“You can make it up to me now,” Griff said. “Come on.”
“Come on where?” Margot asked.
“Have a drink with me at the bar,” he said.
“It’s ten thirty,” Margot said. “In the morning.”
“So?” he said. “You’re on vacation, right? This is your sister’s wedding weekend, right? You can’t tell me there isn’t a part of you that’s dying for a drink. You can’t tell me you wouldn’t love an opportunity to vent your frustration with your family to a friendly acquaintance.”
“I don’t feel any frustration with my family,” Margot said.
“Now you’re lying to me.”
Margot smiled at this. “So what if I am? I can’t just drink my morning away. My kids want to go to the beach. They’re at home, waiting.”
“Drum… Carter… and Ellie?”
Margot was flabbergasted.
“Carson,” she said. “But wow, good memory.” She recalled having asked Griff about his children at his first interview; his children were similar in ages to her own, but she would never have been able to come up with their names. And Griff, in turn, had asked about Margot’s kids, which wasn’t really standard protocol—she was interviewing him, not the other way around—but she had told him their names and ages. That he remembered was astonishing. If pressed, Edge probably wouldn’t be able to produce any name but Ellie’s, because she was the one in Audrey’s ballet class. Margot mentioned the boys all the time, but Edge never seemed to be listening.
“Well, I’m not a man who would deny three kids the company of their mother,” Griff said. “You should go, although I wish you’d stay.”
“I can’t stay,” Margot said.
“But I’m getting to you, right?” Griff said. “Just admit it, you’re starting to like me.”
“I like you just fine, Griff.”
“I mean, like me like me. Come on, I’m nice,” he said.
Margot allowed herself a glance at him. He was nice. If things were different, if she didn’t have a horrifying history with him, she would be willing, possibly even eager, to go for a drink with him. He was attractive and smart and personable, and he’d remembered her children’s names. But she had wronged him. And how.
“I have to go,” she said.
“What are you up to tonight?” he asked.
“Rehearsal at the church at five o’clock. Rehearsal dinner, six o’clock at the yacht club.”
“I’ll be at the Boarding House tonight,” he said.
“You’ll like it there,” Margot said. “The food is terrific.”
“Come meet me,” Griff said.
“I’ll be too busy getting frustrated with my family,” Margot said. “But thanks for the invite.”
“Tell me something,” Griff said. “Do you have a date for this wedding?”
Margot blinked. It was none of his goddamned business if she had a date or not. Then she considered the question. Did she have a date for the wedding? Edge would be in attendance—tonight and tomorrow and Sunday—but Margot wouldn’t be able to kiss him or hold his hand or claim him as anything more than a friend of her father’s. Margot had asked Edge if they might be able to dance together to just one song, and Edge had said he didn’t think that was a good idea.
“Not really,” Margot said.
“Not really?” Griff said.
“No,” Margot said.
Griff looked off into the green distance, then crouched down by Margot’s window so that his face was right by her face and her stomach did a funny, inside-out flippy thing. His blue-and-green eyes were spellbinding. What was going on here? This was very bad.
In a low voice, he said, “I don’t believe in love anymore, and I’m never getting married again… but I’m free tomorrow if you need me.” He held up his palms. “Just saying.”
Margot couldn’t tell if the guy was earnestly pursuing her or if he was batting her around like a cat with a mouse because she’d signed him off. She, with her perfect instincts, could not tell.
She said, “Okay, thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
OUTTAKES
Autumn Donahue (bridesmaid): Fingers, Mademoiselle. Toes, Black cherry chutney. I needed something edgy to offset the grasshopper green.
Rhonda Tonelli (bridesmaid): Fingers, French. Toes, French. Some people get one color on their fingers and another on their toes, but I think that looks tacky.
Douglas Carmichael (father of the bride): The green on sixteen gave me trouble, but overall, I was happy with my short game. I shot an 80. After a few drinks tonight, I will tell anyone who asks that I shot a 79.