“From the last time you did it.” I grin. “I didn’t remember Ihada spice cupboard, Amesie.”
Everyone laughs… at least until Vivian sets out a giant bowl of spaghetti and a platter of chicken parmesan. Then they shut up and attack like raptors.
When the platters get passed to me, I dish up a hugeserving of pasta for myself and a much smaller one for Ames, who prefers his carbs in bread form. I put three pieces of chicken on my plate.
“Wilder, I wanna hear about your trip,” Ames says, accepting the garlic bread from True with his good hand. “Did you go through Wyoming on your way back?”
Wilder nods while he chews a huge bite of pasta. “Yep. Not all the way up to Yellowstone this time. Still too early in the year. But I spent some time in the Tetons. And oh my god, I met the funniest guy?—”
While Wilder tells us his story, I cut half the chicken into bite-sized pieces and put it on Ames’s plate without making a big thing of it since I know he hates not having full use of both hands. He gives me a smile of thanks and hands over the piece of garlic bread he snagged for me.
I notice Beckett smile at me from across the table, and I smile back automatically.
The conversation shifts to Eliza and Luis’s wedding planning.
“Robbie, when you and Lissa were engaged, where’d you look for tuxedos?” Luis asks.
Ames freezes. I pause mid-chew with a mound of pasta in my mouth and glance up and down the table. I called Vivian and told her shortly after Lissa and I broke up, but I haven’t talked to anyone else about it yet.
Still, no one seems surprised by the news. No one’s offering me condolences or asking for explanations. And no one seems to think there’s anything weird about Luis asking me this either.
The Axfords are just rolling with it. Like, yes, it was a thing that happened, and we’renotgonnanottalk about it, but we’re also not going to discuss it unless I want to.
The unconditional acceptance chokes me up a little.
I swallow my pasta. “It was, uh… a little place out by the nursery school on Route 2,” I say before taking a gulp of water. “I forget?—”
“Suit Yourself,” Ames pipes up. “They had a good selection for groomsmen.”
I nod my agreement and notice that the strap of Ames’s sling got tangled somehow and is digging into his neck, so I straighten it and smooth it away from the tender skin of his neck.
Griffin winks at me from across the table, and I smile back uncertainly.
“I think we need to look there,” Luis tells Eliza. “The tux place out at the mall hasn’t had a new style since 1987?—”
“Oh, shoot!” Vivian exclaims. “I forgot the Caesar! I made homemade croutons and everything. Hang on.”
She starts to push out her chair when Holden, who’s sitting closer, stands up and motions her back down.
“I’ll get it.”
“Not too much dressing,” Ames advises. “Remember last time?”
“And don’t forget we like extra parm,” Grant says, clearly not giving a shit about his post-heart-attack cardiac diet.
“Jesus Christ. You’d think I’d never tossed a salad, people,” Holden mutters.
The phrase takes a minute to land, and then Ames and I swivel our heads toward each other in slow motion like we’re being pulled by magnets. His face turns beet red.
“I hate you so much,” he says under his breath, trying not to laugh, which is really unfair since this ishisfault.
I want to say something snarky in reply, but I’m too busy laughing into my napkin.
“Could you two stop giggling?” Holden complains. “You’re like the weird twins fromPsycho.”
Of course, this only makes the two of us laugh harder.
“So I met this guy in Colorado,” Wilder says, “who’s rebuilding a vintage motorcycle from 1947 using all period-accurate parts?—”
