her head. “No, never mind, forget I said anything. I’m as bad as Fran.”
“As bad as Fran?” Coop repeated, his brow wrinkling. He had a feeling he was missing something. But before he could ask Audrey what she meant, Will clapped a hand on his shoulder again.
“When are we going to go fishing?” Will asked.
“Haven’t you gotten your own boat yet?” Coop asked. Audrey had turned to talk to Jaime and Leland.
“No way. A wise man once told me that owning a boat was an expensive, time-consuming pain in the ass, and that I’d be much better off finding a friend with a boat and then bribing him to take me out on it,” Will said.
“What wise man?” Coop said.
“Some drunk guy I met in a bar down in the Keys. I think he was about twelve hours into a bender.” Will shrugged. “But the advice was still solid.”
“Would either of you care for a blue cheese gougère?” Fran asked, appearing beside them with a silver tray piled with what looked like cream puffs.
“At long last, a solution to the gougère mystery,” Coop said, helping himself to one. It was a bit like a cream puff in texture, although it was savory, not sweet, and didn’t have a cream-filled middle. “Mmm.”
“I’ll set them down right here next to you,” Fran said.
“I knew there was a reason I liked you,” Coop teased her. Fran grinned at him, and then turned to join the conversation Audrey and Jaime were having about the best place in town to buy seafood.
Coop observed the women for a few moments. Audrey was calm and still, especially standing next to Fran, whose hands moved frenetically while she talked, constantly threatening to spill the contents of her wineglass. Jaime seemed tense. Her fingers played nervously at the diamond charm she wore around her neck on a gold chain, and she kept glancing back over her shoulder, as though looking for someone. The mystery of just who she was looking for was solved when a tall, lean man wearing a Lacoste polo shirt, khaki shorts, and sneakers strode in and said, “Hello, everyone, sorry I’m late.”
“Hi, Mark,” Fran said, as Mark leaned down to kiss her cheek.
“Emily won the tournament,” Mark announced proudly.
“Good for her!” Fran said.
“Way to go, Emily,” Will said, shaking Mark’s hand. “Where is she?”
“I dropped her off at her mom’s house. She wanted to show Libby her trophy. It’s nearly as tall as she is,” Mark said.
Coop noticed that as everyone greeted Mark and repeated words of congratulations about Emily’s big win, Jaime remained silent. And when Mark reached her and tried to slip a hand around her waist, she stepped away, out of his reach. Unfazed, Mark turned to Coop.
“Mark Wexler,” he said, holding out his hand for Coop to shake. “You look familiar.”
“We met at Fran and Will’s house,” Coop said, remembering that Mark had been pretty drunk that night.
“That’s right. Sorry I’m late. My daughter was in a tennis tournament today. I couldn’t bring myself to leave while she was winning,” Mark said.
“I just got here myself,” Coop said.
“And you’ve already got a drink, I see. Good. I could use one of those.” Mark glanced around. “Although I’d better not ask Jaime to get me one. She’d probably dump it over my head. I’m in the doghouse for being late.”
Coop merely raised his eyebrows. Listening to spouses complain about each other had to rate near the top on his list of least favorite conversations. But he was saved from having to hear any further details by Jaime saying, “Now that we’re all here, let’s move into the dining room. The first course is ready.”
There was a stir of activity. Will leaned down to help Leland out of his chair. Those who had empty glasses set them on the bar. Fran continued to talk to Audrey and Jaime, her hands moving constantly, as they turned to head into the dining room, just off the living room. Coop followed closely behind them, still holding his whiskey.
“As bad as Fran?” Coop repeated, his brow wrinkling. He had a feeling he was missing something. But before he could ask Audrey what she meant, Will clapped a hand on his shoulder again.
“When are we going to go fishing?” Will asked.
“Haven’t you gotten your own boat yet?” Coop asked. Audrey had turned to talk to Jaime and Leland.
“No way. A wise man once told me that owning a boat was an expensive, time-consuming pain in the ass, and that I’d be much better off finding a friend with a boat and then bribing him to take me out on it,” Will said.
“What wise man?” Coop said.
“Some drunk guy I met in a bar down in the Keys. I think he was about twelve hours into a bender.” Will shrugged. “But the advice was still solid.”
“Would either of you care for a blue cheese gougère?” Fran asked, appearing beside them with a silver tray piled with what looked like cream puffs.
“At long last, a solution to the gougère mystery,” Coop said, helping himself to one. It was a bit like a cream puff in texture, although it was savory, not sweet, and didn’t have a cream-filled middle. “Mmm.”
“I’ll set them down right here next to you,” Fran said.
“I knew there was a reason I liked you,” Coop teased her. Fran grinned at him, and then turned to join the conversation Audrey and Jaime were having about the best place in town to buy seafood.
Coop observed the women for a few moments. Audrey was calm and still, especially standing next to Fran, whose hands moved frenetically while she talked, constantly threatening to spill the contents of her wineglass. Jaime seemed tense. Her fingers played nervously at the diamond charm she wore around her neck on a gold chain, and she kept glancing back over her shoulder, as though looking for someone. The mystery of just who she was looking for was solved when a tall, lean man wearing a Lacoste polo shirt, khaki shorts, and sneakers strode in and said, “Hello, everyone, sorry I’m late.”
“Hi, Mark,” Fran said, as Mark leaned down to kiss her cheek.
“Emily won the tournament,” Mark announced proudly.
“Good for her!” Fran said.
“Way to go, Emily,” Will said, shaking Mark’s hand. “Where is she?”
“I dropped her off at her mom’s house. She wanted to show Libby her trophy. It’s nearly as tall as she is,” Mark said.
Coop noticed that as everyone greeted Mark and repeated words of congratulations about Emily’s big win, Jaime remained silent. And when Mark reached her and tried to slip a hand around her waist, she stepped away, out of his reach. Unfazed, Mark turned to Coop.
“Mark Wexler,” he said, holding out his hand for Coop to shake. “You look familiar.”
“We met at Fran and Will’s house,” Coop said, remembering that Mark had been pretty drunk that night.
“That’s right. Sorry I’m late. My daughter was in a tennis tournament today. I couldn’t bring myself to leave while she was winning,” Mark said.
“I just got here myself,” Coop said.
“And you’ve already got a drink, I see. Good. I could use one of those.” Mark glanced around. “Although I’d better not ask Jaime to get me one. She’d probably dump it over my head. I’m in the doghouse for being late.”
Coop merely raised his eyebrows. Listening to spouses complain about each other had to rate near the top on his list of least favorite conversations. But he was saved from having to hear any further details by Jaime saying, “Now that we’re all here, let’s move into the dining room. The first course is ready.”
There was a stir of activity. Will leaned down to help Leland out of his chair. Those who had empty glasses set them on the bar. Fran continued to talk to Audrey and Jaime, her hands moving constantly, as they turned to head into the dining room, just off the living room. Coop followed closely behind them, still holding his whiskey.
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