“I’ll ask around.”

“Maybe Hugo knows someone?”

“I’m working tomorrow night. I’ll ask.” It dawned on her that with Ned moving in and her raise that she might not have to wait tables this summer. It would be the first time in seventeen years. She could come home, every night, and stay there. That one job would be enough.

The thought was staggering.

“You bartend?” Marcy asked.

Jess looked at her. “I can. I waited tables for a long time. Still do a few shifts a week.”

Marcy’s eyebrows raised.

Judgment had been passed.

There was no shame in working hard. Jessica knew this. She also knew some people were snobs and looked down their cute little noses at people who worked in the service industry.

“Do you cater?” Marcy asked, turning back to Colleen. “I’m putting together a list of area restaurants and caterers that I’ll approve to make sure every event at the Barn at Blue Heron has a certain élan.”

“I’ll send our chef out to talk to you,” Colleen said. “My brother, Connor. He runs the food end of the business.”

Shit.

She’d have to get Davey to wash his hands or something. Maybe they could go throw stones in the lake for ten minutes or so. It would also give Jess a perfect reason to avoid him.

“Now, Levi, pass me my godchild!” Colleen said. “I’ve been standing here for a solid minute and I’m dying to smooch those cheeks! Right, Noah?” She gathered the baby into her arms and rested her cheek on his head. “Who loves you? Auntie Colleen does, that’s who! Faith, if I have a girl, let’s just do an arranged marriage, okay?”

“I thought that was a given,” Faith said.

“You guys enjoy your dinner,” Colleen said. “Nice to meet you, Marcy. I’m taking this baby with me. Come on, Noah, let’s schmooze, honey.” The baby burped.

Jess watched her go off to show Noah off to Gerard and Lorelei, who were dating, asking them if the baby wasn’t the cutest thing in the wide world.

“Wow, she’s stunning!” Marcy announced. “I always feel like a total hag around a beautiful woman, don’t you?” she asked Jessica. “Faith, you’re gorgeous, you can totally hold your own, but Jessie and I, we’re like trolls where she’s concerned, aren’t we?”

Okay.

First of all, no one called her Jessie. It was Jessica or Jess.

And secondly, what did you say to that? You’re right, Marcy, I’m a troll! or Are you kidding? You? You’re so cute! She was fairly sure Marcy was waiting for the latter.

She said nothing.

“I don’t think anyone would call either of you a troll,” Faith said, saving the moment. “I always thought you could be a model, Jess.”

Jessica could feel Marcy practically quivering as she waited for Faith to compliment her.

Faith took a bite of her nachos. Levi, always a man of few words, cocked an eyebrow at Jess, then gave his wife a sleepy smile and stroked the back of her neck.

“Where’s my sword?” Davey asked. “Jess! I don’t have a sword.” His face was getting that pre-cry look.

“I’ll get it, sweetie,” she said.

Davey’s drink—a Shirley Temple—had been served without the little plastic skewer. He collected them, and...well. Jess stood up, went to the bar and snagged one, went back to the table and popped the sword into her brother’s drink. “There you go, hon.”

“Thanks, Jess!” he said, grabbing her hand and giving it a loud kiss. Crisis averted. She ruffled his chick-down hair and went back to her seat.

Glanced at her watch surreptitiously.

She wished she liked these events more. It was just that she always felt a little...on guard. As if at any moment, one of the Holland clan was going to reminisce about the time when Keith Dunn ran into their mailbox, or when Jess’s mother puked at the eighth-grade chorus concert.

The Hollands love you, she reminded herself. She took a sip of wine and forced a smile at Jack Holland, who gave her a wink and turned his attention back to Emmaline.

Couples, couples everywhere.

“What’s wrong with your brother?” Marcy asked, and Jess’s head whipped around.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, is that politically incorrect? I’m sorry, I just wondered. Was I not supposed to notice?”

Jess felt her heart turn to a fist of ice. Marcy smiled brightly and raised her eyebrows, waiting for an answer. The smile was as fake as they came.

“He’s intellectually disabled.” That was the newest—and kindest—label the medical community had given it. Sure beat a lot of ugly words kids had used growing up.

“What happened to him?”

Silence settled on their end of the table. Pru gave Jess a look and rolled her eyes. Levi and Faith were both listening, and both knew exactly what happened to Davey...everyone in Manningsport knew. But who the hell would ask so baldly? And why did Marcy think it was any of her business?

Jessica could feel her heartbeat in her stomach, a sure sign of rage. She raised an eyebrow, keeping her expression cool, and stared Marcy down.

A beat passed. Two. Three.

Marcy’s smile slipped, and she gave a bark of laughter. “Oh, okay, I guess that subject’s off-limits. So sorry. I just have one of those personalities. I’m naturally curious, that’s all. People interest me. They fascinate me.” She broke eye contact with Jess and beamed across at Levi and Faith. Neither smiled back, God bless them.

“Tell me about your promotion, Jess,” Faith said. “Honor said you’d be doing more marketing.”

Grateful for the change of subject, she turned to Faith and answered. The Barn was Faith’s creation; Jess wondered how she liked Marcy, or if she’d had any say in hiring her. But those things weren’t her business, and unlike Marcy, Jess was good at knowing when to keep her mouth shut.

After dinner had been served—and devoured—Ned and Davey went to the back to play pinball. The Hollands had rearranged themselves, changing seats so they could talk to everyone. Marcy had shaken off the gaffe from earlier (though Jess would bet she saw nothing wrong with what she said) and was talking—loudly, God, her voice was loud—about a celebrity wedding she’d handled. Unfortunately, Abby was fascinated, peppering her with questions.

Then Connor came over to the table.

Three days without seeing him, and she felt his presence like a rogue wave, unexpected and devastating.

Why was that? They’d broken up before. They’d fought before, sort of. He’d come around.

She missed him. Three days, and she missed him, and what was that all about?

“How’s everyone doing?” he asked.

A chorus of compliments and assurances rose from the group. “You sure can cook, Connor,” Pru said. “That rib eye was the best I ever had. I’m seriously thinking about gnawing on the bone.”

“Thank you,” he said, always a little uncomfortable when he had to field praise. She’d noticed it over the years, how he was always reluctant to come out of the kitchen and accept the coos and compliments from his patrons.

That being said, he had always loved watching her eat. Once, he even fed her dessert when they were naked in bed. Crème brûlée with caramelized orange zest and the tiniest hint of nutmeg, and the second she was done, he’d shagged her so—