“Good thing I’m not there, then,” he says, slicing the tip of the cake with his fork. “So you’re just going to stand there and watch me eat cake, is that it?” He nods up at the house. “Shouldn’t you be up there?”
“You mean watching over my mom?” I ask uneasily. My eyes narrow.
“I mean conversing with the Duke and Duchess of Fairfax.” He pops the forkful of cake in his mouth.
“We’ve done a lot of conversing,” I tell him, wondering if he’s trying to get me to leave him alone. If so, I’m being purposely obstinate. “Guess I felt like doing a nice thing.”
He chews, and I can feel him watching me as he does so. I stare right back at my reflection. I know what I see in them, but I wonder what he sees.
“I appreciate it.” He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “May I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Why did you leave that guy at the altar?”
I stare at him a moment as he has another bite of cake. On the one hand, I didn’t think he’d bring it up again. On the other hand, how could anyone not want to know what happened?
“That guy was my ex, Joey,” I tell him with a heavy sigh. “And, as was the case with all the guys I dated, he was an asshole.”
“You couldn’t tell that from his name?”
I laugh, though Harrison looks totally serious. “I should have known. And I should have known given my track record. But I didn’t, because I’m an idiot. And I went for the emotionally unavailable type because that’s what I do, and I looked the other way far too many times, until I found out he slept with another woman on the night of his bachelor party.”
Harrison stops chewing.
“Anyway, I didn’t find out until my wedding day. Just as I was getting my hair done. A friend of mine texted me and told me what she’d heard. My poor hairdresser, she was trying to do this elaborate updo while I was crying and texting and calling everyone I knew, everyone who was supposed to be at the wedding in a few hours. They all confirmed it. There are a lot of secrets on this island, but that one came to light at the eleventh hour.”
“Shit,” Harrison swears. “I’m sorry.”
I shrug. “I had no choice. I had to call off the wedding. And what that Amy chick, the barista, what she said wasn’t true. I didn’t technically leave him hanging at the altar. I told his family I was calling it off. They told me I was being irrational. They’re one of these families that have been on the island for decades and decades, amassed a lot of land, a lot of friends, and a lot of power. They didn’t want to lose face by calling it off. I thought they would have shut it all down, so I left. Turns out they all proceeded like I was supposed to walk down the aisle. Those assholes made me look like the bad one. Obviously to this day, people still think that, still talk about it.”
“They must know what he did. Gossip travels fast in small towns.”
“They know,” I tell him in a huff. “They know, and they don’t care. Easier to vilify me. Me, who keeps to herself, who doesn’t quite fit in. I’m the one who gets the blame, not their golden boy.”
“Golden boy with a blowhole,” he comments.
I can’t help but laugh. “That’s the name of his pub. It’s the only pub in town, so if you want to go out for a fun night, you have no choice. Then his shitty band plays shitty songs and you’re trapped.”
“So I take it you won’t be going to his show next Friday,” he says.
“Absolutely not,” I say. Then pause. “Unless you care to come with me.”
Another small smile flits across his mouth. “You boldly assume I have Friday nights off.”
“Do you get any nights off?”
“My job is round-the-clock,” he says, bringing his attention back to the water. I suppose I have been distracting him with my cake nonsense.
Still. “What if I asked Monica to give you the night off?”
“Don’t you dare,” he says sharply.
“She seems pretty understanding,” I goad him, “and you just said you have even more people coming to help.”
“I’m not taking any time off, not to go to some Blowhole pub with apparently shit music.”
I nod, pursing my lips. “Ah, I see. It’s because you have nothing to wear. Only suits. Tell me, what do you sleep in? I bet it’s pajamas with a breast pocket and a handkerchief you never use.”
He frowns, and I know his eyes must be blazing. I really need to stop getting such joy out of pissing him off.
“It would be inappropriate if I told you what I slept in,” he says. “And I’d rather not go, because if I did, I’m pretty sure I’d end up breaking your ex-boyfriend’s nose.”