Caroline's smile held, but she seemed relieved when I stepped up beside the table.
I moved closer, pretending to check a place card. “Everything tasting okay?”
A polite expression slid easily into place on Ethan’s face. “Everything’s excellent, as always.”
“Good,” I said. “Because I’ve been told there’ll be mutiny if the scallops aren’t perfect.”
Caroline beamed at me. “They’re great, Holly. Truly.”
Ethan nodded in agreement, but his hand hovered near his glass for a second longer than necessary. When he did lift it, his grip wasn’t quite steady. Just a flicker. Enough for my planner’s brain to file it undersomething’s off.
Then he seemed to catch himself, straightening. “You’ve really outdone yourself,” he said smoothly. “I don’t know how you manage all this without losing your mind.”
“Oh, I lose it regularly,” I said. “I’m just selective about my audience.”
He smiled faintly. “That sounds like an art form.”
Noah, sitting further down, was watching too, not obviously, but the way a man does when he’s clocking details. He caught my eye briefly, and I could see the same thought forming: Ethan Prescott was nervous.
About what, though?
Lucas’s voice cut through before I could think more. “Careful, Prescott, that almost sounded emotional. You feeling sentimental or something?”
A few laughs rippled around the table. Ethan’s jaw tightened for a fraction of a second before he smiled, that smooth, easy expression snapping back into place.
“Maybe I’m just impressed,” he said evenly, raising his glass. “Cheers! To everyone making this possible.”
As everyone toasted, I moved away, Noah’s eyes caught mine again. This time, there was no smirk.
Further down the table, Sophie was sitting with the kind of far away, floaty smile people get after a generous wine tasting. Her flowing flowery sleeve had slipped off one shoulder, and she seemed blissfully at ease.
Except… her gaze was fixed a little too intently on Lucas, who was deep in animated conversation with Emma halfway down the table.
I wandered over. “Everything all right over here?”
She blinked up at me, eyes a little shiny from the afternoon sun and Sauvignon Blanc. “Oh! Yes. Completely.” She paused, then added with a dreamy sigh, “Just… appreciating the view.”
She made a vague gesture towards the table, the vines, the sky, a wide, sweeping motion that conveniently encompassed absolutely everythingexceptthe man she’d very much been staring at.
“Beautiful,” she added, as if that cleared anything up.
“The scenery is lovely,” I said lightly.
“It really is,” she agreed, far too quickly, her eyes flicking once more towards Lucas before she caught herself. “Very… inspiring.”
Her cheeks flushed pink. Definitely not from the wine.
She picked up her fork, poked at her scallop, missed, and then tried again. “These are fiddlier than I remember.”
“Long day?” I asked gently.
“A fun day,” she corrected, smiling. “The tasting was lovely. I may have… overestimated my tolerance for the last one.” She held up two fingers to illustrate “last one” even though she’d had far more than two.
“Anyway,” she said, clearing her throat like she was resetting herself. “Everything is so peaceful here. I think I’m just a bit swept up.”
“That’s allowed,” I said, smiling. “It’s that kind of place.”
She nodded, adjusting her scarf again, this time with more determination than skill. “Exactly. Swept up. That’s me.”
