Page 47 of The Wedding Menu

“Yes. Take Andres, my high school buddy. He demanded we not talk about his hot younger sister. Since that day, he’s had to answer whatever question I come up with about his bowel movements. It isn’t funny for either of us.”

Stifling a laugh, I switch to the back camera. “I might have to go with bowel movements, then. Save us both some discomfort.”

“Is that your final answer?” he asks, deadpanned.

I tilt my head to the right. Bowel movements sounds like an undeniably good taboo topic to settle on, but talking about the wedding is becoming dreadful. As for Frank… every time Ian asks about us, I can’t answer.

A notification on the top of my screen distracts me, informing me that yet another one of my dad’s moments on the last season ofThe Silver Spoonwent viral. That’s all it takes to sway me into a certain answer. “Work,” I say, walking in front of the rows of luggage. “I choose work.”

Ian grabs his phone and brings it closer to his face, his eyes squinting. “The red set looks nice. Check if it’s sturdy. Oh, and a lock. See if it has a lock.”

This close, he’s excruciatingly gorgeous—though, to be fair, he’s handsome from every angle. His light brown hair looks scruffy and soft, and the stubble on his cheeks makes him look a little older. I almost get a whiff of his scent—that, I remember clearly. Like fresh, clean clothes.

Looking away, I tap on the luggage, not sure how to verify its sturdiness.

“So… work, huh?” comes from my speakerphone.

Yes, work. Work is my taboo topic. Ian lives in Mayfield, whereThe Silver Spoonis shot, and besides, chances are that he got bombed like everyone else with useless “news” about my dad’s latest hot comment or unjustified lashing out. If I can choose to keep one thing secret, that’s it. I want Ian’s impression of me to be unencumbered by the aura of hatred my surname carries. The less he knows about my career—and my family tree—the better.

“Why?” he continues.

I tap another piece of luggage to see if I notice any difference. “Isn’t the point of choosing it as a taboo topic that we won’t talk about it?”

“Yeah. Just… you’re not getting fired or anything, right?”

“I’m actually up for a big promotion, but the decision hasn’t been made yet.”

He sucks from the straw of his chocolate milk until it makes a slurping noise. “Well, then tell your boss to drop the dumb act and give you the job already.”

With a grin, I inhale deeply. I wish it were that easy, but it never is when it’s your dad. Even though I’m his best chef, he’s stalling.

“I work for my father,” I explain. Seeing as he also works in the family business, I’m sure I don’t need to say more.

“Oh…”

He knows. When family is involved, it’s much more complicated.

Silence. Then: “Fine. Work it is,” he says. “So, how’s the wedding planning going?”

“What’s yours?” I ask, pointing my scan gun at the red set. Frank and I will find out if it’s sturdy on our first trip with a low-cost airline. “Your taboo topic?”

“Well, if you don’t want to confess the dirty secrets about your job, you’ll miss the awesome anecdotes about mine.”

I smile. Though I had zero interest a minute ago, now I kind of want to know.

“Will you ignore my questions about the wedding again?”

Bringing a hand to my left shoulder and loosening up the muscle, I say, “Yeah. Weddings and work are some of my least favorite topics these days.”

“Sounds like it’s a W-problem.” He snaps his fingers. “We should ban all W-words from our vocabulary.”

“Right. ‘Wackadoodle,’ ‘whippersnapper,’ ‘wigwam.’?”

His laughter hits all the right notes in my ear. “And ‘whemmel,’ ‘wheeple,’ ‘woebegone.’?”

“Ha!” I snort. “?‘Woebegone.’ Especially ‘woebegone.’?”

A French Cooperation