“I’ve had a change of heart,” she says. “So if your offer still stands…?”
Coop sweeps her off the ground. He grins at his friends. “I’m getting married!” he says.
“For the last time,” Stacey says.
Jake
On Monday, Fray generously offers to fly Jake back to South Bend on his private jet.
“It’s on my way home,” he says. “It’s no problem to make a stop. I’ll have my pilot add it to the flight plan.”
Fray and Jake part ways with the others outside the terminal. Leland is heading to New York, Cooper and Stacey back to DC. Jake gives Coop and Stacey each a hug as Fray and Leland share a very long kiss goodbye.
“Wow,” Stacey says, elbowing Coop. “Why don’t you ever kiss me that way?”
“I do!” Coop says and he pulls Stacey closer.
“Time for me to get out of here,” Jake says. He feels a lump rising in his throat as he recalls all the Labor Days that he kissed Mallory goodbye. No offense, but they put Fray and Leland to shame.
Jake has never flown private before. It isn’t something he’s ever aspired to, and even when Ursula was an arm’s length from the presidency, he never pictured himself aboard Air Force One.
Good thing.
Fray’s plane is a Gulfstream 550, which Jake understands is a big deal. The plane has a pilot, a co-pilot, and a bubbly flight attendant named Heather. After Fray and Jake take seats in the living area—they’re facing each other in buff leather chairs with a high-gloss table between them—Heather asks what they would like to drink.
Jake is about to ask Heather for a Bloody Mary—why not celebrate this crazy experience?—when she says, “We have Classic Black, the Platinum, and—” She pauses dramatically. “This jet is one of the few places in the world where you can get a bottomless cup of Frayed Edge Select Reserve.”
Coffee. She’s talking about coffee, of course.
“We’ll have two cups of the reserve, thanks, Heather,” Fray says. He looks at Jake. “Do you take anything in it?”
“Cream, two sugars.” As soon as the words are out, he wonders if Fray will disapprove. Maybe drinking the reserve with cream and sugar is like dropping an ice cube into a glass of Château Lafite.
Takeoff is smooth. Fray gazes out the window as Nantucket slips from view.
“Now that was a good weekend,” Fray says. “I had no idea that was how things would turn out.”
Heather appears with two mugs, the signature silver pot, and a pitcher of cream and tiny bowl of organic sugar cubes for Jake. She winks at Fray. “I saw you on Page Six, Mr. Dooley.”
“That was me with Leland!” he says. “I can’t wait to introduce you to her.”
“I’ve subscribed to Leland’s Letter for over ten years,” Heather says. “I didn’t know the two of you were friends.”
“It’s a long story,” Fray says. “Literally.”
Jake sips his coffee. It’s by far the best coffee he’s ever tasted.
Fray says, “Heather, would you pack up a couple pounds of the reserve for Jake to take home?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Dooley.”
Once Heather leaves them, Jake says, “So will you and Leland continue to see each other? Aren’t you worried about the distance?”
“I’m going to New York next weekend,” Fray says. “I have a brownstone on East Third Street that I had renovated and I’ve never spent the night there. That’s about to change.”
A brownstone in the East Village that he’s never even slept in? It’s only sinking in now just how wealthy Fray is. This is his jet, those pilots are his pilots, Heather is his flight attendant. Whenever Jake has thought about Frazier Dooley in the past thirty years, his mind always conjured the angry young man who disappeared down the beach with a bottle of Jim Beam.
Now, he’s a billionaire who sells the world’s finest coffee in the coolest cafés in the country. Jake has heard that the flagship Frayed Edge café in Burlington, Vermont, has live music twenty-four hours a day. Billie Eilish has played there, Luke Combs, Ingrid Michaelson.
“I could use your help with something,” Jake says.
“Anything,” Fray says.
“I’m going to need a date for Coop’s wedding.”
“Sorry, man, I already have a date,” Fray says, and they both laugh.
Jake pulls out his phone. “Have you ever used a dating app?” He figures this is a stupid question. Fray is a billionaire, so—before Leland—there must have been a line of eligible women after him.
“No, man, but I’m friends with the woman who created Firepink, and that’s the app you want. It’s for users over forty and it’s marketed toward professionals.”
“Firepink?” Jake says. “What about Bumble or Match dot com. Is Match still a thing?” He laughs. “Honestly, I’m used to meeting women the old-fashioned way. I met Ursula in sixth grade.”
“I hear you,” Fray says. “I met Leland when we were kids and I met Anna at the café. Her band played there one night and I fell in love.” He’s quiet and Jake wonders why it’s no longer popular to meet someone in real life. “But trust me, you want Firepink. Here, I’ll download it for you.” Fray takes Jake’s phone and taps and swipes, then he hands the phone back to Jake and says, “Fill out the answers to these questions and click the Fire up! button. This app goes through tens of thousands of profiles in lightning speed and picks the top three women. I’ve heard you should always choose number one. They have the highest success rate in the business with the first match. Their algorithm is magic.”
Jake chuckles. “All I need is a wedding date.” Still, he fills out the answers for his profile and then, once he’s double-checked his responses, he presses the Fire up! button. The phone flips through faces like a Vegas dealer through a deck of cards—Jake thinks he sees a bunch of attractive women but it’s moving too fast and he can’t make it stop—until finally a face appears on the screen.
Jake blinks. It’s a striking dark-haired woman in what he recognizes as an Alexander McQueen suit.
Ursula de Gournsey. Age: 56. Nickname: Sully. Height: 5’6.” Hair: dark brown. Eyes: brown. Occupation: attorney, M&A. Address: New York City. Political party: Independent. Birthplace: South Bend, Indiana. Favorite pastime: work.
Jake laughs. “We’re supposed to go with the first choice, huh?”
“Yeah,” Fray says. “Did you already match with someone? Let me see.”
“Not yet,” Jake says. “I’m going to ask her out and I don’t want you to jinx it.”
“Yeah, bro, go for it,” Fray says. “You’re a boss.”
Jake doesn’t reach out to his ex-wife via Firepink. He texts her instead.
Heading back to the Bend, he says. Guess what? Coop is getting married again. His sixth wedding! Next June in DC.
Jake sees the three floating dots, indicating that his number one match—maybe Firepink does know best after all—is writing back.