Seven Days in June(84)

“It was breathtaking, my bé,” said Eva, eyes softening. “I know we’ve had a tough time this week. But you know I love you more than anything, right? I’ll always be proud of you. You’re my best thing.”

“Mommy! I can’t get mushy on an empty stomach.” Audre hid her face behind a linen napkin. “But I love you, too. Now, what are you ordering?”

“The crab cakes, to start. When Shane comes, we’ll get entrées.”

Actually, crab cakes are a no, she thought. I have to fit into a leather minidress for the Litties. The awards ceremony was later that evening, at 9 p.m.—and her dress was unforgiving.

Eva would never say this out loud to Audre. Bad self-image modeling.

Blowing on her lavender-lilac tea, Eva perused the menu again. And then she heard the bell over the front door twinkle through the space. Shane!

She jerked her head up so fast, her glasses bounced on her nose. It wasn’t him, but rather a touristy-looking senior couple.

Ridiculous. She had to calm down; she was perspiring. And she kept checking her hair in her spoon (she’d piled her curls atop her head, in a dreamy upsweep). This was ridiculous. Shane had seen her in various states of undress several times over the past week. Why was she acting like a nervous spinster before her first date?

She needed to chill. And she would, when she saw Shane. It was only five minutes past their 10:00 a.m. reservation time; he’d be there soon.

Meanwhile, Audre was scrolling through her phone, looking at gossip accounts on Instagram.

“Mom, if you could date any man in Hollywood, who would it be?”

“From today or previous eras?” Eva grabbed another madeleine from their basket and nibbled away.

“Today,” said Audre.

“Hmm. Lakeith Stanfield. And honestly, I’d take either Hemsworth.”

With a gust of warm air, the front door flung open again. Eva glanced up in anticipation. It wasn’t Shane. A model and her lapdog. And her stomach sank, just a tad.

“How about you?” Nonchalantly, Eva checked the time on her phone—10:13.

“Nick Jonas,” divulged Audre. “But he’s taken.”

“And short. How would he reach you?”

A lanky, heavily perfumed waitress came by to take their appetizer orders. Unable to help it, Eva checked her phone. But she hadn’t heard from Shane. This was definitely odd. For the past three days, they’d been in a near-constant textversation. But today, nothing.

She shot him a text anyway.

EVA: We’re saving a seat with your name on it. Literally! Can’t wait to see you.



By 10:40, she still hadn’t heard from him. And she couldn’t imagine why. There was no way he could’ve forgotten—not after promising Audre. And her. Rubbing a temple, she mentally reminded herself to regulate her breathing. It would be fine. He’d come.

“I’ll be right back, honey,” she told Audre, scooting back from the table. “Just running to the ladies’.”

Once she was out of Audre’s line of vision, she speed-walked over to the hostess’s table.

“Hi, have you gotten a message from Shane Hall?” she asked the hostess, a beautiful, elfin girl with a pixie haircut and high-waisted capris. “He’s meeting me here. We had a reservation at ten. Did he come too early? Maybe he got the time wrong.”

The pixie pulled out her pencil-scrawled ledger and scrolled through, line by line. “No, we haven’t had a Shane Hall this morning.”

“Oh,” she said, her heart sinking.

“Give him a call, though. This happens all the time. You know, we have three establishments in Manhattan. One on Madison and one on Fifty-Ninth. Maybe he mixed up the location?”

Eva all but smacked her forehead. She felt so dumb. Of course, that was it. No wonder! Born-and-bred New Yorkers mixed up restaurant locations all the time, and he was a newbie.

If I’m honest, the Madison Avenue Ladurée is better, she thought to herself, with intense relief. He’s probably there. We should’ve gone there.

Eva thanked the hostess and texted Shane the correct address to make sure he had it. After waiting exactly forty seconds with no response, she called him—but it went straight to voicemail. Feeling increasingly pathetic by the minute, Eva called up every Ladurée location on the island, attempting to find him.

Nothing.

With a thumping heart and clammy palms, Eva headed back to the Pompadour Salon and sat down. It was eleven.

“Where’s Mr. Hall?”

“Shane?” Eva smiled brightly. And made up a lie on the spot. “You know what? I forgot to tell you. This morning, he said he was so excited about our invitation but that he forgot that he scheduled an IKEA delivery today. You know they give you an insane window, like six a.m. to three p.m. There’s a chance he’ll be late.”

“Oh no! That sucks. But we did ask him last minute. I hope he can come; I really like him.”

Eva swallowed down the lump in her throat. “Me too.”

“He likes you, too,” said Audre in hushed tones. “Why am I whispering? This is weird. You, with a boyfriend!”

“Audre, you’re so dramatic. He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Okay, cool. By the way, you’re sweating off your eyeliner.”