whistle. She must be an even bigger name than I realized because there’s tons of articles about the split, and a few wondering who I am with links to a picture of me in a group photo from Dylan’s wedding. There’s a red arrow pointing to my head to pick me out among my brothers. This is really weird.
When I arrive for dinner at Sean and Josie’s brownstone in the Park Slope neighborhood of Brooklyn, a bottle of red wine in hand, Josie answers the door. “Come in! I’m so happy you could make it for dinner.” She takes the offered wine. “You are so sweet! My favorite.” She tilts her head, offering me her cheek.
I bend down to kiss it. “Thanks for the invite.”
She gestures for me to follow downstairs to the kitchen. “Sean’s on cooking duty tonight.”
Great! Josie is a disaster in the kitchen. She keeps trying, though. Relentlessly optimistic, this one.
“What are we having?” I ask.
“It’s this neat fish dish, where you wrap it in parchment paper and cook it with vegetables.”
“Mediterranean fish en papillote,” Sean says, sounding extremely sophisticated. The thing about Sean is that he was just like me, a regular old construction worker, but he didn’t let that define him. He got heavily involved in fundraising efforts for Habitat for Humanity and started meeting a different circle of people—educated, wealthy professionals. He’s a bit of a chameleon, changing to fit in depending on the circumstances. When he’s in town, he’ll still step in on crew on occasion if we need him at work, but otherwise he’s knee-deep in Rourke foundation work, or accompanying Josie on set. She makes more than enough money for both of them.
“Take a seat,” Josie says, indicating one of the scrolled iron swivel stools at the kitchen island. “You want a glass of this delicious wine or one of Sean’s beers?”
I grin. “You hafta ask?”
Sean jerks his chin at me from the island, where he’s chopping vegetables. “How ya doing?”
“Good.” I give his shoulder a squeeze on my way past him and take a seat.
Josie shakes her head, smiling. “You don’t have to bring wine just for me.” She fetches me a beer, opens it, and searches for a glass.
I wiggle my fingers at her. “Gimme. I’ll take it straight from the bottle.”
She hands it over and gets to work uncorking the wine. Jazz plays in the background over speakers in the ceiling. Sean went all out on renovating this place. The appliances are top of the line too.
A few moments later, Josie joins me at the island and clinks her glass against my bottle. “Cheers!”
“Cheers.”
I try to think of the best way to get her view on the Harper situation without sounding like I’m too interested. Josie is the kind of person who’d get overly excited and try to play matchmaker. I’m not sure what I want to happen with Harper. I’m part mad she brought my name into it without asking me, and part flattered that she’d want me tied to her in the public eye. Is she the kind of person who throws people under the bus to make herself look good, or was it just a onetime panic response? I want to believe she’s a good person.
Josie nudges her shoulder with mine. “I texted Harper your number after our taping yesterday, and now I hear you’re dating. I’m so happy for you. I just knew you two would be a good match.”
“Josie,” Sean says with a note of exasperation in his voice, “you didn’t tell me you did that.”
“What?” she asks, looking between us. “They’re both single and awesome. Why wouldn’t I want them to connect?”
I clench my jaw. I offered to give Harper my number before the taping, she declined, and then Josie sent it anyway. Did Harper think I asked Josie to do that? So fucking embarrassing, like I’m desperately pursuing her. I’ve never desperately pursued any woman. That’s what my charm is for.
“You shouldn’t have given her my number,” I say. “I don’t need dating help. We’re not together either. She told the press we’re a thing without asking me ahead of time.” I narrow my eyes at her. “I’m not liking being blindsided by the two of you.”
“Ohhh, I didn’t realize that’s how it went down with her,” Josie says, conveniently ignoring her own wrongdoing. She cocks her head. “Huh. That’s not like her. Maybe a reporter ambushed her, and she panicked.”
I take a swig of beer. “Yeah, basically. That’s what she