Page 67 of The Close-Up
I look to the side for Harper, but she’s gone. I turn and notice her chatting with a cute blond guy at a nearby table. He elbows his friend sitting next to him, who then stands up so Harper can take his chair. Her shoulders shake as she laughs at something the guy says. I smile, happy that she seems to be enjoying herself.
Landon heads to the bar for a drink. A second later a few people stand up from Simon’s table and grab their jackets.
“Let’s sit. My feet are killing me,” Desiree says.
I follow her to the far end of the table. When I catch eyes with Landon as he makes his way back over from the bar, I gesture for him to take the empty chair next to me. Desiree sits down and Simon scoots a chair between the two of us.
“Having fun?” he asks me.
“A blast. It’s very cool to see all your friends out and supporting you.”
A guy sitting next to Desiree holds up his beer glass. “A toast to Simon. We’re thrilled for your success, man. Now I can tell everyone I’m friends with a celebrity.”
“Dude, how many times do I have to tell you?” Simon groan-laughs. “I’m not even close to famous.”
The entire table ignores him, breaking into cheers. We all raise our glasses and clink them together. I glance over at Landon and see that he’s frowning at his phone, still holding his glass of whiskey up long after everyone has taken a sip. I nudge him and he looks up.
“Huh? Oh,” he says, the look on his face dazed.
He glances back down at his phone and takes a sip. I swallow back the annoyed sigh I want to let loose. I shouldn’t be so bothered. He and Simon are sitting at the same table and being civil to each other—even if they’re not acknowledging each other much. At least they’re not staring daggers and exchanging passive-aggressive comments.
Desiree squeezes Simon’s knee, gazing at him as he looks down at the ground, still blushing from all the attention.
“So. What do you two have planned for tomorrow?” I ask.
Desiree says they’re headed to brunch at a restaurant in Jackson Square. “It’s my mom and my dad’s favorite place.”
Simon looks at me. “Speaking of moms, guess who called me this morning?”
“Wait, my mom called you? How did she get your number?”
“I think she watched one of theSimply Simonepisodes and saw my office info that Dash listed at the end.”
“Wow. She’s smooth.”
“She wanted to thank me for helping her figure out how to glue your dad’s vase back together. She said he loved it. He even teared up a bit when he saw it.”
“That’s my dad. One big mush.”
“Like father, like daughter.”
I lightly shove Simon’s shoulder. “Oh my gosh, I haven’t cried in front of you.”
“Except when you eat ravioli.”
I laugh at the smug look on his face.
“Okay, first of all, I did not tear up while eating your grandma’s ravioli. I did stop mid-bite, close my eyes, and say, ‘oh my lord.’ I was overcome with emotion—it was the most incredible homemade ravioli ever. But I absolutely did not cry.”
He pivots his smug expression to me once more. “Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that.”
I jokingly place my hand at the base of Simon’s neck and squeeze gently like I’m going to strangle him, even though there’s zero threat of danger. There’s no way I could inflict any sort of lasting damage to Simon’s thick neck with my hand.
“You’re asking for it,” I tease.
He leans toward me. “I’m asking for what exactly?”
The gleam in his eyes catches me off guard. So does the heat under my palm. His skin suddenly feels like fire.
