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“Sangiovese.” The grape name rolls off Henry’s tongue and, while I’ve never heard it before, I am one hundred percent sure he’s pronouncing it correctly. “From Montepulciano, a medieval town in Tuscany.”
“Can you get it at Walmart?”
Henry falters on his answer, likely biting back the one hewantsto give. He’s on his best behavior tonight, even with my ex-fiancé. Still, his smile is smug when he explains with forced patience, “No, it’s a reserve from one of my favorite wineries in Italy. My sommelier at our Pittsburgh Wolf location imports it for me.” I can hear the unspoken “You idiot” in his tone.
“Seems like a whole lot of effort for foreign red wine when we have plenty here in America.” Jed snorts.
“And yet you’re enjoying it,” Henry fires back.
Jed certainly is. Thank goodness Henry brought several bottles.
With a small grunt, Jed refills his glass for a second time to near brimming before setting the bottle down.
The softest sigh escapes Henry—too soft for anyone but me to hear—and then he lifts the bottle. “More wine for you, Laura?”
Jed’s pretty blond girlfriend’s cheeks ignite with a furious blush. I’ve caught her staring unabashedly at Henry at least a dozen times since we sat down, and each time she notices me watching her, she ducks her head and reaches for Jed’s hand. “Yes, please. Thank you.”
Henry refills her glass, then tops up mine without asking. “Celeste?”
“Thank you, but I will pass,” Celeste declines softly. She accepted a “splash” for a toast. It’s more than I’ve ever seen her drink.
Henry goes around the table. “Bernadette?”
“Oh, maybe just a smidge.” Mama holds up her glass, her cheeks rosy. “Don’t judge me too harshly, Reverend. Thisisa special occasion, after all.”
“I would have to be a pot calling a kettle black, now, wouldn’t I.” Reverend Enderbey takes a sip of his wine.
Aliensmusthave landed in Greenbank, Pennsylvania, recently and possessed bodies because Henry was right—everyoneaccepted wine with dinner.
Henry stands to refresh Mama’s glass before setting the bottle down and retaking his seat.
Jed glowers, processing the lesson in gentlemanly manners Henry just gave him without saying a word.
Beneath the table, I smooth a hand over my man’s muscular thigh. “By the way, if anyone gets a call from a reporter about me or the wedding or Henry, please tell them ‘No comment.’” I shoot a warning look Jed’s way. He’s already promised that he hasn’t said anything and he won’t.
“Have they been bothering you?” Daddy asks.
“A little. Nothing I can’t handle.” I force a smile. Henry had his people check, and no one by the name of Luca works as a reporter at theTribune, which is both a good and bad thing. He can’t be with a reputable news source if he misidentified himself.
Autumn set alerts on her phone for anything to do with Henry—which is both endearing and creepy—and nothing has appeared online yet.
“Before I forget, Abigail!” Mama helps herself to another heap of Caesar salad. “I convinced Chester Fry to lend us his carriage.”
“You mean that dilapidatedwagonheuses to get around?” Chester Fry is Amish. That’s his only mode of transportation. What on earth does Mama need with Chester Fry’s wagon?
“It ain’t dilapidated. It catches everyone’s notice when he’s out and about.”
“That’s because they’re afraid the wheels will fall off.”
“It’s gonna happen any day now,” Jed agrees.
Mama chortles. “It only sounds like that, but it’s good and sturdy, promise. Big enough to fit you and the girls in it.”
Me and the girls. It dawns on me. She means for the wedding. I should have known that was what this was about.
“Oh! And you need to give Angela a call so she knows what she can get started on planning for you. She’s who you want for your maid of honor. Good head on her shoulders. Joy and Diana are sweet and they sure are pretty, but they couldn’t organize a lemonade stand if they were given step-by-step instructions.”
My fist clenches around my fork. Now she’s telling me who my maid of honor will be?
