“Why? Is there something I should know?”
Planters are overflowing with flowers and shaped topiaries, and the lawnmower has left perfect stripes in the grass. White cloths are draped over every table and blow gently in the breeze while flower arrangements are the centerpieces. With another bar out here and a huge buffet, this looks more like a wedding than a graduation party. “No. Nothing.”
Cooper suddenly veers us off the sidewalk. “Did you see the Bougainvilla?”
“Cooperrrrrr,” a male voice comes from behind us.
“Fuck,” Cooper says under his breath. “Just smile and keep it short.”
We turn around before I have a chance to ask questions. A handsome man, maybe early sixties, is already holding out his hand. “Congratulations,” he says, his gaze darting to me every few seconds.
I should probably take it as a compliment that he’s congratulating him on dating me . . . oh wait, he means from Atterton. I inwardly laugh.
“Thanks, Mr. Lambert.”
Patting him on the shoulder, he says, “Professor, son.”
“Right. I always forget that.”
Salt and pepper haven’t overcome the medium brown hair on his head, and he has unique coloring to his eyes. Especially visible is the gold in them out here in the sunshine. His smile is disarming, but judging from Cooper’s annoyance underneath the smile, I stay on my toes.
The professor asks, “Who’s your pretty date?”
“My apologies,” Cooper’s quick to say. “Story Salenger. Professor Lambert.” I can hear the strain in calling him professor. Some beef or history lies there.
His piercing eyes slide down my body, giving me a once-over. “Well, aren’t you just a sight to behold?”
Ew. I cling to my boyfriend’s arm, hoping the creep gets the picture.
“Oh, look. There are my parents.” Cooper takes my hand, and we hightail it away from that guy. Looking back over his shoulder, he leans down and whispers, “He’s a professor at NYU. Married four times and divorced because he cheated on all of them with students. I heard he’s a real asshole from a friend who goes there, treats the girls like shit after he gets what he wants from them, and does anything to protect his rep.”
“How charming,” I reply sarcastically. “Sounds like someone worth avoiding.”
“I tried.” He laughs.
His parents see us before we reach them and are quick to excuse themselves from the small circle they’re entertaining. I’m shocked to see his mom’s arms reaching out to greet us not only with a smile but also with hugs. First Cooper, who stands like he’s being searched at the airport, and then she’s coming for me.
Maybe she’s turning over a new leaf, or she finally developed a conscience. I don’t know, but I only have a few milliseconds to cut her off with a handshake or go for the full embrace. I go for the latter because my mom always said you attract more bees with honey.
“Congratulations, dear.” She looks up at her son with the sunlight behind him making her squint.
She’s pretty in a floral dress, so clearly, her model figure is still intact. I shouldn’t feel less because of her, but I do feel a little squatty next to her.
Her hair is swept up in a chignon, and diamonds and pearls hang around her neck and decorate her ears.
His father, dressed in a sandy-colored linen suit that’s already wrinkled, pulls an envelope from his pocket and hands it to Cooper. “Congratulations, son. I look forward to you joining the family business.”
First off, if that’s another freaking new car, I’m going to go ballistic.
Secondly, joining the family business sounds like Cooper’s already made up his mind. So that leaves me confused, but I’ll keep that to myself for now to get through this party.
While shaking hands, Cooper replies, “Thanks, but nothing’s settled just yet.”
Patting him on the back like a proud papa, he pulls two cigars from his jacket pocket and hands one to his son.
That pocket is more interesting than a clown car at this point. What’s coming out of it next? Who knows? Not me.
Cooper tucks the envelope into his pants pocket since he’s not wearing a jacket, but he declines the cigar. That makes me happy because I’ve always hated the smell of smoke, even before Troy tried to put out a cigarette on my scar, citing it wouldn’t matter.
I try not to let my dirty past sully my time with my boyfriend. I still love saying that. “It’s a beautiful party, Mrs. Haywood.”
“Thank you, Story. I hear congratulations are in order for you as well.”
‘Thank you. I worked very hard the past four years to be here.”
Her head tilts as suspicion enters her eyes. “To be at Cooper’s party?”
“What?” It takes me a moment before I catch on. “Oh, no. I meant to earn my degree. I didn’t know Cooper until he came into the coffee shop one night drenched and needing Wi-Fi.” I smile, loving our story.