She stared at Lazarus, who was crouched under the coffee table, making his weird gacking sound. “He’s disgusting, Jack.”

“Hey,” Jack said, grinning as he poured more wine for his bride. “I love that disgusting cat. He’s got character. And, yes, he’s ugly. But so am I, and you love me.”

“Jack,” she said. “You’re gorgeous and you know it.”

She kissed him then. But she didn’t warm up to Lazarus.

One night about a month after they’d returned from their honeymoon, Hadley invited the whole clan for “a genuine Southern dinner.” Honor, Pru, Carl, Ned and Abby, Dad, Mrs. Johnson, Goggy and Pops all arrived at once. Even Faith was home from San Francisco, and Jack was pouring the Half-Moon pinot gris they’d bottled four months ago.

“The house looks gorgeous,” Faith said, and Hadley beamed.

She’d spent the whole day getting ready, setting the table with their wedding china, making place cards with her calligraphy pen, arranging flowers. Hadley had sworn she didn’t want him to do anything for the dinner, and he’d been busy with some early harvesting, so he didn’t know what she’d cooked. She fluttered around like a tiny bird, seeming even smaller standing by Jack’s sturdy sisters.

They drank wine and chatted and all was fine and good until they sat down to eat. Hadley set down a crock and took off the lid.

“Southern chicken and dumplings!” she announced with pride.

Mrs. Johnson and Goggy both recoiled in unison. What was in the pot looked like lumpy glue.

“I’m starving, dear,” Pops said. “Let’s get eating! It’s already six o’clock. I have to go to bed soon.”

Hadley ladled out the dinner, which seemed to be a gelatinous goo with the occasional chunk of white meat thrown in. The dumplings were slimy, dense and slippery, and the chicken was chewy and tough, a far cry from what Jack remembered from when Mrs. Boudreau had made the same dish.

The Hollands didn’t complain. They were Yankees; food was meant to nourish, not to enjoy, though their standards had risen during the Mrs. Johnson era (Mrs. J. was Jamaican and therefore believed in flavor).

“It’s delicious, dear,” Pops said. “Thank you for having us.”

“You’re always welcome here, Mr. Holland,” she said, smiling and fluttering her eyelashes.

“Did you just bat your eyelashes?” Pru asked. “I’ve always wondered if that actually happened. I mean, you come across the phrase from time to time, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen it live and in person. Carl, stop staring at her.”

“You, too, old man,” Goggy said, smacking Pops on the back of the head.

“Why can’t I stare? She’s beautiful. You’re beautiful, sweetheart.”

“Mr. Holland, you’re the sweetest thing,” she said. This got a snort from everyone related to Pops. Hadley did have a way with men, and Jack had a soft spot for his grandfather. After all, the Holland men had to stick together, as Pops was fond of saying.

“So I’m thinking about redoing the house,” she said sweetly, “and I’d love y’all’s opinion.”

“What do you mean, redo?” Mrs. Johnson asked sternly. “This house is perfect.” Jack winked at her; he’d always been Mrs. J.’s favorite.

“I’m thinking it could do with a Southern woman’s touch,” she said. Pru laughed, then, realizing Hadley was dead serious, coughed to cover.

“Hadley, I forget. Are you an interior designer or an interior decorator?” Honor asked, taking a bite of slimy dumpling.

“What’s the difference?” Abby asked.

Hadley didn’t answer. She shot Jack a look he couldn’t read and remained silent.

“An interior designer deals with how the space is used,” Faith said when Hadley remained quiet. “Decorators deal with how it looks. Am I right, Hadley?”

“Um, yes. More or less. Excuse me, I have to check on something in the kitchen,” Hadley said. She rose stiffly.

“Need help?” Jack asked.

“No, darlin’. You stay put.”

She left the table. A second later, Jack heard their bedroom door close.

“Why is this gravy white, Jack?” Goggy asked. “Not that I’m criticizing, dear, but I’d be happy to teach her to cook.”

“And I would also be happy to help her, Jackie dear,” said Mrs. J., not to be outdone. “Jamaican cuisine is quite delicious.”

“Is there any cheese?” Pops asked.

Jack got his grandfather cheese, then went down the hall to their room. “Babe? Everything okay?” he asked.

“Just fine,” she said. She didn’t spare him a glance, just returned to the table.

Shit. Fine equaled doom.

“How do you like life up north so far?” his father asked Hadley. “Hope you’re not too homesick, sweetheart.”

“Oh, no, of course not,” she said. “I just love y’all.”

“Well, now. The feeling’s mutual,” he said. Good old Dad.

It was, in a lot of respects, a typical family dinner for the Hollands. Lots of talking, lots of wine, lots of laughter, a fair amount of bickering. They ate the meal, which, though bland and sticky, wasn’t horrible. If Faith had made it, the teasing would’ve been merciless, but as Hadley was new to the family, no one said a word that wasn’t complimentary.

Ned and Abby were ordered to clear the table, and Mrs. J. cut the grape pie she’d brought while she and Goggy argued over crust-making techniques. Three minutes later, when dessert had been decimated, Goggy announced that it was time for everyone to leave, and the family trooped out with thanks and kisses and hugs.

“See you tomorrow, guys,” Jack said, closing the door. He smiled and turned to his wife. “So that went well.”

Hadley jammed her fists onto her hips. “Are you crazy? Your family hates me! Your sisters are so mean! And your grandmother is so judgmental!”

Jack’s mouth fell open. “Sweetheart, what are you talking about? No one hates you.”

“That Faith, showing off like that! Spouting about how designers are better than decorators! And Prudence didn’t even take off her work boots!”

“Was she supposed to?”

“What about your father, just sitting there, not saying boo! He hates me!”

“Calm down, sweetheart. Dad never talks much. He loves you.”

“Mrs. Johnson is horrible!”

Okay, that was going too far. Mrs. J. was tireless and fierce and pretty damn wonderful. “Be careful,” he said. “She’s my first love.”

“They hate me because I’m Southern.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he said. “We won the Civil War. We’re totally over it.” She was not amused, shooting him a glare. “Come on, baby. Don’t be upset. Everyone wants you to feel welcome here. They were just trying to get to know you.”

He drew her a bath. Lit candles. Poured her wine. Apologized if his family came on a little strong (which they did, but that was just how it was...which he’d assumed Hadley knew by now).

She took a sip of wine and sighed. “You know what? I’m just gonna lose myself in my work—that’s what I’ll do.”