“A banquet?”
“Yeah. For the industry. Wine writers. It’s an international association, and people come from all over to attend. I don’t think you’ll be too bored. There’ll be nice people at our table. Really nice people. Like Donna. My editor. She’s the editor in chief of the magazine, and she’s hilarious. She’s completely New York and doesn’t give a damn who likes her or not, so she never holds back. I know she’d like you, too.”
Cam should stop her. He’d already decided to go. Hell, if she’d asked him to accompany her to the moon, he’d have rented an astronaut suit. A tuxedo was nothing.
“It sounds great and the tux isn’t a problem. You just tell me what time and where to show up.”
“Really?’
He grinned and stretched out in his chair, putting his free hand behind his head. “Really. So, is this a mandatory work thing, or is this something you like doing?”
“I’m always amazed I get to go, although they usually charge for a place at the table.”
“What’s unusual about this time?”
She cleared her throat, although it was muted, as if she’d moved the phone away from her mouth. “Well, I’m getting an award.”
“No kidding? What for?”
“Emerging wine writer of the year.” He could picture her so easily, the way she’d look down, then back up at him through her lashes.
Now he was even more pleased that he’d said yes. “That’s very impressive. I imagine there was a lot of competition for that award. I’m going to have to read all of your columns now. I only sampled a few, but they were excellent. Huh. It’ll be like going to the Oscars with Jennifer Lawrence.”
She laughed. “It’s so not. Not by a mile.”
“You can have your fantasies and I’ll have mine. At the very least, I’ll be with the prettiest woman there.”
“You make me blush. But I’ll give you a hint. You don’t have to do that.”
“What?”
“Compliment me so lavishly.”
He shook his head. “I’m not. I mean what I say.”
“Right.”
“Next time you see Emmy, you ask her what I’m like. I’m not prone to exaggeration. Honest to a fault, and I mean that literally. I say too much, too often. Probably because I had four older sisters to compete with. But how come you know you’ve won? Aren’t these things supposed to be a surprise?”
“Not really. Some of the recipients live far away, so they let them know in advance.”
“I wish they’d do that in beer competitions, but I suppose they can’t. I hate the nerves that come before they announce the winners.”
“I really want to talk to you about beer,” she said. “I want to know about the brewing processes and the subculture and what the politics are like.”
It was clear she meant it, and he loved that she was interested, although it was such a huge topic that he had no idea where to start. “But I can’t. Not right now. I’ve got a meeting in a few minutes. I sort of planned it this way. I wanted an excuse to end the conversation quickly in case you said no.”
“You could have made something up,” he said, wishing she didn’t have a meeting.
“I’m honest to a fault, too. Although not as a statement or a philosophy. I’m just a lousy liar.”
“Another reason to look forward to Friday night.”
She sighed, and he wanted to kiss her. “Thank you. I’ll be in touch.”
“Great.” After the call ended, he thought about what Emmy had said and wondered what it was about Molly that had him so wound up. Probably the fact that she didn’t want a relationship. He’d hated those family setups. The only thing he was looking for while he was in Queens was a good time. No strings, no complications. Luckily, that appeared to be all that Molly wanted, as well.
IT WAS CAMERON. On her cell. Molly straightened her hair and mashed her lips together to spread her berry lip balm as if he could see her on Skype. After taking a couple of full breaths, the way she did before each broadcast, she answered the call. “Hello?”
“You’re working. I don’t want to bother you. But then I figured if you were too busy, you’d let it go to voice mail. Are you too busy?”
“Nope.” And she’d said she didn’t lie well. “What’s up?”
“I need your opinion.”
Molly heard some muffled noises, nothing she could really interpret, then her phone beeped. She pulled it away from her ear to see who it was, only to discover it was Cam. She clicked on his message and a picture started to load.
Hers wasn’t one of the latest smartphones on the market, but it was decent enough to display a clear photo. Her grin grew as she realized he’d sent her a selfie—and not a good one because of the flash flaring in the mirror. She could barely make out Cam in a black tuxedo.
A faint “Hey” made her click on the speaker. “Molly! Did I lose you?”
“No, I’m here,” she said. “And I’ve turned on the speaker. So, I assume you’re picking out your tux.”
“No, I’m having lunch at Prune. This is how I always dress.”
“Ha. I like a man with a subtle sense of humor. I can’t actually see what the tux looks like. Is there someone in the shop who could get a better shot of you?”
“Yeah, I think so. The guy running the place probably wouldn’t mind. Hold on. I only put on the jacket.”
The sounds that followed painted another picture entirely. First his phone clunked on something hard, and then there was the unmistakable swoosh of fabric on fabric. Was he taking off his own clothes to try on the tux pants? Or had he called her wearing no pants at all?
“Okay,” he said, and his voice got louder. “Let’s go find a photographer.”
“I can’t believe you’re going to all this trouble.”
“This is important,” he said. “I’m going with one of the honorees. She’s the emerging wine writer of the year. The event’s very classy. And so is she.”
Now she was grinning like a lunatic. She should get up, lock her door. Two students had appointments starting about five minutes ago. Not at the same time. Back-to-back. But Tanya was late, so her loss. By the time Molly did turn the lock, there was another voice coming from her Android. He had a pretty thick accent. Spanish, she thought, although there was noise filtering in from the street.
Soon enough, her phone beeped again. This time she could clearly make out the tux and Cam. He looked gorgeous. The lapels on his tux were wide enough to fly him cross-country, but everything else was perfect.
“Yes?” he asked. “No?”
“Not sure about the lapels,” she told him, hoping there was an alternative.
“Okay. Stay right there. I’ll be right back.”
She wished she could see it all. Be there while he tried things on. But the fact that he was going to so much effort for her? All her doubts about inviting him