“Stars and lightning, I’m always the last to know these things.”
I scoff incredulously. “What are you talking about? You’re always the first to know everything. You know exactly when ninety percent of the people in this town are due to go to the grocery store for milk.”
“It’s a very regular occurrence, Sophia, if you pay attention.” She smiles broadly.
“I’ve made Cornish hen. Do you think that’s fancy enough, Sophia? You work with leprechauns. Do the Delaneys eat Cornish hen?” Mom worries her hands and chews her lip.
My laugh is high, sharp, and completely beyond my control. “At least once a week, Seven eats a burger from that cart off Main Street that always smells like muskrat. And he gets it with imported government cheese.”
“What’s government cheese?” Grandma wrinkles her nose.
“It’s this cheap processed cheese from the United States. Sometimes it comes in individually plastic-wrapped slices. It also melts like plastic and has a slight chemical aftertaste. I think it’s awful. He loves it. It’s not exactly gourmet.”
Mom smooths her hair. “I just want to make a good impression.”
I pull her against me and kiss her temple. “You will. This is gorgeous, and dinner smells amazing. Besides, Arden would never like a boy who would turn up his nose at anything you put in front of him.”
Grandma grips the back of the chair. “Well, I for one am going to position myself in the living room where I have a good view of the door. I want to be the first to see who it is.”
“She didn’t tell you?” I can’t believe Grandma doesn’t know the name and family history of this boy by now.
“No! To be fair, I asked her not to. I want to be surprised.” Grandma’s eyebrows bob, and she takes off toward the family room at a bit of a skip.
My mom squeezes my hand. “She lives for this kind of thing.”
I giggle. “Yes, she does. Gods bless me with something to be as excited about as Grandma is with gossip.”
We both laugh.
“Are you okay with this, darling?” Mom asks. “After everything that happened to you, it wouldn’t be wrong for you to feel some trepidation—”
“I’m fine, Mom. Arden has a good head on her shoulders.” She also has a lot more luck than my mother knows about. I wish I could tell them about what Arden is and that her father is actually Seven, but he would want to be here for that conversation and the one where we reveal that we’re together again. I may have let the truth slip about our relationship to Penelope, but Seven would want to be part of telling my family about us and Arden. It can wait until he gets back.
“Good.” She tugs at my wrist. “Then come help me in the kitchen.”
An hour later, the hens have been baked to golden-brown perfection, Arden is wearing a gorgeous green dress that would be at home on either a pixie or a leprechaun, and we’re all trying not to stare at the door as the clock clicks past six p.m., the time Arden told him to come.
At 6:05 I have to go into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of wine. If this kid stands Arden up, I will personally go medieval on his ass. I will sit on him and pluck his damn nose hair out one by—
The doorbell rings. I raise my head and set my drink down. Arden’s welcoming voice fills my ears as she introduces Mom and Grandma. I turn the corner and see her new boyfriend for the very first time.
“Mom, come meet Edmund!”
I approach, my smile widening in what I hope is a welcoming way that conceals the nasty thoughts I was thinking about him only moments ago. “I’m so glad you could join us. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Likewise.” Edmund radiates politeness. “It’s good to finally meet you.”
I can picture the pupils of Arden’s eyes changing from circular to heart-shaped in my imagination; she looks at him with such devotion. It’s easy to understand why she’s smitten. Edmund has that inky, dark black hair that takes on blue highlights in the right light. His eyes are an intense royal blue that matches the shirt he’s wearing, a fashionable thing with a logo on the pocket I don’t recognize. His jeans hang on his tall, athletic form as if they were tailored just for him.
“Come back to the dining room, and I’ll get us all something to drink,” my mother says.
Arden takes Edmund’s hand and leads him toward the table while Grandma and I fall in behind them.
“He’s a looker, Sophia,” Grandma whispers.
“As long as Arden thinks so.” I shrug.
“And a strong name. Edmund is a family name you don’t hear too much anymore. What’s his last name?”
