Why am I not surprised? I grin. Another big one. I’ve got to watch myself. I never smile this much. “Sounds like classic Addie. Everything has to look perfect.”
“How do you know Addison?” she asks.
Now there’s a loaded question. The party line is that Addison Ames and I dated briefly when she was eighteen and I was twenty-four, and the relationship didn’t end well. The party line is correct. But another several layers exist to the story—layers we don’t talk about.
Not ever.
So I’m curious about what Addie may have said to Skye. She knows better than to say anything other than we had a thing ten years ago.
“She didn’t tell you?” I ask.
“Not really. I’d love to hear it from you.”
“But you witnessed the interaction between us.”
“Yeah. You weren’t overly friendly.”
Does Skye mean the plural you? Or is she referring specifically to me? I don’t bother to ask. I don’t care, and also, Cory arrives with the oysters.
“No,” I say simply.
“A dozen of tonight’s best.” Cory sets the tray between Skye and me on the table. “Starting here”—he points—“and going clockwise, we have the Katama Bay from the east coast of Martha’s Vineyard, the Moondancers from Maine, the Molly Qs from Mashpee, and then of course the Blue Points from Long Island Sound. All nicely sweet and briny, and I agree, sir, my personal favorites are the Blue Points. Did you have any questions?”
I shake my head, take out my phone, and snap a photo of the oysters that arrived. As I was interrupted earlier, I owe my social media team a post.
Skye raises her eyebrows.
“Got to keep the followers happy,” I say.
“How many followers do you have?” she asks.
“Not as many as Addison, but enough.”
“I never would have thought you were the social media type.”
Boy, is she right on the nose. “I’m not, really, but people seem to want to know what I’m up to. Probably only because I’m richer than God, which still seems a little unreal to me. I’m definitely a self-made man. I wasn’t born into money like Addison and her sister.”
I’m not quite sure why I added the part about my being different from Addie. Though it shouldn’t, what Skye thinks of me matters. I don’t particularly care what people think, so this realization settles in my stomach with a weird jolt.
“Anyway, I never really got out of the habit,” I say, not quite willing to tell her I only post because my team tells me to. “You on Instagram?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
“What’s your handle?”
Her cheeks pink up again. “@stormyskye15.”
My lips twitch slightly. I can’t get over how much I want to smile a lot around this woman. I’m not sure whether that’s a good or bad thing yet. “Stormy? Why not sunny or blue? Or even cloudy?”
“Because I like stormy skies. They’re a lot more interesting than blue or sunny skies, don’t you think?”
Yes. Stormy Skye. It fits her. “I suppose I never thought about it,” I reply. “What’s interesting to you about them?”
“The colors. The gray that turns almost to green. The cumulonimbus clouds that stretch for miles but are fluffy on top.”
“Cute,” I say.
But I don’t mean that cumulonimbus clouds are cute. I mean that she’s cute. Her. Skye.