“I don’t have any. You?”
“My cousins are staying with me, so I have to get them settled for the night. After that, I’m free.”
“Want to meet me somewhere?”
“Yes, but where? There’s no privacy at my place.”
“There’s none at the inn, either.”
Her face brightened. “Sweet Art is private. Meet me there forty-five minutes after we leave here?”
“I’ll be there.”
She proceeded Zander—her new boyfriend and oldest friend—into Nora and John’s boisterous celebration.
———
Zander reclaimed his seat at their now-empty table, feeling nothing like the man who’d eaten dinner here. Then it had felt like he’d been in the Upside Down, made famous by the TV showStranger Things. Now he found himself in the Right Side Up.
He watched Britt check in with her family members, then dancewith her dad. He couldn’t fully believe what had just happened between them. It was too good to be true. Too sudden to trust. Too unexpected to have actually happened.
But it had.
He chuckled as he studied the palms of his hands to verify the reality of them. People were going to think he was crazy, sitting here smiling to himself and staring at his hands.
The girl he loved liked him back. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to date him.
Thank God. He was finally going to get the chance with Britt that he’d been waiting for, and not just since the ninth grade. He’d been born for this chance. If this chance resulted in anything less than marriage and him loving her and her loving him until death, then he’d be finished. There’d be no recovering from a breakup—
He wasn’t going to let himself think about that tonight. He was self-aware enough to know that he could be pessimistic and that he worried too much. He refused to let those weaknesses spoil anything about this night.
“You’re back,” Britt’s grandmother Margaret said to Zander. She approached, Valentina and Clint in her wake. Zander rose and pulled out her chair for her. All four of them settled into their seats. “Was Britt with you just now?” Margaret asked. “I noticed she was gone, too.”
“Yes. We stepped outside to get some air.” A visceral memory of kissing her flashed through his mind. “Compared to the temperature outside, it feels hot in here.” He slid out of his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.
Margaret’s chin tightened. “You know I’ve never approved of those tattoos. It says in Leviticus that God’s people shouldn’t put tattoo marks on themselves.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He knew better than to point out that it also said in Leviticus that God’s people shouldn’t wear clothing woven of two kinds of material ... like the dress she was wearing.
“In the ancient world,” Clint said, “tattoos played a very cool role in rituals and traditions.”
“Not inChristianrituals and traditions,” Margaret snapped. “Imagine the Apostle Peter with tattoos.”
Valentina inclined her friendly face toward Margaret. “Heater?”
“Peter,” Zander said.
“You cold, miss?” Valentina asked. “Should I get your coat?”
“No, I’m quite comfortable,” Margaret said. “Thank you.”
“Are you referring to the mechanic named Peter who lives in Shelton?” Clint asked. “He’s got a tattoo on his neck, and he’s a legitimate genius with transmissions.”
Zander laughed.
“I’m referring to the Peter who was Jesus Christ’s disciple,” Margaret clarified sharply.
“Icicle?” Valentina asked.
