“I’ll give you that,” Tabitha agreed. She looked out the rain-slick window, watching the rivulets of water skim down thesurface in thick trails. The skies were dimmer now, an opaque gray blanket that darkened even the ocean below, turning it almost navy. “Have you heard more about the lost boat? Any idea who the passengers might be?”
“I have a feeling you’ll know their identities before anyone else is privy to that information.”
That unsure look returned to Tabitha’s features. Camille didn’t like it. “Let’s hope they find them soon, so they even have the chance to come through my hospital’s doors. Too many days out on that water without any signal, and with this storm rolling in? I don’t even want to think through the possible outcomes.”
“Then I suppose we better start praying for the best one imaginable.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
They weren’t getting any work done.
Some of that might have had to do with the sheer number of people at the Inn and the swell of varying conversations taking place in unison around them. But the main reason was the fact that Cal and Josh kept going head-to-head at every turn.
Honestly, at this point, both men deserved a ‘doesn’t play well with others’ badge.
“The Riesling is too close to the Moscato.” Cal steepled in his hands in front of his chin and gave Josh a look. “We should pick something different.”
“You’re serious? The complexities of those two grapes alone are vastly different, let alone the changes that take place during the fermentation process. They’re nowhere near the same.”
“To the lay person, they’re too close to be considered different,” Cal combated.
“And you’re telling me The Signal and The Beacon aren’t the same? Because to thelay person, they’re both paintings of lighthouses.”
“One is a photorealistic piece and the other is pointillism. Not even close to the same.”
“And one varietal is grown in Germany, while the other comes from Italy. Not even the same countries!”
Edie stood from the table, and honestly, wasn’t sure either man would even notice. This unnecessary, continual argument over wines and artwork was wearing on her nerves, down to her very last one.
“I need a drink,” she said, finding Tabitha, Ben, Foster, and Camille at the kitchen table, freshly opened bottle of cabernet in Ben’s hand like a waiter at a fine dining establishment. After he had filled the four glasses on the table, she reached out to commandeer the bottle and gripped it by the neck to throw back a long pull.
“We could get you an actual glass,” Camille suggested, but Edie sliced a hand through the air to cut her off while she continued gulping. Coming up for air, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Not necessary.”
“I’m afraid to ask how it’s going in there.” Tabitha grimaced.
“About as good as it sounds.”
“I don’t think it’s really possible for two men in love with the same woman to get along,” Foster said flippantly as he stood from his chair and motioned for Edie to take his place. “I’ve never seen it done.”
She accepted the chivalrous gesture, mostly because his words had knocked her off balance and she desperately needed to regroup. “They’re not in love with me.”
“Um, I’m pretty sure they are,” Camille contested. “Love makes men do stupid things.”
“I don’t think we can disagree with you there,” Ben said, and over the lip of the bottle she’d lifted back up to her mouth, Edie could see the tender look he gave his ex-wife. Edie wondered just how long they would remain exes. There was definitely some rekindling going on.
“The question is,” Camille started in, “are you in love with either of them?”
Was she? At one point, she had been in love with Cal. Or in lust. She wasn’t sure. The line was so thin between the two emotions, sometimes it wasn’t even distinguishable.
And she had certainly started to develop feelings for Josh. But that hadn’t quite been love, either.
She had an affection for each man. And—up until quite recently—an admiration for their passion for their work. But goodness, they’d been acting like children lately. And there was absolutely nothing attractive about that.
“I’m not in love with either of them,” she said boldly, wondering if the wine had a little to do with that quick declaration. “To be frank, I’m not entirely sure Ilikeeither of them right now. They’re making this whole gala planning an impossible task, what with the bickering and the grumbling and the griping at every turn.”
“It’s a pissing contest.” Foster crossed his ankles and leaned against the window frame.
Ben chuckled in agreement. “That’s exactly what it is.”
