Emily had been accepting congratulations on the successful wine tasting and fundraising event all night. It wasn't the best party she'd thrown in her DAR career, but it certainly wasn't the worst.
The venue hadn't been her choice but she had been outvoted. Emily had chosen the decorations, the wine list, and the food, but this...place had been chosen by some of the younger DAR members. Emily had nothing against modern dining but she didn't find making conversation under strobe lights to be very relaxing.
Sitting at the bar with a glass at her elbow that was more tonic than gin, Emily wondered when restaurants stopped using plates. These people expected her guests to eat out of artistic roof shingles. It was outrageous. A waiter placed an appetizer of prosciutto-wrapped asparagus, drizzled with balsamic vinegar in front of her on what looked like a wooden plank.
"Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous," she muttered, lifting a piece to her mouth.
"You think this is ridiculous? I went to a restaurant in San Diego and they served me room temperature sushi on a shovelhead."
Emily turned to the well-dressed man sitting next to her. "That sounds illegal."
"Not according to the state of California. That and the food poisoning it gave me really brought down their score."
"Score? Are you a health inspector?"
"Shit, sorry. I wasn't raised in the woods, I promise." The man held out his hand, "Amato Vincenzo, professional food critic. Feel free to call me Matt."
Emily returned the handshake. "Emily Gilmore. Regular food critic."
Matt laughed, showing off the attractive wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. "That's a good one." Matt waved a hand in the general area of the restaurant. "Do you come to these types of things often?"
"Of course. I'm one of the–"
Emily fumbled for a word to replace the 'senior' that rested on the tip of her tongue.
"–Heads of the DAR. I planned this event myself. Unfortunately, our organization is a democracy and I was forced to have the meals I planned served on leftover plywood."
"The DAR?" Matt snapped his fingers with recognition. "That's what Darby's been pulling her hair out about. She's been dying to get into your club since she turned the summer house up here into her new home base."
A thirty-something blonde socialite with a gnat sized attention span popped into Emily's head. Not a shocking development. What else kind of woman would a man like Matt be married to?
"Really," Emily replied as she turned back to her appetizer.
"My father's been telling me she's been talking his ear off about the hoops you ladies are making her jump through for that fancy badge of yours."
"It is not a badge, Amato. It's a 24-carat broach of the DAR crest. And it's lovely that your wife and your father are so close."
"Wife?" Matt dissolved into laughter. "No, Darby's not my kind of woman. She's my step-mother."
"That can't possibly be right. You're at least twenty years older than the girl."
"Twenty-two years, actually."
Emily grabbed a napkin and dabbed at the corner of her lips to make sure her mouth wasn't hanging open. She had heard about things like this on the television and read about it in those supermarket tabloids, but things like that didn't happen in real life. Not in Connecticut.
"Well, I'm sure Darby and your father have many things in common."
"Thank you for the polite lie, Emily. You and I both know that the only two things my 82-year-old father and Darby have in common are sitting on her chest."
The sound that came out of Emily's mouth was a cross between a rubber duck and a deflating tire and was incredibly unladylike. She tried to stifle her laughter with her napkin but Matt joined in, starting her up again.
"Mrs. Gilmore, Matty!" Darby Vincenzo walked over to the still chuckling pair, her incredible assets not at all hindered by the high necked cocktail dress she wore.
Matt coughed into his fist and gave Emily a wink. " Evening Darby. Thanks for letting me tag along."
"Of course! I love spending time with one of my favorite guys." Darby replied. "I see you've met DAR extraordinaire, Emily Gilmore."
"Yes, I have. We were just getting to know each other."
"That's wonderful! Mrs. Gilmore, what do you think of Cabana Morena? I know I'm not supposed to suggest venues since I'm not a full member yet, but aren't you glad I let Deedee know about this place? I saw the way they plated their food on Yelp and knew this place would be perfect for the fundraiser."
"It's like nothing I've never experienced before, Darby," Emily said.
Matt snorted into his glass of wine.
Darby smiled and squeezed Matt's shoulders. "I'm so glad you like it. I'm gonna run, I left Marcie in the middle of a convo to chat with you two."
"Take your time," Matt called at her back. He looked at Emily and raised an eyebrow "Like nothing I've ever experienced before," he parroted. "I've never heard 'fuck off' said like that before. What language were you speaking?"
"Don't you start again," Emily said with a smile. "To think that Darby is married to a man my age. I almost can't believe it."
"You can't be anywhere close to my father's age. You're far too beautiful." Matt said.
Emily brushed a piece of perfectly coiffed hair behind her ears. "Please. I look every bit of my age. Don't think that flattering me will get your step-mother any closer to a DAR membership."
Matt clutched his chest as if he were having a stroke. "You think I would try to seduce you into getting Darby into your fancy club? You wound me."
Rolling her eyes, Emily hid another smile behind her glass. "Young people are so dramatic."
"It's been a long time since I've been young. My son changed my name in his phone to 'Boomer'." Matt replied.
He pulled out his phone and presented Emily with a family photo. "My son, Brighton and my daughter Briony. Second-year at USC."
Emily squinted down at the picture of the two fresh-faced teens, Matt, and a statuesque brunette.
"You and your wife must be so proud."
"Ex-wife, but we're glad that the one who ate paint chips as a toddler ended up going to college. What about you? Any kids?"
"Just one, a daughter," Emily said with a frown, "But I have two grandchildren, Lorelai and James." She pulled out her own phone and showed Matt Rory and James posing in matching sweaters.
"Grandchildren? If I saw you in person, I wouldn't believe it."
"What did I just say about flattery?"
Matt grinned, "That it won't get Darby any closer to that badge."
"Broach."
"That's what I said. So calling you beautiful won't get my step-mother into your club. Will it get me a date with you?" Matt said, leaning in close.
Emily had to be hallucinating. Matt, old enough to be her son was trying to ask her out on a date? In her conflicted silence, Matt glanced down at the glass that she was holding onto for dear life.
"Oh, shit. You're married. I'm sorry." Matt said removing himself from her personal space.
"Widowed, actually," Emily replied, twisting the wedding band around her finger.
"I'm sorry for your loss," replied Matt. He took a long gulp of his wine. "I'm the guy that I warn my daughter about. I apologize. Here, let me pay for your drink," he said, fumbling with his wallet.
"There's no need for that–"
"Please let me. I forced myself on you for the past hour when you're obviously grieving–"
"Obviously what?"
"You were sitting here all alone, drinking since that party started. I mean, you're still wearing your wedding ring, too and you look exhausted–"
Emily held up her hand to stop his blubbering. "Thank you for the unsettling confession that you've been staring at me all night like some sort of Jack the Ripper fanatic. It's lovely to know that all the effort I put into myself tonight was completely useless since I look so very exhausted and so very sad. Keep your money and get the hell away from me."
She turned away and gave Amato her back until she was sure he had gotten up and walked away. When she turned back around, he was gone, a $100 bill and a business card on the bar top. Emily brushed the business card to the floor and stuffed the money into the bartender's tip jar.
She didn't need anything from that man.