One down, one to go.
Since it’s nice out and I’m not in a hurry, I decide to call Gran right there from the park bench.
She answers on the fourth ring, sounding out of breath. “Is this my favorite granddaughter?”
I’m already laughing. “I’d be flattered if I didn’t know for a fact that you call all of us your favorite.”
“You can have more than one favorite,” she says defensively.
“By definition, I don’t think you can. But what do I know, I’m only a writer,” I tease. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Oh no, I was just finishing up my tai chi. And I did it for about five minutes, so I think that’s about enough working out for the day.”
I smile to myself. “Well, I’m calling for a couple of reasons. I wanted to give you an update on your birthday assignment-slash-blackmail, and also, I need your help.”
“I’m listening,” she says, and I hear her sliding glass patio door open and close.
“So I really hate to admit it,” I tell her, “but you were right. I tested out a few of those tips, and they actually worked. This is my mea culpa.”
“I knew it!” she crows. “Let this be your lesson that your grandmother is never wrong.”
I fill her in on Jack, our mishap-turned-meet-cute at the bar, and our subsequent tennis date, though I leave out the details of my con job. I know she’d never approve, and I’d rather ask forgiveness than permission.
“So here’s the thing: We’re going out on a second date, and I need more ideas. Teach me your ways,” I plead humbly, knowing that flattery will get me everywhere.
“Like intentionally forgetting your sweater at home so you can ask for his jacket?” she offers, a smile in her voice. “Or asking him if he likes your perfume so he’ll lean in close?”
Jackpot. “Yes, exactly like that,” I tell her, pulling up my Notes app. “What else have you got for me?”
Chapter 9
True to his word, Jack calls me on Monday night and, after a bit of back-and-forth, asks when I’m free this week—giving me the opportunity to turn the tables and invite him on the double date. In the brief pause that follows, it occurs to me that a） I have no fallback plan in place in the likely case he already has plans for Friday, and b） asking him to meet my family on the second date is liable to scare him off.
But he only chuckles. “More chaperones, huh?”
Cringe. “If it’s weird to meet my family so fast, I totally get it,” I backpedal, hoping I haven’t completely botched this. “I just thought, since I was already going—”
“No, no, I’d love to meet them,” he interrupts, amusement in his voice. “I appreciate the invitation.”
“Okay. Great,” I say, relaxing a touch. “It should be fun. My sister’s a real trip. So’s her husband, actually. They’re . . . entertaining.”
“Oh yeah? Anything I should know about them ahead of time?”
“Not really. They’re college sweethearts, so they’ve been together forever. Greg’s like a brother to me. My two little nieces I showed you the pictures of? Those are their daughters. Oh!” I snap my fingers. “Whatever you do, do not ask my sister if they’re going to try for a boy. She will cut you.”
He laughs. “Noted.”
Since we’ll both be coming from work, we agree to meet at the restaurant. Jack even offers to call in a favor and book us a reservation at Constitution, a restaurant so exclusive and hard to get into, I’m pretty sure you have to sacrifice a limb or your firstborn to get on the list. Possibly both.
The rest of the week both speeds and crawls by, each minute ticking closer to our date like a doomsday clock. Before I know it, it’s Friday night and I’m standing outside the Midtown hot spot, simultaneously excited to see my sister and anxious about the plethora of ways this night could go comically, disastrously wrong. I take a deep breath and gird my loins before pushing through the heavily lacquered wooden doors, immediately spotting Christine and Greg at the bar, a few minutes early as per our plan to rendezvous ahead of Jack’s arrival.
I weave my way through the sea of bodies until I reach them. “Happy anniversary to my favorite sister and brother-in-law,” I trill, greeting my sister first with a hug.
Before I can pull away, she holds me there, her expression grave. “I’m afraid I have to apologize in advance.”
Uh-oh. “For what?” I ask, hanging my purse on the back of her barstool.
She jabs a thumb toward her husband. “For Greg. I made the mistake of mentioning your date’s name to him and—”
“I can’t believe you’re dating the founder of Brawler!” Greg bursts out as he crushes me in a bear hug. “How dare you keep life-changing news like that from me?!”
“Well, hello to you too, Greg,” I say wryly, then catch my sister’s eye over his shoulder and raise an eyebrow in question: How much did you tell him? She shakes her head slightly. Our secret is safe.
“I’d love to know how this is life-changing for you,” I tease once he releases me, then swipe my sister’s martini to steal a sip.
Greg looks incredulous. “Jack Bradford could end up as my brother-in-law, and you didn’t think that was an important detail to share with me?”
I laugh and hold up a hand. “Whoa there. This is only our second date, so you may want to hold off on that wedding gift.”
“Cass, I don’t think you understand—the perks of being directly related to Jack Bradford would drastically improve my quality of life. I mean, the guy has access to every sporting event in the world. He’s best friends with Tom Brady!” I make a face and he groans, exasperated. “I need you to tell me something.”
“What’s that?” I ask warily as I pass my sister’s drink back.
He clasps my shoulder, regarding me seriously. “What can I do, personally, to help make this happen?”
Oh, for the love. “Are you going to be able to be cool tonight?”
“Not a chance,” Christine answers for him. “He’s been running his mouth about this for twenty minutes now. He has absolutely no chill.”
“Hey, I can be cool,” Greg says defensively. “In fact, I’ll be so cool, Jack Bradford will want to be my friend.”
“That would be more convincing if you didn’t keep using both of his names.”
He shoots me a wounded look while Christine nudges him toward the bar. “Hey, cool guy, why don’t you cool off and go order Cass a drink?”
Greg sighs dramatically. “Fine. You want your usual pinot grigio?”
“Actually, how about an old-fashioned?”
“An old-fashioned? Like, with bourbon?” He looks dubious, and I can’t blame him—I’ve been drinking the same thing since he’s known me.
“Yeah.” I school my expression, not wanting to raise his antennae. “Just feel like changing it up tonight.”
He casts me a funny look, but dutifully raises a hand for the bartender. “If you say so.”
As soon as his back is turned, Christine pulls me away a few paces. “Okay. Any last-minute directions? Changes? Warnings?”