Frannie shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I don’t want to say that, because she still looks beautiful. But she has lost a lot of weight.”
“Where are Mack and the girls?” April asked.
“He’s in his office, and the kids are moping in the lobby because he told them no when they asked to run down to the barn before dinner and pet the horses.”
I laughed. “That used to be Chloe.”
“Yeah, except I’d go anyway.” Chloe grinned mischievously. “Want a glass of wine, Frannie? We’ve got a few minutes before dinner, and I have another bottle here.”
“Sure,” she said. “Let me go get Sylvia.”
“Good idea.”
Frannie returned with Sylvia and our mom a minute later, and we opened the second bottle of wine. Our dad, the old softie, had convinced Mack to give in to the kids and together they’d taken them all down to the barn to say hello to the horses—with strict instructions from my mother and Sylvia to watch where they stepped and wash up very well before coming to dinner.
For the next thirty minutes or so, the Sawyer women sat on the patio, sipping Cloverleigh wine, laughing about childhood memories, and chatting about all the wedding details. At one point, Chloe turned to April and said, “Oh, by the way, remind me to tell you about a conversation I had with Mia Fournier over at Abelard Vineyards last week. I might have a lead on someone who can fill in for you here so you can take that vacation.”
“Who is it?”
“It’s a close friend of hers who runs an event planning business down in Detroit but is looking at moving up here with her family.”
April smiled. “Okay. I’ll get in touch with Mia after Frannie’s wedding. Thanks.”
Eventually, we moseyed over to the inn, where we’d reserved the small private dining room normally used for small receptions or rehearsal dinners. There were thirteen of us around the table, and when my father stood at the head and raised a glass to his five daughters and all the love and joy they’d brought to his and my mother’s lives, I immediately choked up. Thank God I’d come home early—not only would I have missed this dinner and all the extra time with my sisters, I wouldn’t have had more than a couple hours over a beer with Noah.
In that moment, I felt with one hundred percent certainty, I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
Thirteen
Noah
Chris: Dude. I gotta get out of my house. Can you meet me for a beer after work?
The text came in around six, just when I was starting to look forward to a post-shift nap. Usually, on a nice day like today I’d have taken Renzo for a run and done some training in the park, but I was wiped the fuck out after staying up so late with Meg. And since I had big plans for us tonight, I really could have used the rest.
But I hadn’t seen Chris in a while, and a friend was a friend.
Me: Sure. I can meet you at 7:30 or 8.
Chris: Thanks. Let’s do 8 so I can still do kids bedtime routine. And let’s meet at Jolly Pumpkin so I can stay close to home just in case.
Me: Jesus. Is she STILL pregnant?
Chris: Dude.
After my shift was done, I took Renzo home, changed out of my uniform, and let him play around in the yard for a few minutes. Then I fed him, said goodbye, and promised I’d be back soon.
When I walked into the Jolly Pumpkin, Chris wasn’t there yet. I took a seat at the bar, ordered a pint, and checked my phone to see if Meg had called or texted.
For the fiftieth time that day.
Christ, get a grip, I told myself. I’d never been this way over a woman. But I couldn’t get last night out of my head. I just wanted to be with her again.
I felt a hand on my shoulder, and Chris slid onto the seat next to me. “Hey. Sorry I’m late.”
“That’s okay. Kids asleep?”
He grimaced. “Well, they’re in bed. I didn’t exactly wait to make sure they were asleep. I had to get out.”
“What’s up?”
“Fuck.” He rubbed his face with both hands. “I love your sister, dude. I fucking love her to death, but she’s killing me with this nesting shit. She cannot get the house clean enough. I have scrubbed every toilet twelve times this week. The tub. The shower. The kitchen floor.