Chapter 20

“What about you?” I ask. “Christmas cruise, very fancy. A family affair?” I’ve figured out that a fifty-something guy who lives in Palm Springs and drops references to Cole Porter into casual conversation probably doesn’t have a wife—at least not anymore—but this sounds less prying to me than So what’s your deal?, which we both know is what I’m asking.

“You might say that,” he says. “There’s six of us, buddies since college. Of course there’s kids now, boyfriends—Harrington brought his mom, she’s eighty-something. ‘Family’ is a big word, but if we’re not one, I don’t what the hell else you’d call us.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“It is.”

“Did those guys teach you how to dance?”

He laughs. “They do keep me in practice.”

“You’re really good. That was fun.”

He grins, Aw shucks. “Thanks. It was fun. You’re a pretty good little mover once you let yourself get into it.”