the plaid mini. “Who’s the guy?”
“That’s Khaki Cords.” I kicked the mannequin. “I hate him.”
“The guy at the Coffee Bean.”
“Oh, him. Ian. My sister’s ex.”
“They’re back together?”
“Not Emily’s— Charlotte’s.”
“Ah. That explains it.”
“What?”
“He’s gorgeous.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I guess, if you like the blond, blue-eyed…gorgeous type. Oh! Speaking of which— I need a date for tonight.”
“Your sister’s book thing?”
“Yeah. I was gonna go stag, but…”
“Uh-huh.” She nodded knowingly. “Ian’s going?”
“Well, I sort of accidentally invited him.”
“You have a crush on Charlotte’s ex.”
“I don’t! Not a crush. But I, um…”
“You what?”
“Let’s just say I did something really stupid, once. I wouldn’t want him to think it ruined me for guys ever since.”
“What’d you do?”
“I invited him to a party,” I said.
“I mean last time,” she said.
“That’s what I did last time, too. I don’t know what it is. I see him, I invite him somewhere inappropriate. It’s Pavlovian.”
“Because he makes you salivate.”
I ignored her. “Anyway, I need a presentable date, fast.”
“My brother would do it for ten bucks.”
Her brother is thirteen. “I’m looking for clean-shaven, not pre-shaven.”
Jenny suddenly loomed. She edged between me and the nearest mannequin, as if afraid I’d go for its throat. “You’re back,” she said.
“With bells on!” I told her, smiling gaily as if nothing had happened.
“We have to talk,” Jenny told me.
“Anne needs a date tonight,” Wren said. “She’s got nobody to take to her sister’s party.”
For a moment, I was pissed at Wren. How could she tell Jenny I needed a date? Then I realized it was a perfect distraction. Jenny was a little starstruck by Charlotte, so there was no need to mention the party was for my other sister.
“Your sister?” Jenny considered. “Well, there’s always Billy.”
Billy was one of the Banana boys. Wren and I both had crushes on him—he was a young Brad Pitt—but Wren was the absolute worst flirt you’ve ever seen. As a rule, she was competent and pretty and perfect—but when flirting she flipped a switch, and a stuttering Elmer Fudd took over her body.
“He’ll go out with anyone,” Jenny said.
“Even Anne?” Wren asked.
“Oh, thanks,” I said.
Jenny shrugged. “Why not? I’ll get him to teach you how to use the register. Then you can ask.”
“The register!” I said. That was even better than Billy.
“There’s
