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wine. Great.
    â€œKristen,” he said. Just over Kristen’s head, he saw Bethany and Harris cross the room and take up residence on the dance floor. He took in Bethany’s hair, which was the color of semisweet chocolate morsels and hung down her back. This was new—he used to love running his fingers through her short blond bob, but the darker color suited her, as did the length. Finn was more interested in watching Bethany, but Kristen demanded his attention.
    â€œWhere’d you wander off to? I was looking for you.”
    â€œAh. Well. Talking to some old friends. Can I get you something?” he said, indicating the bar.
    â€œOoh. Sure. White wine.”
    The bartender obliged. The three of them chatted about nothing in particular for two songs.
    The bartender returned to tending bar, and Kristen-the-geologist asked Finn, “You staying at the hotel?”
    He hated to tell her. “Yes.”
    â€œMe, too! Do you have a good view from your room?”
    â€œNah,” he said, not knowing what the hell the view from his room looked like. He hadn’t opened the curtains.
    â€œMaybe you could show it to me anyway.” She said this quietly. He sensed she didn’t do this often—come on to men—and he didn’t want to hurt her. He also had zero interest in spending time with her in his room. Or anywhere.
    And then, like a misguided angel sent to save him, Harris appeared. He was a little sweaty, but Finn knew how Bethany could be on the dance floor. He smiled at the memory of his relentless dancing-queen ex-wife.
    Harris was breathing hard. “Dude,” he said. “She’s a machine. Is she taking human growth hormones? Does she sleep in a hyperbaric chamber? We’re at eight-thousand feet and she’s not even winded.”
    â€œWelcome to my world,” said Finn. He half-smiled. “Or . . . my former world.”
    â€œI’ll see you later, Finn,” Kristen said. She held his gaze and winked before sauntering off and, it seemed to him, exaggerating her hip sway. Probably for his benefit. Sorry, sweetheart. Don’t waste your time.
    He turned back to Harris. “Want a Gatorade?”
    â€œGive it some vodka for company and I’m there.”
    â€œWhat do you drink? I should’ve warned you about Bethany’s dancing. ”
    Finn raised a hand toward the bar. Harris got a whiskey and the two men stepped aside so other thirsty dancers could get to the libations.
    â€œMcNabb, that’s your last name?” asked Harris.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œWell, McNabb,” Harris said, still somewhat out of breath. “I’ve grown rather fond of our little Bethany, as you call her. And I’m here to tell you here and now, in the Elke Sommer Ballroom of the Hotel Jerome—”
    â€œThat you’ll break my legs if I hurt her,” Finn interrupted.
    Harris tilted his head. “Yes. How’d you—”
    â€œSo far almost every guest has told me the same thing. You, Amanda, Grady. I’m waiting for the flower girl. Look, I’m not here to cause trouble. What’d she tell you about me that’s got all of you rattling sabers?”
    Harris sent him a look. “Honey, you’ll know if I rattle my saber. But to answer your question, nothing. She’s been quiet as a Prius. But it’s a little like bringing a box of nitroglycerine and a match together. Or drinking orange juice after eating champagne truffles. Not a good idea. You might be as harmless as a declawed Persian, but we don’t know you. We know Beth and we like her the way New Yorkers like Cronuts. All I’m saying is, don’t cross our Cronut.”
    â€œI have no intention of crossing anyone’s Cronut. Whatever that is.”
    â€œIt’s a cross between a croissant and a doughnut. I shun them—this girlish figure doesn’t happen by accident—but they’re a gourmet craze. The only