Page 96 of Summer People
“Fisher Jones,” a familiar British voice says as we step off. “You didn’t tell me you were coming today. What kind of dodgy shit are you pulling?”
I come to a halt at the familiar lilt and turn.
My college roommate and forever friend Cal Murphy strides my way with his cousin Zara Price at his side.
“You live in New York.” I shake my head, but I can’t help but smile at the asshole.
“I texted a few weeks ago. Remember? Told you I was coming up this weekend.” Brow arched, he assesses Libby.
My mood sours instantly. Cal is the biggest player I know. The last thing I want is for him to hit on my girl. “Although I see why you might not want me mucking up your plans.”
“Don’t be a shit, Cal.” Zara shakes her head and steps closer. “Fisher.”
“Zara.” I release Libby’s hand as Zara leans in to peck one cheek, then the other. “This is Libby.”
Zara reaches out, though she stiffens with her arm half extended, her eyes going wide. “Bloody hell, Elizabeth Sweet. The entire world is looking for you, and you’re hiding out in Boston with our Fisher?”
Anxiety courses through me, but beside me, Libby smiles, as if she doesn’t mind that her cover has been blown.
With a massive grin, Zara embraces her.
When she pulls back, Libby turns to me. “How do you know my favorite fixer?”
Her favorite fixer? I guess I should have realized that the Hollywood star and the woman who fixes image crises all over the country would know each other.
“Oh, love. Fisher is my computer man. When I need a photo to disappear, he’s who I ring.” She flings a hand at her cousin. “Cal and Fisher went to Harvard together”—Harvard sounds more likeHavadin her British accent—“so Fisher’s been my secret weapon since long before the rest of the world was after him.”
A small wrinkle appears between Libby’s brows just above her glasses.
“It’s a hacking thing,” I assure her quietly.
“However, Elizabeth, you have wounded me.” Cal rocks back on his heels and clutches his chest. “How many times have I begged for a date over the years? And now you’ve passed me over for this bugger?”
I glare at my friend. Pretty sure I hate him right now. He’s with a new woman every week. Without thought, I drape an arm over Libby’s shoulders, tucking her into my side.
Cal’s eyes dance with delight as he locks in on me. “Who would have thought you would fall?”
Zara whacks him on the arm. “Don’t be a wanker. You’re the one we all say that about, not Fisher.”
Libby and Zara fall into a conversation about the upcoming Emmys. Libby is still waffling about whether to go, though as they talk, her demeanor is casual, her mood light. The two women are clearly friendly. For weeks, I’ve thought about how incompatible our lives are, only to realize we have mutual friends. The realization is as odd as it is nice. This moment feels like the evidence I need to believe we can continue to be anuspast Labor Day.
“Mum!” Zara’s daughter calls from down the long corridor. She’s a couple of years older than Sutton. “Dad says hurry up. We don’t want to miss the first pitch.”
Asher Price, Zara’s husband, played for the Revs until he retired two years ago. But they still go to all the games.
Zara raises one finger to Clara. “Elizabeth, if you’re in Boston, we must do lunch. And Fisher, be better about keeping in touch. We really must get Sutton and Clara together.” She yanks on her cousin’s arm. “Come on, Cal.”
Cal peers back over his shoulder. “And the both of you should reply to my texts more often.”
“Don’t respond to his text,” I mutter. I’m half tempted to block his number on her phone right now.
Libby giggles. “Oh, I know all about Cal and his playboy ways. I’ve been telling Zara forever that he is primed and ready to fall hard for someone. I can’t wait to watch it happen.”
Fuck, I love the idea that we have mutual friends. Even if I never see mine anymore.
“This way.” I pull her down the hallway to the owner’s box.
“Mr. Jones, Mr. Langfield is expecting you.” A large man dressed in black tips his chin to me and pushes open the navy blue door behind him.
