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Annie laughs. “Well, hopefully, it doesn’t come to that.”
Abigail chuckles, shaking her head. “I’m serious. If you ever decide to go back into fashion, you’ve got a client in me.”
Annie’s blush deepens, and she murmurs a thank you.
Annie clears her throat, her cheeks still pink from Abigail’s praise, and glances around before flashing a bright, slightlymischievous smile. “So,” she says, shifting the conversation, “has anyone tried the hors d’oeuvres yet?”
Philip tilts his head. “Can’t say I have. Anything good?”
“Oh, more than good,” Annie says, her eyes lighting up in the same way they did when she told her story earlier. “There’s this one—I don’t know what it’s called—but it’s got this tiny little toast with whipped something on top, and I swear, I’ve probably eaten ten of them tonight.”
Abigail laughs. “That good?”
Annie nods solemnly. “Dangerously good. I’ve been sneaking them off trays all night like some kind of hors d’oeuvres thief.”
Philip chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, now I have to try them.”
“Oh, you absolutely do.” Annie grins. “If you’re fast enough, that is. I’ve been hoarding them.”
Abigail smirks. “Guess we better hurry before you eat them all, then.”
Philip places a hand on his wife’s back, already leading her away. “Pleasure meeting you, Annie. I’ll be sure to have a toast in your honor if these hors d’oeuvres live up to the hype.”
Annie waves after them, her laughter soft and easy.
I watch them go, my drink forgotten inmy hand.
She’s good. Really good.
She’d taken a conversation that could have become uncomfortable—Abigail clearly wanting to pry more into why she wasn’t pursuing fashion—and turned it into something lighthearted and fun.
She’d effortlessly steered the attention away from herself, and now Philip and Abigail were off on a mission instead of lingering with more questions.
She’s sharp. She’s quick.
And I find myself wondering, yet again, what the hell she was doing answering phones at Silver Screen.
Before I can say anything, she turns back to me, her expression shifting slightly, growing softer.
“Actually, I came over to tell you I’m taking Robbie up for the night,” she says. “If you wanted to say goodnight before we went up?”
I blink, momentarily thrown off.
I’d been so caught up in watching her—watching how easily she fit in, how effortlessly she handled herself—that I’d nearly forgotten about Robbie.
“I’ll walk you both up,” I say without thinking.
Annie hesitates, surprised, before nodding. “Okay.”
I set my drink down and follow her as she weaves through the crowd, my mind still turning over everything I’d just learned.
Annie had talent. Real talent.
And all this time, she’d been working as a receptionist.
And now a nanny.
I glance at her as we approach Robbie, who’s curled up in a chair, nearly asleep.