My mom asks another question as I head into the kitchen. I lean against the counter, breathing deep. The Italian dressing is out waiting on the counter. It’s Bri’s preference but no one else here eats it so the bottle is brand new.
Footsteps behind me get my attention.
Dad pats my shoulder. “You doing okay?”
“Course I am.” I straighten up, grabbing the dressing. “Just taking a breather.”
“Those two love to talk,” he says affectionately, and with a huff of a laugh. “Hard to keep up with all the developments.”
“I don’t mind sitting back and letting them have at it.” I lean against the counter. Dad’s off. Maybe he’s anxious too. Maybe he feels guilty like I do. Maybe I’m just imagining it.
He looks out the window over the sink, into the backyard. “When you leave,” he says quietly, “I want you to take that bottle with you.” His gaze shifts to the wine but I keep my eyes on him.
“You got it.” I was already planning to take it with us. I glance back toward the dining room. Mom and Bri’s voices make their way down the hall to us. “I didn’t tell her anything.” I clear my throat before asking him, “Do you think I should?”
He thinks about it for a minute, his gaze assessing me. “I don’t think your mom would like that.” His tone holds regret. Yeah, he’s feeling what I’m feeling. Or something like it. This weight against my chest. I hate it. “We don’t need anybody else talking about it. It would make things harder for her at work, and I don’t want that. Don’t let Bri know. Okay?” It’s not hard to see he’s worried about Bri taking offense to them not opening it.
“Yeah. She doesn’t need to know.”
“I just don’t want her to think we’re ungrateful if we don’t drink the wine.”
In an attempt to put him at ease I tell him, “She won’t even notice. I think she’s happy to just be here, and I’ll take care of it.”
My dad’s brow wrinkles. He really is worried about what Bri might think. If they’re going to hurt her feelings by not drinking the wine. And I’m sure he doesn’t want word to get around town. The only way to keep a secret in a place like this is to keep your mouth closed, even when you want to talk.
“Let’s get back there before they forget about us.” My father laughs at my joke and walk back in. I haven’t even scooted my chair in before the front door bangs open.
“Hello?”
“We’re in here, Robert,” my mother calls casually and Robert’s already in the threshold before I can turn around, his hand around the tie he’s wearing. No jacket and his dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I bet he’s on his way to the after-party.
His eyebrows go up at the sight of us sitting around the table. “I didn’t realize I was interrupting.”
“You’re never interrupting,” my dad says, waving him off and then picking his fork back up.
“Speak for yourself. This man’s a menace,” I joke.
Robert laughs behind me and I invite him to sit down and eat, but he shakes his head before turning to Bri.
“Good to see you, Bri,” Robert says. He comes farther into the room. “I just came over to drop off the keys Missy said you needed, Ash.”
Bri’s eyebrows go up, and Robert smirks.
“Missy’s car is in the shop,” I explain, a hand over my mouth, before I can even swallow my potato and I nearly choke on it.
“That’s what you get for speaking with your mouth full,” my mother says under her breath.
I don’t turn to look at her, though, I keep my eyes on Bri who shakes off whatever came over her at the mention of Missy.
Bri shrugs like she’s not bothered and there’s no need for an explanation, but I catch her glancing down at her plate. She’s clearly feeling something. If she’s jealous, that’s a good sign. It means she can’t deny that there’s something between us. We fit so well together. Bri thought so the other night at the bar. I know it because I felt it too. It was like coming home after a long time away. I almost tell her Missy’s husband dropped off the car, but I’m cut off.
“Ash, did you hear me?”
“What?” I ask.
Everybody laughs. Bri blushes. I’ve been staring at her, thinking about her without realizing.
“Where do you want me to leave the keys?” Robert asks.