Grant’s father didn’t protest. He just disappeared back into the restaurant.
She ashed her cigarette onto the paver stones. Ashes wafted onto her pants but she either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “What was your name again, dear?”
“Leah.”
“And you’re a waitress?”
I nodded. “Yes. And aspiring singer.”
“Eddie showed me the video of you singing. You have a lovely voice.”
“Thank you.” When had Grant done that? Maybe while I’d been in the shower after the pool.
“I shared it for you.”
Huh. What did she mean by that? As in she had social media accounts? I guess Gigi was more in tune with modern living than I would have expected. “That was nice of you, thank you.”
“I want Eddie to be happy. Tiffany was a terrible mother. I never wanted my son to marry her. I think Eddie is smart to pick an ordinary girl like you. You aren’t spoiled.”
She had a fair point, but she should probably keep her thoughts about my ordinariness to herself. It was a wee bit insulting. But if I expected anyone to keep a thought to themselves, I was in the wrong crowd. Clearly.
“I am not spoiled, that is true. At the same time, I haven’t exactly suffered either. I had a good childhood thanks to my parents and I’ve managed to make a life for myself in the city.” Which I couldn’t wait to get back to, to be honest. The fresh air couldn’t make up for the eye-rolling factor of the Caldwells.
Grant appeared, looking like he wanted to kidnap me. I wouldn’t have objected. “Is everything okay out here?” he asked.
I gave him a reassuring smile. “We’re fine.”
“Just girl talk, Eddie. Mind your own business.” Gigi tossed her cigarette on the ground and put it out with the heel of her boot. “We’re going back in now so calm your tits.”
I was so startled I laughed out loud before slapping my hand over my mouth.
Grant looked less amused than me.
Gigi stood up and looped her arm through mine. “I could grow fond of you.”
“I’m pretty irresistible,” I said cheerfully.
Grant laughed and put his hand on the small of my back. “I’ll attest to that.”
When we got inside, Grant the second was paying the bill. “You kids can stay if you’d like,” he said. “But Tiff has a migraine.”
Grant’s mother was lying face-first on the table. I was pretty sure she was drunk given I’d seen her have three vodka sodas and eat absolutely nothing. It was safe to say she probably needed inpatient treatment but I wasn’t about to suggest that to people who seemed to think this was totally acceptable. Part of me felt sorry for Grant’s mother, despite how rude she’d been to me. This was not a happy woman, and frankly, that was sad as hell.
“Do you want to stay?” Grant said.
I nodded. “Sure.” A perfectly acceptable excuse to spend time alone without his family there? Sold. “I could go for dessert and coffee.”
When we were alone and the waiter appeared to clean the various dirty dishes, Grant asked him, “Do you have key lime pie?”
My insides squeezed. He’d remembered. I’d told him it was my favorite dessert and he had remembered. The man was a dream.
“No, sir, I’m sorry, we don’t.”
“Does anywhere in town have it?”
“I can ask Chef.” The waiter scraped crumbs. “If there is, would you like a slice?”
“Yes, two, please.” Grant handed the waiter two hundred-dollar bills. “And espresso for the lady.”