How to Honeymoon Alone

“I’d perjure myself,” I say. “But it wouldn’t happen. You don’t go to court.”

“I can still use the expression,” he says. “You’re making me think the absolute worst right now.”

His curiosity feels like a gift. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this interested to anyone. Since someone cared and wanted to get to know me. Since secret-sharing was a thing.

And then, I spot a way to leverage it to my own advantage. “Well,” I say slowly. “Maybe there’s something you can barter for that information.”

His lips twitch. “You’re thinking like an attorney.”

“From you, that’s the highest of compliments.”

“Yes,” he says. “So let’s negotiate.”

My heart feels heady in my chest, beating like the bass in a club. “Why do you want to know what I write?”

“Is that one of your questions?”

“We’re counting them now?”

“There’s a limited amount of time allowed for a deposition. Choosing the right questions to ask is paramount.”

I clear my throat and look at him like he’s on trial for murder. “Okay, then. A question for a question. If we veto we have to drink.”

“All right.” He glances down at his drink like he’s already thinking of all the lovely times he’ll just drink instead of answering any of my questions.

“Wait a second,” I say. “We can’t veto all the time. Let’s say we can only pass every… third question.”

“Mmm. Good stipulation.” He sets the glass down on the small table between our chairs and folds his forearms over his chest. “Does your family know about your writing?”

“Yes,” I say.

He utters a low humming sound as if that’s an interesting nugget of information. It makes his voice sound deeper.

“Right. My turn.” I roll my tumbler slowly between my palms; the glass is cool from the ice.

“Well, you know me,” he says. “I’m an open book.”

I laugh, and satisfaction flashes in his eyes. He likes making me laugh. The knowledge settles like a hot stone in my stomach. “You might be the least forthcoming person I’ve ever met,” I say. “All right, here’s one. Tell me more about your sister.”

“Really?”

I make a keep-going motion with my hand, and he sighs like I’m subjecting him to waterboarding. “She’s younger than me,” he says.

“Are you two close?”

“Is that your next question?”

There’s a towel hanging over the back of my chair. I grab it and lob it toward him. He catches it with a chuckle, that half smile on his lips threatening to break out in full force. “Fine. She lives in Chicago, too. We grab lunch every now and then.”

“You said she’s a dentist?”

“Yes, so I see her regularly at my check-ups, too. I think she makes them extra painful just for me.”

That makes me smile. “What’s her name?”

“Tess.”

“Did she get along with your ex-fiancée?”

“That,” he says, “definitely qualifies as another question.”

“Damn it,” I say. “Can’t fool a lawyer.”

“Best not to even try,” he agrees. Studying eyes meet mine. “So tell me about your writing.”© NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

“You’re persistent,” I say, lowering my eyes to my own drink. “I wrote a book a few years ago and had it published by a publishing house. But… well, it didn’t sell as much as they’d hoped. Since then I mostly just write for myself.”

“And you write crime stories? Tell me the plot of one of them.”

“That,” I say, “is another question. And it’s my turn now.”

He sighs. “You’re going to ask the last question again, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“No, Tess didn’t really get along with my ex-fiancée.”

“Oh?”

“They were civil,” he says, “but it was a fairly cold civility. They had very different interests. As I said… Tess was happy to say ‘I told you so’ the other day. Apparently, she was never a fan of my relationship.”

“Mmm.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “I can see you coming up with ten more questions now.”

“I’m curious! You know so much about Caleb, the disastrous end of my relationship, and why I’m here alone. I, on the other hand, know almost nothing about you and yours.”

“Not true,” he says. “You know we used an excellent travel planner for the honeymoon.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, that’s very useful knowledge, thank you. Please send me her details for when I book my next honeymoon.”

“Sarcasm,” Phillip says, “doesn’t work if what you’re joking about is pretty darn likely.”

“Oh, it isn’t likely,” I say. “I’m done with the whole wedding business.”

He laughs and reaches for his drink. “Right.”

“No, it’s true. I am! At least for a couple of years.”