Cooper scrubs his hand over his face. “I should have gone with option number one.”
“Huh?” I ask.
Earl places a glass of whiskey in front of Cooper, and with one swift motion, he tilts his head back and downs the entire glass. When he sets it back on the bar top, he clears his throat. “Could I have another? Thanks.”
“Oh, that kind of night, huh?”
“What do you think?”
“I think you’re looking at this all wrong.”
He turns on his stool to face me, his expression suddenly intent. “Oh yeah, please tell me how exactly I’m looking at this all wrong.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” I lift my beer and finish it off before holding up the empty bottle to Earl. “Could I get another?” He nods with a wink and quickly delivers. Such a good man. I twist the cap off the bottle. “Your parents are taking the hard work out of your hands. Not sure how far you are into the dating scene, but it’s rather unpleasant, trying to meet people. You spend all this time talking to them, trying to gauge if they’re a decent enough person, only to find out that they collect toenail clippings in their spare time.” He cringes at that. “But your parents are taking that work away from you,” I continue. “They’re doing the dirty work, and you’re reaping the benefits. I think that’s a pretty decent deal if you ask me.”
“But they’re my parents.”
“Yes, there seems to be a certain stigma to that, but any intelligent woman would be able to look past such a thing.” I fluff my hair with a smirk.
“Are you saying you’re intelligent?” he asks, lifting his glass to his lips.
“Are you saying I’m not?” I quirk a brow at him.
“I don’t know enough about you to make an honest assessment.”
“And whose fault is that?” I ask. “You know, you were married to my best friend, but we’ve also known each other for years, since our parents are good friends and all. You’ve had plenty of time to assess my intelligence.”
“Never noticed.”
Not surprised. Cooper has always had a one-track mind. It’s one of the things I find fascinating about him. He gets so incredibly fixated on something that nothing else around him exists. I know it’s one of the things that bothered Dealia. She wanted Cooper to multitask, to focus on more than one thing at a time. But that’s not how his mind works. When he’s set on something, he’s set in stone. I’ve never seen such undivided attention . . . it’s quite captivating, actually.
“I’d take that as an insult if I didn’t know as much as I know about you.”
That makes him sit taller. “What do you know about me?”
I playfully tap my chin. “Well, I know you have a hard time focusing on anything but the task that’s set in your mind. I know you have a tendency to not notice the things around you when you’re zeroed in. And I know that you once jumped into my parents’ pool and lost your swim trunks because you forgot to tie them, and Josie Gregory saw your bare butt.”
“I borrowed Ford’s swim trunks. Big mistake.” He sips his whiskey. “Not sure about the other things, though. I notice what’s going on around me.”
I smile. “Is that so?”
He nods. “Yeah, I’m not as tunnel visioned as you make me out to be.”
“I see.” I bring my beer to my lips. “So, you’re telling me you knew your parents left the bar about three minutes ago?”
“What?” he says, spinning around to find that his parents and their bag are very much gone. “What the actual fuck?”
I chuckle. “Yup, not tunnel visioned at all.”
His razor-sharp gaze lands on me. “My back was toward them. That doesn’t count.”
“Okay.” I smile.
He pulls his phone from his pocket, presses some buttons, and then holds the phone up to his ear. After a few seconds, he says, “Mom, where the hell are you two?” Silence. “What? Do you even know how to get to my apartment? I know you’re not invalids, but it’s dark. Do you have your glasses? What about a key?” He pats his pocket. “When did you take it from my pocket? Mom, I don’t—can you—okay, yeah. Text me when you get there safely.” Another moment of silence and then through gritted teeth, “She’s my ex-wife’s best friend. That’s not happening.” I feel my cheeks heat up. I can only imagine what Peggy just said to him. “I’m not talking about this. I love you. Text me when you’re there. Bye.” He hangs up the phone, places it on the bar top, and then slouches into the hold he has on his tumbler. He lifts the glass to his lips and slowly drains it again.
From the pace he’s set, he’s probably going to wish his parents had stayed so he’d have someone to help him back to his place.
“Are your parents good?” I ask.
“Yeah. They say bye, by the way. Mom said it was a pleasure seeing you again.”
“Aw, I love your parents. They’ve always been so kind. Apple fell pretty far from the tree, huh?”
His eyes flash to mine. “I’m having a night.”
“I see.” I twist my lips to the side. “You know, you could turn that around. Instead of focusing on the negative, you can choose to make fun of the given situation.”
He thinks on that and turns in his seat again, facing me. “All right, Nora, how exactly would you make fun of the situation I’m in?”
“Glad you asked.” I smile and turn to Earl. “Earl, would I be able to borrow a piece of paper and a pen from you?”
“Of course, darlin’,” he says before grabbing from the register a pencil with teeth marks in the wood and a pad of paper that’s full of scribbled-on pages flipped over the binding.
With a smile of thanks, I flip over to a brand-new sheet.
“What do you plan on writing?” Cooper asks. “My biography?”
“Would you edit it?” I ask, knowing Cooper edits nonfiction for a living.
“After tonight, that might be more of a riveting read than what I’m currently working on.”
I chuckle. “Working on something bland?”
“I fell asleep three times in an hour the last time I opened my computer.”
“What are you editing?”
“A memoir featuring blimps.”
“What?” I laugh. “From whose point of view? If you say the blimps’, I can’t possibly see how that would be boring.”
“If it was from the blimps’ point of view, I would be absolutely captivated. Unfortunately, it’s from an avid viewer and observer.”
“Ah, well, everyone has something they’re passionate about. But no, I’m not writing your biography—I want to assess your situation so I can show you how to make it more fun.” Pen poised, I say, “Please describe your problematic situation in great detail.”
“Great detail seems extreme.”
“Okay, then do the best you can.”
Sighing, he moves his hand over the back of his neck. “It’s the holidays.”
“Yes, I was reminded of that by the Christmas plaid on your dad’s pants and the way your mom jingled her bells in my face.”