Then she pushed me back into the room and we tried on the other two dresses while I gazed longingly at my number five.

When all was decided and number five was the winner, Desmond ordered lunch for three.

To me it tasted like maybe the best pastrami sandwich in the entire world, but this impression might have been caused by the lingering scent of magical rose petals.

CHAPTER 27

Desmond and I drove to the restaurant together. We swung by home to pick up Katherine on the way.

A funny kind of standoff occurred when Stan tried to insist that I should drive with him.

Desmond didn’t respond with words. Instead, he just stared at Stan for a beat, reached for my arm, and said, “Let’s go.”

On the way over, I called my dad for the fourth time that day because he hadn’t yet contacted me. Each time I’d called before the phone had gone to voicemail. I hoped this meant he was on a plane. He knew about the dinner, and he’d said that he would come. But he never sent me his flight information so I had no idea when he was getting in.

This time my dad picked up his phone just as we were pulling into the parking lot.

“Hello?”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Hi, Dad. It’s Janie.”

“Hi.”

“We’re just pulling into the restaurant.”

“Okay.”

I waited for a second then asked, “Where are you?”

“I’m at the airport.”

“Was your flight delayed?”

“No. It was ten minutes early. I’m getting my bag. I checked it because I don’t like having to lift it into the overhead bin. The charged me $25. Will you be able to reimburse the cost?”

“Yes, no problem.”

“Do you need a receipt?”

“No. No, just tell me how much you need.”

“Okay. When can you give me the money?”

I swallowed, tried not to sigh again, and kept my eyes lowered so I wouldn’t have to meet Katherine and Desmond’s eyes. “How about tonight at dinner?”

“Sure. I’m hungry anyway. Where?”

“You know, the dinner. We’re having a dinner tonight so you can meet everyone.”

He paused, and I thought I heard him exhale. He sounded irritated when he spoke. “I’d forgotten about that. Is that celebrity guy going to be there?”

“Nico? Yes, he’ll be….”

“Then I’ll be there. Text me the address. I’ll be there in a few hours.”

“Okay.” I gritted my teeth and tried to concentrate on suppressing the heated blush of embarrassment creeping its way up my neck. My eye caught on the hard plastic nob of the car radio. I started thinking about early plastics, tried to pronounce polyoxybenzylmethylenglycolanhydride in my brain. It helped.

“Fine. See you later.” Then he hung up.

I held the phone to my ear for just two more seconds before I pulled it away and placed it in my purse.

I really hated cellphones.

“Everything okay?” Katherine asked. She’d twisted in her seat and was giving me a small, sideways smile.

“Yeah.” I nodded. “He’s just running a little late. We should go in and order.”

She nodded. “That’s too bad.”

I shrugged, and the volcano of trivial information spewed forth before I realized I was talking. “Early plastics were created by accident. A scientist by the name of Dr. Baekland was trying to find an alternative for shellac—which at the time was made from the excretion of lac bugs.”

Katherine frowned at me, and my eyes moved to the rear view mirror where Desmond was watching our discussion.

“Bakelite was the first synthetic thermosetting plastic ever made. It was referred to as the material of a thousand uses. I have no citation for that claim, but I did read it in a textbook, and it seems likely that they would refer to it as such. Because it was nonconductive and heat resistant, they manufactured everything from kitchenware to electrical insulators, and radio and telephone casings out of it.”

He studied me in the mirror.

I continued speaking my thoughts as they tumbled through my brain. “It must be nice to be a plastic—being nonconductive. Some people talk about being cold like ice or numb as ice, but ice is conductive, and it can melt. True numbness is being a synthetic thermosetting plastic…and it’s so useful.”

They stared at me as I bit my lip to keep from talking. I wasn’t making any sense. I glanced down at my lap then lifted my chin to apologize.

But Desmond had turned in his seat, and he said as my gaze met his, “I think we have an old clock made out of Bakelite. Don’t we, Katherine?”

