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Duncan leaned in, speaking low so only I could hear. And so he could make the pit of my stomach fizzle at the seductive sound of his voice.
He was probably doing it on purpose now.
“Something tells me if cheeseburgers were served here fresh off the grill, Grandmother would lose her teeth.”
A giggle escaped. “Probably.”
We shared a smile that for a moment made the rest of the room fade until a woman cleared her throat.
“Cheeseburgers? What I wouldn’t give for one of those right about now.”
Duncan stopped so abruptly, I stepped on his foot.
I bit back my apology when I saw the reason for his surprise. The same elderly woman who’d been at The Painted Lady home was at his grandmother’s party?
“Eudora?” Duncan’s brows shot into the air.
Was it some kind of thing that everyone beyond a certain age knew each other?
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
His shoulders rounded. His posture reminded me of the way he’d stood as he’d been beating the crap out of his punching bag in his gym.
Let’s not hit the nice old lady,I thought but didn’t say.
Still, he was on his guard. That didn’t bode well.
What did he think Eudora was going to do to us here?
“I received an invitation to an old friend’s birthday party,” Eudora said, smiling and taking a flute of champagne from a passing server. The young man paused, and she nodded her thanks at him.
She wore a silver gown covered with sequins. Her graying hair was tufted and coiffed away from her face, and her lipstick was far more purple than anyone ofanyage should wear.
“How—you know my grandmother?”
Eudora tipped the flute to her lips, leaving a gigantic purple smear on the side of the glass. “Evangeline Hawthorne and my older sister were schoolgirls together if you can believe it. Though she’s passed away now, my sister would have wanted me to come. Life has taken us each to different places, but here your grandma and I both are, back in our hometowns again.”
“Yeah,” Duncan said warily.
Eudora’s eyes trailed to me. My throat tightened. She had seemed disapproving of me when we’d visited The Painted Lady several days ago. Was she surprised to find us together here again?
It felt like there was something more to the way her penciled brow quirked upward.
And if anything, disappointment shrouded her face.
Duncan cleared his throat, keeping his hand firmly around the hat box. “Good to see you, Eudora.”
There went that brow. “Yes. I hope it won’t be the last time.”
What did that mean? I was probably reading too much into it, but that sounded too cryptic.
Duncan paused as if he were going to respond but then seemed to think better of it. He meandered toward the right-hand corner of the room where his mother stood with a flute of champagne in her hand. She lifted the glass in greeting, and Duncan inclined his head toward her as we drew nearer.
I didn’t get the chance to ask him why Eudora Wilson cared that we were here together before he greeted his mom.
“Hello again, Mother.”
“Duncan. I wondered if you were going to make it. And Miss Astor, how…”
