She didn’t wait for his response. Finally coming unstuck from her daze, she grabbed me by the hand, yanked me through the kitchen — pausing only to grab the uncorked bottle of Bordeaux off the table, which was fully set for dinner, along with the glasses sitting beside their empty plates — and led me out onto the small back patio they shared with their next door neighbors.
“Pour,” she muttered, shoving the bottle at me.
This was not the reaction I’d been expecting. Frankly, I’d been expecting her to do cartwheels down Derby Street. Blast off a few fireworks. Maybe rent out one of those planes that wrote sky messages, proclaiming her pure joy at the news.
“Flo—”
“Shh! I’m processing.”
“But—”
“Pour.”
I got to work filling our glasses while she flipped on the gas fire pit. It wasn’t until we were settled in our chairs, thick flannel blankets draped over our laps, sipping our wine and watching the flames dance, that my best friend spoke again.
“Okay. I’ve processed.” She narrowed her eyes at me over the rim of her glass. “So, you made out with Graham.”
“Um.” I took a large sip of my wine. “Yeah.”
“When?”
“Just now. I came straight here.”
“Where?”
“His office.”
Her brows arched. “The Gravewatch office?”
I nodded. “On the conference room table.”
“Christ!” She took a massive swallow. “How did this happen?”
“Honestly, I have no idea. We were butting heads, like we always do, and then, somehow… suddenly… we…weren’t,” I finished weakly.
Her eyes narrowed to slits.
“He basically did it to win an argument,” I hastened on, clutching my glass tighter. “He was asking me some questions, he sensed I was withholding information from him… but I wasn’t budging. Since he couldn’t rattle me with his words, I guess he tried a new tactic. That’s all it was.”
Her mouth pursed in barely-contained rage.
“Flo,” I murmured hesitantly. “I’m not sure I understand your reaction right now. Haven’t you been the staunchest advocate of this? Haven’t you been desperately hoping for something to happen between Graham and me? Now, it finally does, and you seem… angry.”
“Damn straight I’m angry!”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve been dreaming of this day for years —years! — and when it finally happens, it’s all messed up! Just… totally wrong!”
“What do you meanwrong?”
“You aren’t supposed to have an angry make out session with that man in the middle of a verbal sparring match and, five seconds after it happens, convince yourself it was a mistake! You’re supposed tolook inside your heart and admit to yourself that you’ve been in love with him since you were ten!”
“How do you know I think it was a mistake?”
“Please!” She rolled her eyes. “I took one look at you and could tell you were ready to book a one-way ticket to Timbuktu rather than face the facts. When it comes to Graham, your fight or flight instinct kicks in almost immediately. I can only imagine how fast you high-tailed it out of there. Tell me, did you break the sound barrier? I thought I heard a sonic boom over the harbor about fifteen minutes ago.”
I took another sip of my wine.