“It never hurts to plan ahead,” the other man said with a wink.
Hildy raised her eyebrows at Jefferson, confirming he wasn’t losing his mind. Libby’s husband had just openly discussed his next marriage—in front of his current wife.
“Too bad you won’t be able to take the pictures at your own wedding.” Uncle Richard beamed at Jefferson, who shot an immediate don’t-even-think-about-it look at Hildy.
“A wedding would be a ratings bonanza,” Hildy agreed. “Especially a beach ceremony.”
Jefferson was seventy-five percent sure she was teasing.
“You can’t get married here, Hildy. Your aunt would murder me in my sleep. You know she’s been dreaming of planning your wedding for years.”
“Um, yeah, not to mention the part where I’m twenty-one.”
“And still in school,” her uncle added.
“For now,” Hildy said, too low for him to hear.
Libby, who had heard, turned to face her. “You might regret it later. Not finishing college. People look at you differently.”
“That’s a good point,” Hildy admitted.
“Why is she allowed to say that and I’m not?” Uncle Richard protested. “Is it one of those words I don’t have permission to use?”
“Yes,” Hildy said. “Don’t say college. It shows your privilege.”
“It’s never too late to improve your circumstances.” Mr. L smiled at Libby’s back, like she was Exhibit A.
“My circumstances are magnificent, thank you very much.” Hildy fluffed her curls for emphasis.
There was a commotion at the trash can, and they all turned to see Lillibet peeling the blotchy remains of the first crepe off the pan.
“She’ll flip the next one,” Uncle Richard announced, with the prophetic confidence of a man used to getting his way.
“Whatever she does, she’ll do it with intention.” Hildy smiled at Lillibet, who was pouring more batter into the pan.
“And a two-handed grip,” her uncle continued his sportscaster-style narration. “Like Albie’s backhand. For the added power.”
“Youwouldthink it’s about power,” Hildy scoffed. “Finesse is what matters.”
While they continued to mix tennis metaphors, Jefferson saw Libby wince in pain before sticking a finger in her mouth. He was moving before he realized he’d made the decision.
“Let me see,” he said, low enough that no one else noticed.
Reluctantly, she showed him the pink pad of her finger. It didn’t look like it was going to blister, but he held her hand under the tap for a minute just in case, cupping her wrist in his hand.
“I think you’ll be okay,” he told her.
“You’re not going to amputate?”
Jefferson shook his head. He wouldn’t have minded holding on to her a little longer, but he was already playing with fire. Not that her husband was paying any attention.
“Here’s a perfect example.” Hildy pointed at Jefferson, though the speech was clearly for her uncle’s benefit. “You jump straight to our wedding, which is totally OTT.”
Uncle Richard looked at her blankly.
“Over the top,” she translated. “Why not throw in, ‘Our Secret Baby Joy,’ with a full nursery photo spread while you’re at it?”
“Not before the wedding, Hildy. Our midwestern readership skews conservative. You know that.”
