Page 127 of The Single Dad

Sure enough, as soon as I step into the dining room, where they’re all gathered around the table, Reed looks up with a charming smile. “Hey, there she is,” he says. “You’re all done with work, huh?”

“Sure am,” I say. I may feel a little awkward and off-balance, but I’m determined not to let it show.

“How’s the kid?”

“Unconscious,” I reply, grinning. “It’s pretty late for him.”

“Pull up a chair,” Declan invites, gesturing. “Join us for a drink. You can watch your boss get his ass kicked at poker.”

Cole lets out a long-suffering sigh, then, when Declan and Reed aren’t looking, shoots me a wink. I walk up behind him to get a glimpse of his cards—two pairs.

I take the seat next to Cole’s, and as I do, I notice that Declan and Reed exchange a significant glance.

Maybe I was on to something earlier, I think uneasily. Maybe they do know about us.

I wonder if Cole told them, or if they guessed.

I’m probably just reading into things too much.

I force myself to relax as Cole sets his cards on the table, face-down, and gets to his feet.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“Um… sure,” I decide. Why not? It’s not like I’m on the clock. Archie’s asleep, and I’m allowed to relax.

“What can I get you?”

I shrug. “Whatever you’re all having.”

As Cole gets up to fix me a drink, Reed grins at me from across the table. “Let me get this straight. You want the million-year-old shitty whiskey that Cole keeps around just to torment us?”

“Sure. How bad can it be?”

Reed chuckles, shooting a glance at Declan. “You’re the whiskey expert here,” he says. “Go on, tell her how bad Cole’s taste is.”

Declan lowers his cards to the table. “You have no idea,” he says dryly.

I hear the sound of ice clinking into a glass in the kitchen. “Don’t listen to them,” Cole calls to me. “They’re full of shit. It’s nice whiskey. Top shelf.”

“‘Top shelf’ isn’t everything,” Declan retorts. “There’s an art to a good scotch, and you never seem to pick the good ones.”

“It’s subjective,” Cole says, returning to the table with a short glass of caramel-colored liquid. He sets it down in front of me, then scowls at his friends. “You can’t seriously be giving me shit over something this stupid.”

“We can, and we will,” says Reed, lifting his chin. “Quite frankly, I agree with Declan. When we were hosting poker night at his place, the refreshments were considerably more—”

“You’re so full of shit.” Cole sighs. “I stock better stuff than Declan.”

Reed clicks his tongue, shaking his head. He glances at Declan. “Are you just gonna take that?”

“I won’t dignify it with a response,” Declan says, picking his cards back up off the table. To me, he adds, “You’re going to have to take our word for it. Among those who know what they’re talking about, it’s pretty much objective.”

“I have to be honest,” I say, pushing past my shyness, “I have no idea what good whiskey tastes like.”

“Well, you wouldn’t, working here,” Reed says, curling his lip in mock disgust.

Cole sits down at the head of the table, gesturing to my glass. “Drink that,” he says, with a glare at Reed. “Then you’ll know.”

I pick up the glass and take a tiny sip. The whiskey itself is acrid and dry, but overall, it isn’t bad—not that I particularly know what I’d be looking for. But to get in on the joke, I make a big show of spluttering, wrinkling my nose in disgust as I slam the glass back on the table.

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