I couldn’t help myself—these two were kidding themselves if they thought they weren’t headed to the love shack instead of the surf shack. Gillian and I had conspired behind their backs, trying to figure out a way to get one of them to admit their true feelings. So far, we hadn’t succeeded.
“Oh, well, Grady offered to drive so I could have as much wine as I wanted,” Esme said. “It’s been kind of a long week.”
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Just stuff with the ex,” Esme said under her breath so the kids couldn’t hear. But she needn’t have bothered.
Margot and Madison had already bolted upstairs to her bedroom. Mia had offered to show Robbie the house, and they’d wandered off together, Robbie sharing facts about this era of home.
Vance came out of the kitchen to greet Esme and Grady, then took them into the dining room to serve the first appetizer and wine.
Alex and Gillian arrived next. She wore a sweater dress, showing off her modest baby bump. The kids were right behind them. I directed Bella, Peter, and Grace toward the living room. “Mia and Robbie are that direction.”
“How are you feeling?” I asked Gillian.
“So much better now that I’m in the second trimester,” she said. “And we found out the sex of the baby yesterday.”
“A girl?” I asked.
Gillian shook her head. “No, it’s a boy. I don’t know why I thought it would be a girl.”
Alex grinned. “Peter’s thrilled we’ll no longer be outnumbered.”
“I’m so excited to meet him,” I said as I took them into the dining room. “Your first stop for the evening is various cheeses paired with several different wines. Courtesy of my fiancé. And, of course, Gillian, some great wine alternatives for you, if you so choose.”
Our rustic farmhouse table—the one Vance and I had chosen together because it could seat fourteen comfortably—was covered in a crisp white cloth. In the center, Vance had created a stunning display: a tiered presentation of wine glasses in varying heights—reds, whites, and rosés catching the light from the brass lantern pendant overhead.
Bottles were strategically placed among the glasses, labels facing out: a Sonoma Coast Chardonnay, a Russian River Pinot Noir, and a Provencal rosé. Around the base, he’d arranged wooden boards piled with artisan cheeses—creamy triple-crème Brie, aged manchego with its nutty sweetness, tangy Point Reyes blue, and sharp white cheddar from a local creamery. Thin-sliced salami and prosciutto were folded in delicate roses. Fresh grapes in jewel tones—deep purple and pale green—cascaded between the cheeses. Crackers were fanned in perfect geometric patterns, and small bowls of honey, fig jam, and Marcona almonds dotted the spaces between. Votives flickered among the elements, making everything glow.
“Gillian, I made sure to have hard cheeses too,” Vance said. “The manchego and cheddar are both safe for you.”
“That was so thoughtful. Thank you,” she said.
I heard the doorbell ring again and went to answer it, leaving Gillian and Alex with Vance.
Delphine and Seraphina, along with Annie and Tyler, had driven over together. The kids said a quick hello and then ran off to find the others. The caterer had macaroni and cheese plus sliders for the kids in the kitchen. I figured Mia would tell them about the food once she’d shown everyone the house.
“I cannot believe we haven’t been here yet,” Seraphina said, wrapping me in a hug.
“I wanted everything to be perfect,” I said.
“It’s stunning,” Delphine said, shrugging out of her overcoat and peering behind me.
“I’ll give you the tour later, but first you have to start with the first pairing of wine and cheese.” I escorted them into the dining room.
The doorbell rang again. This time it was Irene, beaming. “Darling, happy engagement party.”
We hugged. “I’m so glad you could come.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.” She glanced behind her. “I brought someone with me. I hope that’s okay.”
A man around Irene’s age, silver-haired and dressed in an elegant suit, came up the steps carrying a houseplant.
“I’m Robert Evans,” he said, extending a gloved hand. Twinkly blue eyes met mine behind a pair of black glasses. He looked like he’d stepped straight out of a 1950s movie.
“Welcome, both of you.” I ushered them out of the chilly night and into the house. “Do you live in the same community as Irene?” I asked, taking his coat.
“Yes, we’re neighbors,” Irene said. “We’ve been spending time together. Golfing and walking.”
