Page 31 of My Best French Wedding

“I think I’ll stick around.”

“Me too.”

“It’s probably going to be a while.”

Walter shrugged. It wasn’t like he was bored. He lifted one of the open bottles from the ice bucket, angling it toward Hildy’s glass in a silent question.

“It would be a shame to waste it.” She nudged her flute a little closer, watching him divide the champagne between them until the bottle was empty.

Since Hildy didn’t seem inclined to talk, he flipped to a clean page in his notebook, jotting down his thoughts about the setting. A light rain pattered against the glass roof. Walter tipped more champagne into his mouth. It wasn’t the worst place he’d spent an afternoon.

“See anything you like?” he asked. Hildy practically had her nose pressed against the open page.

“Like I can read your handwriting.” It had been a joke between them once, but those days were long gone.

“Are you going to the Martell wedding?” he asked, not wanting to dwell on the past.

“No, I’m sending someone.”

The booze must have loosened his tongue, because he blurted out the first reason that came to mind. “Hot date?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

This time he kept his mouth shut. It was none of his business.

“It’s not like I make a habit of blowing off work for my social life,” she said.

“Did I say that?”

“You were thinking it.”

“I didn’t realize you’d added mind reading to your long list of skills.” Walter was utterly cooked, if so.

Her nostrils flared, and he felt a rush of anticipation. What kind of tongue-lashing would she give him this time? He was so focused on waiting for her lips to move, it blindsided him whenher arm shot out and grabbed his notebook. Before Walter could process what was happening, Hildy ripped out a page, wadded it up, and shoved it down the front of her blouse.

She crossed her arms, grinning as if she’d checkmated him. He let his gaze stray slowly over her mouth and chin before dropping to the telltale lump under her shirt. If that was how she wanted to play it, he was more than willing to call her bluff.

Hildy must have read the intention in his face. He’d barely started to lean in that direction when she fished the crumpled paper out of her bra and crammed it into her mouth. Her jaw worked, up and down.

“Blah,” she complained, spitting the damp wad onto her palm.

Walter raised both hands when she tried to give it back to him. “I’m not touching that.”

“Don’t be a baby.”

“Says the person who ate paper.”

“I didn’teatit.” Hildy shook her head, like he was the ridiculous one. “It’s totally intact. Go on. You can have it back,” she said, flapping it at him.

“No thank you.”

“It’ll dry out.”

“I don’t want your regurgitated paper.”

“Give me a break. I barely chewed it.” Wincing, she reached into her mouth. “Thought I might have missed a piece. That flavor really lingers.”

“Where are you going?” he asked when she stood.