the mason jar several times. “Line forms to the right of the buffet!” She’s such a goddess. I hope she finds a man who makes her happy. Nobody with that much love to give should be alone.
“Does your mom have a date tonight?” I ask, spotting the mustached man at her elbow.
“Yup. That’s going to take some getting used to.”
“I bet.”
Dylan chuckles as I follow him to the back of the food line. “Daphne wants to run a background check on him. She says she doesn’t trust men with mustaches.”
“I’d better stay clean shaven, then.”
Dylan ignores this comment. And a moment later I finally spot Daphne coming out of the cider house with a brown jug in her hands. She carries it over to the table. Her eyes flick just once in my direction.
But her friend—I think Violet is her name—gives me a long stare and then a big smile that could truly mean anything. They’ve obviously been discussing me.
Uh-oh. The old Rickie didn’t mind being the subject of female speculation. But the new one is a wreck, apparently.
“Oooh, guacamole,” Dylan says, handing me a plate. “These tacos don’t stand a chance.”
The dinner looks glorious, of course. I make myself a full plate and follow Dylan and Chastity to the table.
“Check out Grandpa,” Chastity whispers. “He has two dates!”
Sure enough, I spot Grandpa Shipley at the head of the table, a woman on either side of him. He looks to be telling a story, and they’re both laughing.
“Go Gramps,” Dylan says. “If he stays out all night, I’ll give him a standing ovation at breakfast.”
Yup. An octogenarian has more confidence than I do tonight. What the hell is my problem?
I take my first bite of the spicy black bean and corn salad that Audrey prepared. And, wow, it’s amazing. I feel the first hint of optimism that I’ve felt tonight. Then I eat a pulled pork taco with lime and guacamole, and it does more good things to my attitude.
Feeling eyes on me, I glance up to catch Daphne sneaking a look from down the table. I wink at her, like the old Rickie would have done.
I miss that guy. I really do.
After dinner, Dylan plays a few fiddle tunes for the crowd. Then his grandpa asks for a turn on Dylan's instrument, and he happily hands it off.
“Smoke?" Dylan whispers to me. "It's the last of our stash."
“Sure."
I follow Dylan around to the far side of the cider house, out of view of everyone else. “Oh, look,” he whispers. The old picnic table we’re heading for is already occupied by Daphne and Violet. “Maybe you should sit next to my sister’s tasty friend.”
“Why? Daphne is the hot one.”
He laughs like I’m joking. “Evening, ladies. Can we smoke here in peace? Or will Daphne rat me out again?"
Daphne flips up her middle finger without even glancing in his direction. "It was one time," she says. "And you totally had it coming."
"Did you?" I ask Dylan.
"Probably," he mumbles, throwing a leg over the bench and plunking down beside his sister.
I sit down across from Daphne, and she gives me a smile that’s a little bit shy.
“What did he do?” I ask her.
“Well, I was trying to plan a surprise party, and he told the birthday boy! There are kindergarteners who are more capable of keeping secrets.”
"I didn’t realize," Dylan argues.
“Because you don’t listen,” Daphne fires back. “Ever.”
He pulls a baggie out of his pocket, and begins rolling our last joint. ”Eh. I like parties, but I hate planning things. I probably tuned you out so you wouldn’t ask me to make a contribution.”
I snicker, because that sounds like Dylan. “Whose surprise got ruined?"
"Zach's," Dylan says, pulling a lighter out of his pocket too.
"The farm hand?"
“Yeah, he used to live here. Daphne was hot for him for, like, forever." He lazily flicks the lighter. I glance up at Daphne as her face pinks up.
Huh. No wonder Dylan is the frequent target of Daphne's revenge plots. He does not give a fuck what others think of him, and he is probably incapable of understanding why his sister would. But Daphne guards her heart more closely.
“So how'd you get even with this motormouth?” I ask her, hooking my thumb toward her evil twin.
Her smile is very satisfied. “I handed his stash of weed over to Mom, with a lengthy document on the perils of pot on the teenage brain."
“Good one. Shows concern, but also infuriates the target. I’ll give you an eight out of