“Five kids! It’s still a shock even after all this time,” I reply while internally chastising myself for making this mistake.

“How long have you been dating?” Fred asks.

“Six months,” I reply as Chloe responds, “Three months.”

“Oh. I guess it’s been six.” Chloe nods before burying her face in the menu.

“Time flies when you’re having fun.” Fred kisses Frankie on the cheek.

“What about you two?” I ask, trying desperately to steer the conversation away from Chloe and me. “How long has it been?”

“Six weeks on Tuesday,” Fred announces. “I asked her to move in with me on our second date.”

“Oh wow.” Chloe’s smile is tight. I can tell she thinks that’s insane. It is, but we’re not here to judge Fred and Frankie’s relationship. I’m here to help Fred see that I’m the man he needs to sell his company to.

“I just knew when I saw her.” Fred gazes adoringly at Frankie. “She was playing tennis at The Racquet Club. Her ball kept landing in my court. She was pretty bad, so I offered to give her a lesson.”

“Then I reciprocated.” Frankie purses her lips, a devilish look on her face.

Chloe is mid-drink and starts sputtering. She coughs repeatedly so I place my hand on her back to offer her comfort. The second my hand makes contact with her body, she jolts upright in her seat, the top knee of her crossed legs banging into the underside of the table. The liquid in our glasses sways with the aftershocks.

I withdraw my hand. “You okay?” I ask.

Chloe pats her chest. “Yes. Sorry about that.”

She smiles, seemingly recovered.

“Barrett and I play tennis frequently, too,” Chloe announces.

“That’s great.” Fred smiles, his eyes moving between us.

“Sometimes I even let Barrett win.” Chloe laughs.

“You must be pretty good. Barrett has been the club’s singles champion eight years in a row.”

Chloe pauses for a moment but then smiles and says, “I’m a three-time high school state champion, so we challenge each other.”

Fred nods. “We’ll all have to play sometime.”

“Definitely.” Chloe smiles warmly at Fred, but when she catches me staring at her, the corner of her lips drop.

The waiter arrives to take our order. Fred orders for Frankie and then himself. Since Chloe had been unsure about her drink, I figure ordering her dinner would be the boyfriend thing to do.

“She’ll have the veal filet—” I start, but Chloe cuts me off.

“Actually, I’ll take the chicken primavera.”

“Right,” I say, then order the veal filet for myself.