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I shake my head, then think of small talk subjects for Ruby and Preston to show she didn’t faze me. I don’t want to be the silent ‘girlfriend’ his sister rolls all over…or perhaps, testing. Or maybe she’s just a peach.
Then again, why should I care if she’s testing me? It’s not like Jake and I are really together. All I need to do is put this on cruise control and keep my eye on the prize—finding actual useful information for the article. Ruby Mitchell is a meanie is of no help to Claudia. Though, it does help support Meaghan’s version of the story.
Preston is the next one to speak as he hands Jake his drink. He also hands me a lowball with clear liquid and a lime wedge. His sleeve draws back and exposes a tattoo sleeve wrapped around his wrist. “Perrier,” he says with a wink.
“Thank you.” I sound surprised because I am. He must have gotten the hospitable gene.
He settles onto the couch across from me and Jake. “Where are you from, honey? How’d you two meet?”
Oops. We hadn’t thought of a story yet.
Jake’s eyes burn into me, but I keep my gaze trained on Preston. I decide to take the lead. I am the writer, after all. “My restaurant.”
“A bar,” Jake answers at the same time.
Crap.
I place a hand on Jake’s leg for effect. And to subtly shut him up. “He likes to call it a bar,” I say with a chuckle.
“Well, is it?” Ruby interjects.
“It’s a restaurant with a bar.”
Jake backs me up. “It drives her nuts when I say that. But that’s how I remember it because I was sitting at the bar when I met her.”
Nice recovery.
Ruby lifts her glass in silent approval, ice tinkling.
I’m starting to see a theme with this family—they like their drinks.
It’s also not lost on me how Jake said he first met me at a bar. Which is true. But I don’t have time to read too much into it; it’s a common, rather cliché place to meet someone. I need to stay focused.
I’m then suddenly aware of how far up on his leg my hand is, so I carefully slide it toward his knee.
He leans into the conversation and rests his forearms on his thighs.
Preston takes a sip of his dark drink. “What’s it called?”
It takes me a second to shift gears. “The Blue Olive.”
That could pass for a swanky bar-slash-restaurant.
“Huh.” His eyes go distant as he flips through a mental Rolodex. “Never heard of it.”
“It’s pretty new,” Jake says.
“And I’m from Georgia.” I want to veer off the non-existent restaurant topic and answer his first question. “Dallas.”
We hear Magnolia before we see her. “What’s new?” she asks, emerging from the same room I was in earlier. She changed into a pair of sneakers, jeans, and a casual blouse. Somehow, she looks just as classy as before.
It’s the pearls and the French twist.
And the rocks in her earlobes.
Ruby puts out her cigar and stands to kiss both of her cheeks, taking care not to spill her drink.
Preston stays where he is, but she finds her way to him anyhow and stands over him. Lays a hand on his shoulder. Her face is more relaxed than earlier, contentment settling into her delicate features as her gaze sweeps over her kids. I’m sure it’s been a while since they were all home. “What’s new?” she asks again.