She nodded, glancing between us. “Yes, I think so. I have buttons, too. They might be celluloid, though.”

“We should get inside, Janie.” Desmond glanced at his watch. “On the way you can tell me what the difference is between celluloid and Bakelite.”

***

We had reservations at a neighborhood pub. Katherine had reserved the entire back room. She said this was so we could have privacy and a measure of quiet. Part of me wondered if it had to do with Nico Moretti being there—AKA Elizabeth’s new husband—more than the other reasons.

Paparazzi and fanfare had been following them everywhere they went, especially since their quick elopement in Vegas. Elizabeth was hoping to keep their presence in Boston a secret, but I wasn’t sure how successful this plan would be.

Dan and Quinn were already there when we arrived. They were both drinking Guinness draft, and Quinn was glowering across the table at his friend.

“Hey.” I smiled at both of them, hugging Dan first then moving into Quinn’s arms. “We’re not late, are we?”

Dan piped in, “Nope. Right on time.”

I studied Quinn as he slid his eyes back to Dan. I guessed this was because Dan had prevented Quinn from coming back to the hotel room this afternoon by feigning inexperience with the layout of Boston’s streets. I would have to thank Dan for his help; I imagined it must’ve been difficult.

The door leading to our private room was open, and I guessed that Elizabeth and Nico had arrived if the hubbub of activity taking place at the front of the restaurant was any indication.

Quinn pulled me to a corner of the room as his parents took their seats and Dan moved to help Elizabeth and Nico find their way through the crowd that had abruptly gathered.

“Hey,” Quinn said, leaning forward and giving me a kiss. Then he kissed me again. When he pulled away, his eyes were still closed and his jaw was tight. “I’m looking forward to meeting your dad, but I can’t wait to get back to the hotel and spend some time alone with you.”

I glanced down at Quinn’s tie and tore my top lip through my teeth before responding. “About that…um….”

I knew he’d opened his eyes because I felt his gaze on me. “About what?”

“My dad’s running a little late, but he said he’d be here in a few hours.”

“Oh. Traffic?”

I shook my head. “No, his flight just landed.”

“Oh. Delayed?”

“No…it was on time.”

“Did he not know about the dinner?”

I shook my head. “No. He knew.”

Quinn made a sound like a growl in the back of his throat, and I peered at him. His face was stone, and he was watching me with a severe scowl.

Then he sighed and just shook his head. He glanced at the table where his parents were sitting, and then his eyes darted to the door where Nico and Elizabeth had just walked in.

“Come on,” he said, trying to give me a smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s order before we all get mobbed by Nico’s adoring fans.”

***

I was proud of my fiancé for not finding my dad and punching him in the face.

I know that’s a weird thing to be proud of, but there it was.

My father never showed. Quinn called him around 10:00 p.m. and found out that he’d gone to the hotel, too tired for dinner, or so he said. Also, he asked about reimbursement again. Quinn told him that he’d be reimbursed at the church, the morning of the wedding, after he walked me down the aisle.

I don’t think I was meant to overhear that part of the conversation.

During the car ride after dinner and back to the hotel, I sat tucked into Quinn’s side, his arm around me, our hands at my shoulder fitting together. I leaned my head against him and could feel the tension in his muscles.

I didn’t try to explain or defend my dad, because…he was my dad. That’s just who he was. There was nothing to explain or defend. Instead, I allowed Quinn to seethe in silence.

He was still seething when we arrived at the hotel. He was seething when we walked through the door of the room. He continued seething as he pulled off his suit jacket and tossed it to the couch, yanked at his tie, and undid the first two buttons of his shirt.

I trailed behind him, set my purse on the table by the door, slowly pulled off my shoes. I wasn’t thinking about dinner. I was thinking about hemotoxins and the latest research I’d read on the use of snake venom in treating cancer, specifically tumors.

Quinn turned, glowered at me, gripped the back of the armchair closest to him, and said, “You’re thinking about robots, aren’t you?”