I glance over my shoulder to see the British family. I whirl my head backbefore I get caught looking, but not before clocking, with some disappointment, that the boy isn’t with them.
“Don’t worry,” Lauren says. “He’s at the salad bar.”
He passes by us, and his plate looks like it was assembled by a professional chef. I would never have thought to dress salmon, feta, and beets with cilantro. I might copy it for my next course.
“I wonder if he happened to have some culinary tweezers in his pocket,” I say.
“I wonder what else is in his pocket.” She gives me a lascivious wink.
“Please stop before someone hears you.”
“You know, the dad is handsome,” she says. “Do you think I should seduce him? Then I could set you up with the hot boy and you could get married and I’d be your stepmother.” She pauses. “I’d beverywicked.”
“No, you’d be a great bonus mom to a trio of devastated adult children. So wholesome.”
She goes on about the other potentially eligible men in the room, but I’m only half listening because I’m concentrating on extracting the meat from my crab legs, which are buttery and delicious. In my enthusiasm I use too much force and a shell goes flying.
I yelp, turn around, and see it has landed… directly in the British guy’s hair.
“Oh my God,” I cry, leaping up and dashing over to him. “I’m so sorry!”
Instinctively I reach to pick out the shards from his hair, then retract my hand becausewhatam I doing?
He gives me a slightly crooked smile, removes them himself, and hands the whole mess back to me.
“Thanks,” he says, “but I actually prefer my food plated.”
His sisters are laughing uproariously.
“How brilliant of you,” one of them says to me. “He deserves it. He’s awfully vain about his hair.”
“Says the one who gets four-hundred-quid haircuts,” he shoots back.
“Can I get you a napkin?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “You’re good. Don’t worry. Nothing that hasn’t happened before.”
“He’s a chef,” the other sister says. “You wouldn’t believe the things he gets all over himself.”
“Offal,” the other sister whispers theatrically. “That meansorgans.”
“I’m sure she knows what it means,” he says.
“I’m Pear, by the way,” she says. “Pear Segrave. And this is my sister, Prue, and our parents, Mary and Charles. And of course you’ve met Felix here.”
They all murmur pleasantries at once.
“Nice to meet you,” I say. “I’m Hope.”
Lauren has at this point come to join me, and adds, “And I’m Lauren. I’ll try to help Hopie here with her aim next time she attempts to eat a crustacean.”
Mary laughs. She’s plump and pretty, like her daughters, and has a lovely, warm laugh that makes me think of Christmas and hot apple cider.
It makes me long for my own mother, back when my mother was happy.
“We’ll be sure to sit far away in the dining room this evening,” Charles says.
“Where are you girls from?” Mary asks.
