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Mom is the first to raise her glass. “I’ll toast to that. You will too, Rhett, won’t you?”
“I suppose I will, yeah,” Rhett replies with a grin and lifts his glass.
Hank follows. Then Stevie and Annabel and Amelia and even little Liam raises his sippy cup from his perch in his high chair, his face smeared with sweet potatoes. Beau sighs, then raises his glass.
“Samuel,” Mom gently prods. “We’re waiting.”
My brother’s flair for drama would make the old bard proud. He continues to stare Nate and me down for one beat, then another. Emma stifles a giggle, which makes me feel slightly less like dying.
After an interminably excruciating pause, Samuel lets out a heavy sigh.
But he does reach for his glass.
My heart lifts at the same moment that glass does. Locking eyes with Nate, Samuel says, “Kingsley, you’re welcome to sit at the Beauregard table as long as you keep Milly looking like that.”
“Looking like what?” I ask.
Samuel’s gaze flicks to mine. “Like she’s so happy she’s about to cry.”
I do cry.
I look at my brother and somehow smile and burst into tears at the same time. The table erupts in relieved laughter. Nate wraps an arm around my shoulders and curls me into the warmth of his body, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
“It appears Juliet needs a moment,” he teases, making me laugh too.
I dab at my eyes with the back of my wrist. “I swear I don’t drink and cry.”
“It’s okay if you do,” Nate replies. “Here I thought only Jamie Fraser could make you weep.”
“He just loves Claire so much,” I wail.
“You just love kilts so much,” Samuel says.
Hank raises a brow at Stevie. “We might have to give this Outlander thing a try.”
“Worth it,” Beau says.
“Totally,” I add.
Everything I’ve been through to get here has been worth it.
After dessert, Hank pulls out his guitar. Earlier, I secretly requested he play some Enrique Iglesias and Camila Cabello, and he starts his set with a rousing acoustic rendition of “Bailamos.”
“You didn’t,” Nate says, holding out his hand.
I take it, and he guides me into the correct dancing position, exactly how Holly showed us. “I did.”
“You are good,” he replies.
I follow him as he begins to move. “You are too. I’m not sure anyone’s inspired me quite as much as you have.”
“Inspired you to lustful thoughts?” He looks down at me, brown eyes playful and soft. “To acts of lewd behavior?”
Laughing, I reply, “All of the above, yes.”
We still don’t hump this time—guess we’re saving that for later—but we do move and shake and thrust. We lose ourselves, just like Holly instructed us to, and my family hoots and hollers as Nate and I dance to song after song, only taking breaks to shimmy with the kids.
Maisie apparently has a crush on Nate and steals him for the entirety of a Selena set. I take the opportunity to rehydrate with more Redheaded Romeo, laughter tickling my sides while Nate carefully twirls and dips Maisie, making her howl with delight.
“You really do look happy.” Samuel comes to stand beside me, his glass in hand. “Happier than I’ve seen you in a long time. You’re not drunk, are you?”
“Just a little bit,” I reply with a smile.
I can’t stop smiling.
“I hope it works out for y’all this time,” Samuel replies softly. “Let me know what I can do to help.”
I turn to my brother, craning my neck to meet his eyes. “You’re helping by not being a dick.”
“Hey.”
“I mean it, Samuel. I know it’s not easy to welcome Nate into the fold. It’s an act of faith, and I appreciate it more than you know.”
“I get what you’re saying. But to be fair, you’re giving me a little too much credit here. I’m not acting on faith. I’m seeing it right now—how he lights you up. And I know only the best of the best could make Milly Beauregard happy like that.”
I elbow him, swallowing the lump in my throat. “You really wanna make me cry tonight, don’t you?”
He’s hugging me now, kissing my cheek. “All we’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy. Never would’ve guessed a Kingsley would do the job, but I suppose there are worse guys to have in the family than a master distiller.”
“Are you saying you’re using him for his whiskey?”
“Are you accusing me of nepotism?”
I smile harder. “Nepotism would mean Nate is family.”
“Judging by the way you look at him, that ship’s sailed, Milly. He’s a Beauregard in all but name.”
I start to cry all over again.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Milly
It’s a beautiful night, the stars putting on a show in a clear, velvet blue sky, so Nate and I decide to leave my car at Samuel’s and walk home.
Hands twined, we take our time, our arms swinging between us. It’s just cold enough for our breath to be visible in the clean, piney air, which feels good against my overheated skin.
