“Chex Mix. Please tell me you’ve had this childhood staple.”
A roll of my eyes is my only response.
“Every pity party needs to have some food.” She takes a mouthful of the snack mix. “And alcohol.” And then a sip of her wine. “And . . . someone to commiserate with and tell you you’re one hundred percent in the right even if that person thinks you’re in the wrong.” She raises her hand. “So I’m contributing as best as I can with this poor offering since this place doesn’t seem to have much of anything.” She takes her seat again. “You should feel honored.”
“I am.” I genuinely smile for the first time. I don’t think I’ve ever worked as hard as she has at making a stranger feel comfortable. “Truly.”
“I mean, this place can’t offer you a vacant room or much of anything else besides this bowl that’s probably had ten different hands in it so far tonight, but I can offer you my great personality and my indiscernible ear.” She smiles cheesily.
“And you just ate a piece of the germ mix,” I point out.
“And then I drank some wine so the alcohol killed off those germs. Simple as that.” She takes a gulp of wine to emphasize her point. “An added bonus is this roof seems sturdy and we’re currently dry.”
“Currently being the operative word.”
She taps her glass against mine. “So, cheers.” When all I do is simply stare at her, she continues, “What? I’m a glass-half-full kind of girl.”
“Clearly.”
She reaches her hand out. “Elle. Ellery, really. Nice to meet you.”
“Ellery? That’s unique.”
She chuckles. “Ha. That’s the way to say it’s an interesting, weird, fill-in-the-blank name.” She shrugs as if she’s heard it all before. “It’s a family name. Celery Ellery,” she singsongs like a kid teasing and then laughs. “God, how I hated it when I was younger, but I don’t mind it so much now.”
“Ford. Fordham, actually.” I shake her hand. “And I’m named after a university—or a car company—so I have no room to talk, Celery Ellery.”
“Then I guess we’re even in the name department.”
“We are,” I murmur.
We both glance down and realize we’re still holding hands and quickly pull them apart before looking toward the window to break the sudden awkwardness settling between us.
Awkwardness laced with attraction.
Shit. I didn’t expect that.
I scrub a hand through my hair and slide a glance her way. She smiles softly as she watches the show Mother Nature is putting on outside—snapshots of destruction highlighted by flashes of light—and for the first time, I notice the slightest dimple.
Of course, she has to have one. Funny. Forward. Gorgeous. And has a dimple. I’m such a sucker for dimples.
“So where were you headed when Fred deterred you?” she asks me when the lightning lulls.
“Fred?” I ask, averting my gaze from her.
“The tropical depression we’re currently sidelined by.”
“Yes. Sorry. That Fred.” I glance around. Some people have dozed off. Others are occupied with their cell phones. Very few are talking with the strangers beside them. But when I bring my eyes back to her, apparently, it’s her turn to study me. My hands. My forearms where the sleeves of my dress shirt are folded up. My chest and the top two undone buttons on my shirt. She jolts when her eyes meet mine and knows she’s been caught.
Now we’re even.
“Thanks for nothing, Fred.”
“Amen to that,” she murmurs, suddenly busying her hands by using a cocktail napkin to wipe away the condensation our glasses have left.
I make her nervous. That’s interesting. Or is it the fact I caught her checking me out while she has a ring on her finger that has her unsettled?
“So . . . where were you headed, Ford-named-after-a-university? Does it have anything to do with the pity party we’re throwing?”
“Sag Harbor,” I say gruffly.
“Nice.” She raises her eyebrows but then narrows them when she notices I’m not sharing the same enthusiasm. “Not nice then?” When I don’t respond, she continues, “You have to pick one or the other. Indifference isn’t an option when you’re throwing a pity party. But Sag Harbor. Huh. You’re close but oh-so-far from it with this weather.”
“I am.” I nod but don’t say anything else as Ellery sips her wine and makes small talk with the bartender.
I observe their interaction. She’s definitely sexy. Indisputably gorgeous. And that easy smile of hers that lights up her face when she offers it.
She’s taken, Ford.
And by the size of the rock on her finger, her man wants everyone to know that she is. Understandably so.
It’s late. The whiskey is starting to hit me. And I’m no closer to figuring out why tonight and everything that happened earlier hit me so hard. I take another sip of my drink before closing my eyes for a beat.
I could buy her a bigger diamond.
Jesus. Where the hell did that thought come from?
I shake my head and chuckle. It’s the alcohol talking. Hands down.
But when I look over at Ellery, those blue eyes sparkle with curiosity and her brow furrows as if to ask me what I laughed about.
“I was contemplating whether I should switch to beer,” I say as if that will explain my random laugh.
“Beer?”
“Yes. It’s going to be a long night, and I’m thinking I should pace myself.”
“It all depends on what you’re pacing yourself for.” Her laugh is rich as she shrugs, while my mind ventures to a few places and all of them have to do with her. She crosses her arms over her chest. “So lay it on me. The story. The culprit of the pity party. Tell me who I’m supposed to hate on because they upset you.”
I walked in here not wanting to talk to anyone and now, for some reason, she’s made it so I don’t mind so much. My initial hesitancy is gone.
“It’s stupid really—”
“Clearly it upset you, so I wouldn’t say it’s stupid.”
“I had a fight with my brothers,” I finally say.
“Okay. So family stuff. That’s always a tough one. What was the fight about?”
“It’s a long story.”
She looks around the room and takes in the scene before shrugging as she meets my eyes. “It’s not like we don’t have time for one since we’re basically stranded for the time being. Does it have anything to do with that?”
“With what?” I ask, looking down to where she’s pointing.
“To the bow tie hanging around your neck. I mean, I’m very curious what idiot would follow through with a black-tie event in weather this dreadful.” She mock shivers but her smile is playful.
I snort. “Me. My brothers. We’re the idiots.”
“Oh. Whoops. I guess now would be a good time to insert my foot in my mouth.”
“Being called an idiot is definitely the nicest of all the insults I’ve been called today . . . so I’ll take it.”
“That bad, huh?”
I nod. “Something like that.”