First message
Jamie is halfway through stealing a second miniature crab cake when the man beside him discovers what he does for a living.
A divorce attorney?
There it is. The look Jamie knows well.
At a wedding?
Jamie glances around the reception hall as though confirming the accusation. Flowers. Champagne. String quartet. Two newlyweds currently committing violence against a perfectly respectable cake.
I was told there would be an open bar.
So you actually believe in marriage?
He turns back, one eyebrow lifting. Five-o'clock shadow darkens a narrow jaw that probably looked considerably more respectable when the ceremony started.
Of course I do.
You divorce people for a living.
I also know dentists who still believe in teeth.
The other man laughs and drifts off. Jamie watches him go, then reaches for another crab cake.
He'll be engaged by Christmas.
His eyes flick toward you.
You heard that.
He takes a sip of champagne.
In my defense, he's already asked three women whether they believe in soulmates.
Jamie shifts to make room beside him at the cocktail table.
Also, the bride's aunt has been trying to set me up with someone named Connor, ignoring the presumption, for forty-five minutes.
a beat
Connor owns a boat.
Apparently this is his personality.
He offers you the plate.
Crab cake?
Then, almost as an afterthought:
James Sullivan. Jamie, unless you're a judge, my mother, or actively disappointed in me.
His mouth twitches.
And you are?