Page 25 of Love and Other Champagne Problems

Though he’d been vulnerable with me yesterday at brunch, I wouldn’t do the same now. He’d chosen to share those snippets of himself; I did not. I didn’t want to tell him about the hopes and dreams of seventeen-year-old Margot Massey, and didn’t want to resurrect the pain that came from thinking about it. “No.” The word was flat. “Speaking of fashion, we should have you fitted for a few pairs of pants while we’re here.”

Sumner at least showed up in the lobby this morning with khakis on, but the horror of his torn jeans still lingered in my mind. “I’m okay,” he said, casting an almost nervous glance toward where Jordan went off to. “I bought a few pairs already.”

“When?”

“Last night.”

I blinked. “You bought dress pantsonline?”

“I got free two-day shipping, too.”

I wondered when Sumner would stop surprising me with the clueless things he did. He boughtdress pantsonline. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the quality—what were they made of, polyester? I very nearly brought him to his feet anyway, to force him to try on a few pairs of pants while we were here—like some mother corralling her rebelling son—but I held myself back.

“I bet you’re bored out of your mind, hmm? Watching that rich girl you have to babysit play dress up.”

Sumner winced a little. “I’m not bored.”

“I used to have to drag my friend along with me.” I brought my champagne to my lips and gave a small smirk to him over the rim. “But in New York City, I went to my tailorings alone. It isn’t fun playing dress up when there’s no one to show off for.”

As if on their own accord, Sumner’s eyes fell to my body once again, but this time, there was no suit to inspect. I had on just the dress shirt now, two buttons undone near the top to expose my throat. It stretched across my chest, just how I preferred, and I watched as he forced his attention back to my face. “I thought you said you didn’t have friends.”

“Actually,yousaid I didn’t have any friends. Which, looking back, is quite rude to assume.”

The sheepish smile returned, accompanied by a blush on the top of his cheek bones. It complimented his already warm skin nicely.

“I haven’t seen in her in ages,” I told him, slipping a hand into my pants pocket. “College kept me busy; her courses kept her busy. She’s touring with her boyfriend now. He’s in a band. She doesn’t come home all that often.”

He tilted his head as he listened to me speak. “Are you’re upset with her? For leaving?”

I wasn’t sure what gave him that impression, since I’d been quite careful about my tone. I thought about it, sipping my champagne. It was almost drained now. Apparently, Jordan thought I meant to bring the refill after he’d tailored the vest. “Slightly.”

“It’d be hard to drift apart from the one person you were close with. Even though you went off to college too, you must’ve felt abandoned a little, huh?”

“Are you my therapist now?”

He rested his hands on his knees, giving a small shrug. “Just a friend who’s assuming you’ve never talked about it before. And youshouldtalk about the things that bother you. If you leave them bottled up, it can make you bitter.”

I arched an eyebrow at him. “Bitterness is one of my better qualities.”

“Happiness is better.”

“I’m not a happy person.”

The words sounded like more of a confession, the momentary banter dissolving into something more serious. He was able to lull my thoughts out of me, ones that seemed harmless in my mind but pathetic when spoken aloud. I didn’t like it. I blamed the wine.

I moved to turn away, to go and wander the store as Jordan said I could—and go to investigate where my refill of wine had disappeared off to—when Sumner snatched my hand. His fingers wrapped around my wrist, brushing against my pulse point. “You can be,” he said with far too much seriousness in his voice. “You can be a happyperson.”

The sudden contact had me freezing on instinct, focusing all my attention at the touch.When was the last time someone touched me?It was a ridiculous thought, but it surfaced anyway. My mother, gripping my chin. Before that… who’d reached out with a gentle touch instead of a demanding one?

I sniffed. “I hope you didn’t take this job in an attempt to fix me. That would be quite disappointing.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“A million and one people would disagree with you about that.” I still focused on where he still held me in place, the tension of his fingers not loosening. His skin was soft; I couldn’t feel any callouses. “One would argue, too, that you don’t know me well enough to make such a judgement.”

“Then tell me.” Sumner released my wrist and sat back more comfortably on the sofa, his arm lining the back of the beige material. The tension of the moment relaxed with his posture, though even with his touch gone, I could still feel the ghost of the pressure. “What do you think turned you into an unhappy person?”

“I need a tragic backstory to justify my bitterness?” I asked, bringing his own words back.

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