Page 9 of Champagne Fizz

“Now, now, don’t judge too quickly,” Arie jets in. “Simon may be sporting the Nerds-R-Us vibe—hard core—but under that accountant-couture exterior is an I-work-out-every-morning-wonderland-of-excitement.”

“Wow,” I say to Arie, shaking my head. “You realize that makes it sound like I’m your ex.”

“You’re my business partner,” Arie responds flatly. “It’s practically the same thing. I know you so well, we may as well have bumped uglies.”

“Woah!” Connor turns to his girlfriend like this has gotten out of hand.

Which it has.

“It’s nothing like that,” I snap, eyeing Kendall who’s looking at me like she just walked into a zoo of monkeys.

“How about we skip the whole ‘who’s fuzzing who’ conversation,” Kendall says, walking away from Arie and pulling out a chair next to Olivia, “and focus on Olivia and Ned’s wedding instead? Yes?”

“Mmmmm, all business, I like it,” Connor teases, taking a seat by me.

“Did you just say fuzzing instead of fucking?” Arie asks, sitting at the opposite side of the table—and whether it’s deliberate or not—effectively squaring off with Kendall. “What are we in middle school?”

“Okay, how about we lay off the wedding planner,” I suggest, coming to Kendall’s defense.

“You see that? Hero material,” Arie says, pointing at me. “You don’t think accountants are your type, but here he is coming to your rescue.”

I ignore Arie and turn my attention to Olivia and Ned. “Do we have an official date for the wedding that we can lock in on the calendar? Or are you still deciding?”

“Nope, set in stone,” Kendall says without a beat. “Saturday, May 28th.”

“That’s next month,” Connor says, turning to his brother with a frown. “I don’t have a suit yet, or strippers lined up for your bachelor party. I know you hired someone to plan all the girly stuff”—he nods to Kendall—“but give a guy a little warning. It’s not like the cow didn’t already give you the milk, so … why the rush?”

Ned looks at his brother dryly. “I had no idea you needed more than twenty minutes to book the Gin n’ Lava,” Ned says, speaking of his friend Mason’s bar. “Or to ask Mason to dress in drag and do a strip tease.”

“Well, I was going to have someone,” Connor motions to Arie, “design special vagina tarts for the occasion. We know how well the first ones went over.”

Both Ned and Olivia turn pink.

Arie starts laughing.

I don’t know the whole tart story—in fact, I don’t want to know the whole story—but Arie and Connor did have Olivia deliver tarts to Ned’s office in an attempt to get them together.

“Not really the time and place, Connor,” I say, trying to refocus the conversation.

Connor waves me off and points at his brother. “Seriously, the 28th? Were you going to invite anyone to this thing? Or is it your hope that everyone on the mainland skips it?”

“I’m not inviting Dad,” Ned grinds out. “If that’s what you’re asking.”

A tension zips through the room and sucks out all the oxygen.

“You know the last person I want to see is our father,” Connor agrees. “But mom? Extended family?”

Ned gives Connor a death glare that saysmy wedding, back off.

“We haven’t fully tabled the family discussion yet,” Kendall interjects, trying to play peacemaker. “And yes, you’re right, the timeline is tight. That’s why we need to lock down the right location, and soon, so we can send out the invitations.”

I caught that little word—rightlocation. Does she think meeting at Flambé is a waste of her precious time?

Oh … and Arie caught it too.

“What’s there to lock down?” Arie asks sharply, leaning forward like she’s going in for the kill. “I already told Olivia she can use Flambé. Done deal. Any day she wants. You say the 28th, then it’s the 28th. I don’t have to look at the calendar. It’s hers.”

“I’ll check the calendar,” I say quickly, pulling up my phone.

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