Page 42 of The Loophole
Embry nodded. “We did say that, and it makes sense in theory. But if someone told me they married someone five days after they met them, I’d think they were nuts.”
“It happens, though.”
“Definitely. I’m sure there have been several lovesick fools throughout history who married people they knew less than a week. But is that going to sound believable to your family?”
“Maybe not,” I said, “but it’s going to get complicated if we try to stretch it out. I was in New York for almost all of November. You told me you’ve never been there, and most of my family has. If we try to say we met there, they could ask questions and easily catch you in a lie.”
“Yeah, we definitely shouldn’t say we met in New York.”
“But if we knew each other for a while before getting married, why didn’t I mention you when I talked to my grandfather onThanksgiving? I missed dinner with the family because I was still on the east coast, but we spoke on the phone for almost an hour.”
“You could say you were afraid of jinxing it.”
“Maybe.”
He asked, “What day did you leave for New York?”
“November seventh.”
“Okay, let’s go with this story—we met at a Starbucks on Halloween. That’s easy to remember. I struck up a conversation with you. That part’s true. We spent a glorious week together, and then you left for New York. But we talked on the phone for hours every day while you were away, and by the time you got home, we knew we wanted to get married.”
“Were we in costume when we met?”
“No.”
“I like this story. Let’s go with it.”
As traffic slowed to a crawl over the Golden Gate Bridge, I asked, “I know why you started talking to me in real life, but why would you strike up a conversation with me in this version?”
“Because you’re totally hot. Duh.”
I frowned at that. “I thought we were trying for somewhat believable.”
“Come on, Bry. If I’d met you under different circumstances, I absolutely would’ve tried to shoot my shot. Who doesn’t dig that whole Clark Kent thing you’ve got going on?”
“The problem is, when the glasses come off, oh look—it’s still just Clark Kent underneath. People never hit on me. Every woman who ever went out with me was fixed up on a date by a mutual acquaintance. That’s very different than hitting on me because they found me attractive.”
“If someone hit on you, would you even notice?”
“What do you mean?”
“It seems like you used to have tunnel vision when it came to your career. If a total hottie came up to you and tried to flirt, I don’t even think it would have registered. You would have been too busy obsessing over imported balsamic vinegar, or whatever.”
I grinned a little. “You think vinegar was on my mind?”
“It was the only snooty, high-end thing I could think of.”
“You think what I’m into is snooty?”
“Don’t you?”
“No.”
Embry tried to shift around and face me again. “Explain the whole fine dining thing to me, Bry, because I honestly don’t get it. Why does anyone actually want to go to that type of restaurant? I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I was relieved when tonight’s dinner got canceled. I kept thinking, what if I knock over my water glass? What if I sound ignorant and mispronounce everything I try to order? What if I accidentally eat the centerpiece, because I think it’s the entrée?”
I grinned a little. “I would have stopped you before you ate the centerpiece.”
“I was mostly kidding about that one. But I really don’t understand the appeal of that entire experience.”