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“I’ll have a whiskey, neat,” I say, then turn to Maggie. “And the lady will have…”
“A dirty martini,” Maggie cuts in, winking at me. “Extra dirty.”
The little minx.
As Robert busies himself with the drinks, Patricia leads us to an opulent sitting room. “So, Maggie, tell me. How did you two lovebirds meet?”
Maggie’s eyes sparkle mischievously. “Oh, it was so romantic. I shot him in the head playing paintball. Then he charged at me, scooped me up, and practically told me he loved me right then and there.”
I nearly spit out my drink. What is she doing?
“We were inseparable after that,” she continues. “Sawyer never, ever, ever left my side. He’s like a barnacle.”
Robert lets out a hearty laugh. “My, my! That’s certainly a whirlwind romance!”
“You have no idea,” I mutter, shooting Maggie a look that says ‘behave yourself.’
She ignores me, of course. “This husband of mine couldn’t resist my charms.”
“More like I couldn’t resist your right hook,” I quip, earning confused looks from our hosts.
Maggie pats my knee patronizingly. “Oh, honey. Don’t be modest. You were absolutely smitten.”
“Smitten with a concussion, maybe,” I retort under my breath.
Patricia claps her hands together, delighted. “How wonderful! Young love is so refreshing, isn’t it, Robert?”
“Indeed,” he says, handing me a whiskey. “Remember our golfing trip to the Maldives?”
“How could I forget?” Patricia chuckles.
Robert sits down after everyone is served their drinks and starts recounting some golf story.
I’m trying my best to focus on Robert’s droning, but Maggie in that red dress is like a siren call to my eyes. Every time she shifts, the fabric whispers against her skin, and I swear I can hear it over the clinking of ice in crystal tumblers.
“…and then I said, ‘That’s not a sand trap, that’s my wife!’” Robert guffaws at his own joke.
I force a chuckle, nodding along. “Good one, Robert.”
“I can’t begin to tell you how happy and relieved we were to hear you’d tied the knot, Sawyer,” Patricia says. “I want to hear all about it.”
“Not much to tell,” I say.
Maggie’s eyes sparkle mischievously. “Oh, it was so romantic. He proposed to me in a parking lot.”
Mark my words. She’s going to get it later. And she’ll like it.
“A parking lot?” Patricia’s eyebrows disappear into her hairline.
“Yep,” Maggie continues, popping the ‘p’. “I’d just beat him at bowling. He got down on one knee right next to a puddle of what I hope was spilled soda.”
I clear my throat. “What Maggie means is?—”
“Oh, don’t be modest, honey,” she interrupts, patting my arm. “Tell them about how you serenaded me with that beautiful rendition of ‘Sweet Caroline.’”
Robert’s eyes widen. “You sing, Sawyer?”
“Like an angel,” Maggie answers for me. “Especially after a few beers.”
