Page 26 of Love and Other Champagne Problems

“Most people do, yeah.”

It was such an amusing question that I didn’t let it sink in for a long moment, didn’t let myself think of it beyond its entertainment. What turned me into an unhappy person? We might’ve had enough time to get my vest tailored, but we didn’t havethatmuch time. Besides, what he’d told me about himself the other day might’ve been vulnerable, but I hadn’t been asking for his deepestsecrets and insecurities. In fact, he’d said it all so off-the-cuff that I wasn’t sure theywereinsecurities of his to begin with. Sumner couldn’t ask me about mine and expect an answer.

I leaned down and brought my face near level to his, closer. He blinked at the proximity, his beautiful blue eyes widening a fraction of an inch, but he didn’t pull back. “You’ll soon discover, Mr. Pennington, but I’m not likemost people.”

“I’m finding that out, yeah.”

I studied him from that close distance for a moment longer. The blue in his eyes was very deep; up close like this, I could almost convince myself they were gray. A speckling of freckles dotted underneath his right eye, like a little constellation.

Sumner held still through my studying, and it took me a moment to notice he was holding his breath. I made him nervous. Perhaps because he thought I’d try to kiss him again. The realization caused a tingle to glance across my skin.

Satisfied, I dropped down on the sofa beside him, realizing belatedly that two couldn’t quite fit comfortably on it, at least not without touching. Where Sumner had his arm stretched, the back of my neck brushed it. Our thighs were another thing that pressed together on accident, drawn together by the gravity of the sinking cushion.

Sumner moved first, just like always, shifting to create an inch between us. “So, last night, I couldn’t sleep, and I did some internet scrolling,” he began. “Did I tell you I’m pretty good at digging up information? I think I might’ve found out a few things about your fiancé.”

Inarrowed my eyes. “Do tell.”

He unlocked his phone in his grip and scrolled, but the screen was angled so that I couldn’t see it. “I tried a few different searches. His mother’s name, his father’s name, Astro Agencies?—”

“How did you get all that information? I never told you his mother’s name.”

“You told me about the company,” he replied without missing a beat, blinking. “Astro Agencies. At the diner. I searched backward from there.”

Had I told him? I must’ve, though I didn’t remember it. I drained the final traces of my wine and set it on the glass coffee table. “Well, what did you find about him, then?”

Sumner shifted so that inch of space between us vanished once more, our legs pressing together as he offered his phone screen closer for viewing. An article with blocky text popped up on the screen. “So, this article is about male heirs of businesses that are on the rise,” Sumner said, pointing with his finger. “The Astor sons are number seven.”

“Male,” I scoffed. I didn’t take the phone from him, but laid my hand over the back of his, steadying the grip. My fingers were cold against his. “Someone created a maleandfemale list before. The Astro sons weren’t on it, but I was. Number four, to be exact.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. You should’ve been number one.”

He was giving me that same puppy dog smile when I glanced over. Our faces were close, and I became all too aware of the way his fingerscurved underneath mine as I held his hand in place. It reminded me of how he’d laid his hand over mine in the car on the way to brunch, and the backs of his fingers were just as soft as the other side.

“It’s too small of text,” I decided, letting go of his hand and sitting back into the couch. “Read it to me.”

“It talks about his three older brothers first,” Sumner summarized. “The eldest is ten years older than him, and the article talks about how he’ll most likely inherit the company. The other three also currently are holding positions at the company. Aaron, though—” Sumner cleared his throat. “‘After obtaining his degree at Stanford University, the youngest of the Astor sons has decided to stay out of the spotlight and stay under the radar of business holdings. However, sources state he’s dedicated much of his time to community service and brightening his community, an admirable path for someone who desires no credit for the work he gives. He refuses photographs of himself, wishing to pursue his good deeds behind the scenes, a truly humble decision?—’”

“Wow, this writer is an Aaron Astor fanboy, aren’t they,” I muttered.

From the corner of my eye, I caught Sumner’s attention flick over at me, and then away. “No pictures, but it does sound like he’s got decent character.”

I folded one leg over the other and crossed my arms, staring at our reflection in the mirror across from us. “He doesn’t work at his family’s company?” I asked, trying to recall what he’d said.

“They all do. It doesn’t say positions, though.” He scrolled a bit. “The only other thing it says about him is that he seems to be the son that’s the least interested inshares of the company. Which makes sense, since he doesn’t have a chance of inheriting it.”

Interesting. Though the bits of information were just crumbs, nothing substantial, but I mulled them over anyway, a bit of my hunger satiated with them.

“He’s never reached out to you?” Sumner asked hesitantly, as if he could gauge my mood already. “Aaron?”

“I never said that.”

“You said you haven’t met him.”

“And I haven’t.”

Sumner shifted on the sofa, jostling against my side. I wondered if his patience was wearing thin with my short answers. “Haveyouever reached out tohim?”

“I’m meeting him tomorrow, as it turns out.”

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