Guy could get used to this.
“I like your butterscotch blondie brownies,” I say.
“Me too.” Kathy sniffs.
“It’s settled,” Mark declares. “Winnie’s making brownies!”
“Fine,” Winnie hisses.
I grin at her.
“Huzzah!” Mark cheers, already tipsy.
“She’ll make extra so you can take some home,” April assures me.
“Did I tell you she bakes?” Mark asks me. “She makes these little pizza-roll things—I could eat a hundred. She’s gonna make someone a very happy husband.” Her dad pats his belly.
I’ll burn down the church if any man besides me marries Winnie.
“My daughter,” April says, dishing up more food for me, “needs to be a little nicer. She’s grumpy.” She pulls me back down before I can get up to take care of the bread and let Winnie eat her food.
“Now, Fitz, I’ve signed my daughter up for a parents-of-singles mixer,” April says decisively. “No, Winnie, don’t protest—you don’t have to pay me back. And, Fitz, I’ll sign you up too. As an apology for Kathy.”
“This man doesn’t need our little ol’ mixer, April.” Frances licks her spoon. “He probably has all those fancy dating apps. Like what’s-it-called? The real exclusive one with all the celebrities?”
“It’s called Parlor, Gran,” Winnie says, grinding the bread knife into the baguette.
“Can you get me an invite? I need to find a rich older man,” Gran tells me. “I’m going to feed him just like Winnie does. Lots of butter and salt. Six months, his fortune is mine.”
Winnie isby the buffet where the food is laid out. I watch the reflection of her nodding and making noncommittal noises as her father tells us a long-winded story about golfing. I almost miss it in the reflection.
She freezes, her hand on something, then pulls out a scrap of paper. Crumples it up behind her back.
A note.
But—it’s not my note.
I frown.
Smooth out my features. Feel in my pocket.
No, mine is here.
If her family wasn’t sitting here around the dining room table, I’d grab her wrist and pry her fingers open for that little piece of paper.
Because I need to know who the fuck is leaving notes for my girl.
22
WINNIE
“Well. That went horribly.” April throws her hands up.
“Sorry, Mom.” Kathy sniffles.
“Not you, Kathy. I know you tried your best,” Mom says soothingly.
“She didn’t try at all,” I say flatly.
