My gaze cuts down to Duke, where I find his eyes on mine already. We share a knowing smile. Both us were raised on the tales of our families intermingled and often opposing motivations over the years. "Great-Grandpa Byron is rolling over in his grave."
Duke shakes his head affectionately, a smile on his face. "I can't believe my great-grandfather Quentin challenged him to a duel."
I laugh and chuck him on the chin. "All because Byron convinced Quentin that his father had buried coffee cans of money on Hampton land."
"If Quentin was gullible enough to believe him," Vivienne chimes in, "I'd say he deserved the blisters and broken back from digging up his backyard." Vivienne's family, though not town founders, have been here almost as long. One could argue the De la Vegas are the real reason behind putting Olive Township on the map. Without their locally famous Summerhill Olive Mill, I don't know if there'd be enough tourists visiting our small town to warrant all the other shops and attractions that followed. The Sagewood Wellness Spa definitely wouldn't exist, or the small physical therapy practice I operate that's connected to the spa.
"He probably did deserve it," Duke admits. "He was a mean son of a bitch." He glances at my mother. "Pardon my language."
She smiles like Duke is Sir Galahad's more handsome, more gallant brother. And you know, he might be. The guy is great. Amazing, even. He has his flaws like anyone else, but somehow even his flaws aren't thatflaw-y. Can he be domineering? Sure, but his motivations are pure of heart. Duke believes he's responsible for the general happiness of everyone around him, and that sometimes results in some unpleasant personality characteristics. But overall, Duke is a genuinely good man, the embodiment of every mother's dream for her daughter.
He pats my knee. "I should probably get going. My next call starts in half an hour."
It's a twenty-minute drive to his family's downtown office. Duke is there most days, and travels to other states a few times a month. His family owns an ever-growing chain of boutique hotels, and Duke is set to take over soon so his dad can step back from the day-to-day running of the family empire.
I hop off Duke's lap. He says goodbye, dropping yet another kiss on my mother's cheek. He angles me away from the table, dipping his head, lips hovering for a beat beside mine. From behind him, it would appear we're kissing.
He leaves with all the confidence and swagger he walked in with, and Kathleen pretends to fan herself. Her champagne flute is almost empty. I guess now that we've chosen a wedding cake, her job is finished for the day. "You are one lucky lady," she says to me.
I drop back into my chair. "Don't I know it." Once again I avoid my best friend's gaze, choosing instead to pick up my champagne and finish it.
"Did you know"—Kathleen leans in conspiratorially, her lips loosened by the bubbly—"that Margaret told me a man came into Sammich today?"
"Breaking news," Vivienne interjects, mimicking the grave tone of a news reporter.
Kathleen pointedly ignores her. "She said he had a scar running from his temple to the bottom of his ear, and he looked like something sculpted by da Vinci."
I sit up in my seat. How many men are running around Olive Township with scarred faces and impeccable physiques?
Those corded forearms.
That tiny vertical indentation in the center of his lower lip.
Don't even get me started on those muscled thighs.
Is it hot in here? It is. It must be. It most certainly isn't me getting hot and bothered.
I tuck my hands under my legs to keep from fanning my face. Daring a peek across the table at Vivienne, she catches my gaze and rolls her eyes. She's still on the comment made by the two older women at our table. She has no idea that my enthusiastic libido has taken over my thoughts. That thirsty bitch is shouting from her place below my navel, reminding me how long it's been since I've hadrelations.
This is what I get for hanging out with my mother and her friend, not that there was a chance I'd use anybody but Sweet Nothings to bake my wedding cake. If there's one thing I've learned by spending time with the early sixties crowd, it's that they are horny. Vivienne's aunt, who lives with her mother, has a collection of dark romance novels.The smuttier, the better.Her words.
I share a knowing look with Vivienne, who has been on the receiving end of her aunt's bawdy humor one too many times.
Playing at being offhand, I ask, "Did Margaret get a read on the guy?"
Not because I care to know if it was the stranger from my engagement party. Simply because I'm curious. I could pull out my phone and call Hugo, getting an answer in less than aminute, but that feels like the wrong approach. I'm not trying to stir up gossip. Not that Hugo would gossip about me, but he might mention it to Vivienne, and there's almost nothing worth tipping off the human equivalent of a bloodhound.
"I'm sure she did," my mom says, tapping her bare nail on the table. "Margaret's so good at acting like she's making conversation, when what she's really doing is filing away everything you say and don't say in that mental Rolodex of hers."
Vivienne and I mouthRolodexand laugh.
"I happen to know she did." Kathleen's head bobs enthusiastically. "He told her he was hired to come to town and clean out that old abandoned house on Lickety-Split."
What? My heart beats hard in my chest as I swallow my surprise. Abandoned for years, that house used to be home to someone very important to me. Someone I've never been able to shake. A towheaded boy, shaggy and scrawny and mine.
A boy I promised myself I'd forget.
Last night, Peter conveniently forgot to tell me about his mission here. Not that I asked. Did I? I don't remember clearly. I'd grown weary of smiling, of responding tocongratulationswith a warmthank-you.It'll get easier over time,Duke had whispered in my ear.Go get some air.I went outside, far from anybody who might glance outside the beautifully decorated room and see me. And then... Peter. I still can't shake the familiarity, the way even the tips of my fingers thought they recognized him when they brushed against his hand.
