“Cheers,” they all said, Jeremiah loudest of all. Everyone lifted glasses and clinked rims.
“You’re very welcome,” Remy told Jude.
“He’s back to being his old self,” Jude said.
“Bossy and pampered?” Remy joked wryly.
“That,” Jude said, “plus arrogant and difficult.”
“I think you mean irresistible and one of the best drivers in F1 history,” Jeremiah said.
“Plus generous, confident, and good,” Fiona added loyally. “He’s a prize.”
“A consolation prize, maybe,” Jude said under his breath.
Remy laughed.
Jeremiah pitched the bite of bread he’d been about to eat at Jude, who caught it in his mouth mid-air.
“No throwing food at the table,” Fiona scolded automatically.
“Speaking of people coming back to their old selves,” Remy said, “it’s wonderful to see you doing so well, Wendell. You already know this, Marisol, but you’ve made Wendell very happy.”
“Oh! He’s made me very happy. My Wendell is wonderful.”
“Marisol is the best woman in the universe,” Wendell declared, never one to miss an opportunity to overstate things.
“Cheers!” Another round of raised glasses.
When Remy came to the mainland, she stayed with Wendell, who was in respectable shape for a man of eighty who required frequent dialysis. He had a pointy face, tall frame, and a fondness for patterned sweaters. Tonight, his sweater had cows on it, and it looked like something a person would choose for an ugly sweater party, but he was wearing it without a trace of irony.
Remy had told Fiona that she wanted Wendell to mingle more with the community for the sake of his mental and physical health. So Fiona had graciously (but also cagily—to court Remy’s favor) been inviting Wendell and Marisol to gatherings from time to time.
Marisol had a short, plump body and no fashion sense. However, she was so cheerful that she practically shone. Her dark, twinkling eyes were set in a round, olive-skinned face. She wore her pure white hair in a twist at the back of her head.
Wendell gave Marisol a peck on the lips.
They were very cute, those two. Also oblivious to the fact that it might make others uncomfortable to be in the presence of eighty-somethings who acted like infatuated teenagers.
Jeremiah took Wendell and Marisol’s kiss as an invitation to lean over and whisper something to Remy, whose cheeks turned rosy.
The two besotted couples were making Fiona feel her singleton status in an unpleasant sort of way. She'd purposely chosen to sidestep romantic love in big ways—like her divorce from Felix. And small ways—like when Burke had mentioned three months ago that he'd like to date her, and she'd gently nipped that idea in the bud. Typically, when she considered her singleton status, it was in an empowering, this-is-how-I-like-it sort of way.
“Jude,” Wendell said, “are you dating anyone?”
“Not at the moment, no.”
“Really?” Marisol asked in surprise. “You’re so handsome!”
“Not as handsome as me,” Jeremiah whispered.
“Women must be waiting in line to be your girlfriend,” Marisol said.
“There’s no line,” Jude said kindly to the older lady.
“Jude’s busy at work,” Fiona stated. “He hasn’t taken the time to notice all the women who are interested. Jude, I can think of three women off the top of my head who would be perfect for you. Give me the word and I’ll set you up.”
“No, thank you.”
