Rosie blushed burgundy red. “Tess, I think you’re doing fine?—”
“He’s not very fun, is he?” The other woman crossed her arms and aimed a pouty scowl across the dance floor.
“You said yourself that you don’t fancy chatty men.” I tried to suppress a smirk as I went in for another bite of vegetables.
Tessa’s frown deepened as she stared toward the bar where Kit had gone. Finally, she made a move toward standing. “Maybe a dinner party wasn’t the best plan. Could be he prefers his company one on one.”
The sour feeling from earlier returned, and I thumped my fork-bearing hand on the tabletop. “Could behe’s had a long day of work and just wanted to enjoy a meal. In peace. With me.”
Beside me, Rosie seemed to wither in her seat. “I’m sorry, Penny, I didn’t realize we were intruding…”
“Nonsense.” Tessa huffed. “He sees you all the time, and he’s likely sick of your prattle. Maybe he doesn’t talk much because he can’t get a word in edgewise.”
Angry heat pulsed through my body. My grip tightened on the fork, and for a moment, I thought to throw it. At the ground, at Tessa, anywhere. She was already turned away from me, making a speedy exit from the booth.
Rather than call after her and further a pointless argument, I swept my hand in a gesture I hoped looked more careless than calculated and struck my stein of ale. It toppled over and sent a river of foamy alcohol racing across the table and sloshing over onto Tessa’s side. It soaked her dress through to the skin, and she yelped as she leaped up.
The wet spot spread from her waist down her thigh and across her backside, and she gaped down at it.
“You did that on purpose!” She jabbed her finger at me.
“He did not!” Rosie protested. She blushed again as her head whipped between Tessa and me.
When the women looked my way, expecting argument or protest, I gave none. Silence stretched until Tessa let out a cry of frustration and spun to stomp toward the kitchen.
I watched her retreat as the ale continued to run anddrip, racing off two sides of the tabletop and nearly into Rosie’s tart basket. She saw the danger and sprung up to rescue the baked goods. Standing, she peeked into the basket and checked its contents with a sigh of relief. Then she slid the handle over her arm and tucked it safely to her chest.
“I’m going to take these to the cook,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
With both women gone and the musicians taking a break from playing, the dance floor had thinned. I saw Kit straddling a stool at the bar, his shoulders hunched like he could hide in plain sight. With a heavy breath, I maneuvered out of the bench seat, dodging spilled ale. Crossing the room, I came up and took the stool beside Kit.
He cocked his head toward me, then glanced at our vacant table and the food going cold. “What happened to our dinner guests?” he asked.
“Tessa was going to come talk to you, and I…” I swallowed. “I spilled my ale on her.”
“On purpose?” Mischief twinkled in his dark eyes.
I tried to be indignant but couldn’t quite manage. “Why would you assume that?”
He raised one shoulder in a shrug.
After a moment, I nodded. “It may have been on purpose.”
“Seems like a waste of good ale,” he said as he swirled the whiskey in his cup.
“It wasn’t a waste.”
Kit watched me; I saw him staring in the corner of my vision. He was so much better at keeping his thoughts in his head than I was.
“Well… thank you.” Kit set down his drink and pushed it to the other side of the bar. Then he swiveled toward me. “You ready to get out of here?”
“And go home?”
My defeat must have been plain on my face because Kit’s expression softened.
“Maybe not home,” he said. “Not yet. I thought we could visit the pecan orchard.”
He was so casual about the offer that I struggled to keep from appearing overeager. “Are you sure?” I asked. “You didn’t get to eat.”
