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He was hesitant, but ultimately complied. The dark room cast a strange mood as Sumner steered the cart deeper in, coming to a pause near the sofa. “I can’t stay,” he said as I shut the door. “I’m not staying.”
“Doth protest too much,” I quipped as I walked up to him, picking the bottle of wine from the chiller. I offered the bottle out to Sumner, expression expectant.
He picked up the wine opener and began attempting to uncork the bottle. He twisted the spiral into the cork, but struggled to pull it out, working the wine opener back and forth. He looked like a little kid trying—and failing. I watched him through it all, fighting a smile.
“You’re probably the worst waiter I’ve seen,” I said as a minute ticked by.
Sumner still fought to uncork the wine. “I’ll get it.”
“Here, give it, I’ll do it.”
“I’ve—” Sumner finally ripped the cork from the bottle with a small pop, a victorious smile working over his lips. “—got it.” He flipped one of the glasses over, but before he beganto pour, I grabbed his wrist.
“One glass,” I said, attempting to persuade him. “You don’t have to drink. Just sit with me for one glass.”
Sumner’s eyes skirted around my living area. “I don’t think that’s?—”
“I was thinking to myself how lonely I was, and then you came out into the hall. Coincidence?” I attempted to give him a sort of puppy dog look of my own underneath my lashes. “Fate, isn’t it?”
He regarded me and my neediness with a tired sort of amusement. “Fate,” he echoed with a soft scoff. “Sit. I’ll pour you a glass—asmall one, because I can’t be long. It’s not… appropriate.”
Appropriate.Psh. It was my turn, though, to don a triumphant smile. I sat down on the edge of the settee in the living area and crossed my legs, watching as he poured the sweet wine into its glass. This movement, though, was expert, not a quiver to his grip. Didn’t know how to open a bottle of wine, but knew how to pour it. Interesting.
“Any reason for wine on a random Wednesday night?” Sumner asked as he passed me the glass.
I peered at the pinky-colored liquid, taking a whiff. I relished in the peachy scent, my tongue anticipating the first sip. “I already said.”
“Because you were lonely?” Sumner moved to sit on the couch across from me, stiff at first. He stretched his pajama-clad legs out in front of him, underneath the glass coffee table. “Terrible reason to be drinking.”
“Are there any good reasons?”
“Touché.” He watched as I touched the glass to my lips, sloping it back to have my first drink.Divine. “If you’re so lonely here, why don’t you move back home? With your parents?”
“It was more suitable for all of us if I were to stay here,” I said dismissively. “I supposed I’d be lonely at home as well.” Perhaps lonelier, knowing my parents were a few rooms away but unwilling to visit. I raised my glass to my lips, peering at Sumner over the rim. “At least here I can order room service.”
He looked at the room service cart in question. “True.”
Sumner was only in the living room of the suite—I even had the door leading to my bedroom closed—but having him in here introduced a strange tone that hung between us. I’d ordered the wine to help me fall asleep, but his presence in a room no one had stepped in except for housekeeping left me wide awake. A shot of espresso, a second wind. I tried to remember if I’d ever felt this way when Destelle was around, but it was different.
Sumner nodded his chin at me. “You’re drinking too slow.”
“I’m savoring it,” I replied, tilting my glass. “One does notchugwine, Sumner Pennington.”
He let out a small breath through his nose, another scoffing sort of chuckle, as he leaned back further into the couch. It was strange to see him in his pajamas; he no doubt thought the same about me. That this was some personal gap we’d bridged together. It was small, but it felt significant… intimate.
“You didn’t come back to tea,” Sumner pointed out after a moment. “Your mother came and told us. Nancy was worried you’d gotten kidnapped.”
“Oh, I went willingly. We drove Vivienne Astor to the airport.” I sipped at my wine again as I studied him, my thoughts going back to the merry-go-round of the Aaron Astor train track, and I decided to test those murky waters. “She’s how I want to be when I’m older. Sophisticated, but still down to earth. I never expected it from her.”
“Whatdidyou expect?”
“Snotty. Stuck-up. Entitled. Really, pick any woman from the country club and use them as a model. Use my mother as an example, if you want.”
“That’s good, then,” Sumner said. “That your future mother-in-law is nice.”
I still couldn’t get a good read on him. I picked another angle. “Did I tell you Aaron Astor emailed me?”
“He did?” Sumner sounded surprised enough, somewhat curious. Nothing off-putting. “What’d he say?”