I stared at him, somewhat appeased to realize I wasn’t the only one feeling a little territorial. It was nice that I wasn’t going through the struggle all by myself; it made me feel not quite so pathetic.
“Call Simon and your foster parents at some point today. Invite them to come here for dinner one night.” He lifted a brow. “Okay?”
I gave a slow nod. “Okay.”
He squeezed the side of my neck. “Finish your coffee. Sam will be here soon.”
Melinda adjusted the cushion behind her. “How are the plans coming along for the reception?”
“Great,” I said, snuggled into Dane on the other sofa. I was bloated after the three-course meal we’d had, courtesy of him. I’d helped him prep the meal here and there, but he did the bulk of the cooking. “Chris and Miley are totally on the ball, and they keep us up to date on every little thing.”
“They are very efficient, aren’t they? And so nice. Have you picked up your dress yet?”
I shook my head. “I have my final fitting next month.”
“I’m looking forward to finally seeing this dress,” said Dane, his arm loosely curved around my neck, his fingers threaded through mine so that our joined hands hung near my collarbone. “Chris is constantly telling me that I’m going to love it.”
Chris was constantly telling me that Dane was going to want to rip it off me. “You’re not getting a sneak preview. You’ll have to wait until the reception.”
“I don’t like to wait.”
“You’re kidding,” I said dryly.
Simon chuckled. “Yeah, we noticed that about you when you proposed to her and married her all in the space of two days. I really can’t wait for the reception.” He leaned forward in the armchair to set his empty mug on the coffee table. His gaze drifted to the wedding photo that we’d framed and hung on the wall. “I do love that picture.”
“Me, too,” said Melinda, her eyes bright. “I show my copy to everyone who visits.”
“She’s not exaggerating,” Wyatt told me, sitting beside her. “Every person who walks through the door is guided right over to it.”
Melinda lifted her chin. “You do the same thing, Wyatt, and you know it. Oh by the way, Vienna, my sisters promised they’d come to the reception. They’re looking forward to seeing you again and meeting Dane.” She looked at him and explained, “My sisters live in Oregon with their families. I was born there, too, but I moved here with Wyatt when we were in our early twenties. We originally planned to move to Australia with his brother and parents, but I couldn’t handle the snakes and spiders.”
A nostalgic smile curved Wyatt’s mouth. “The first time we went to visit my family in Australia, my brother warned us to always tip our shoes upside down before putting them on, just to be sure there were no spiders in them. He said he’d never found anything in his own shoes, but it was best to check. I was in the bathroom one morning when I heard Melinda scream. There’d been a spider in her shoe. She was so convinced it might have laid eggs in there that she threw it in the trash.”
“You can never be too careful,” said Melinda.
“After that, she wrapped her shoes in clingfilm every night before getting into bed, just to be sure nothing could crawl in them.”
“The spider was as big as my fist, Dane.”
Shaking his head, Wyatt put his thumb and forefinger an inch or so apart. “Tiny,” he mouthed.
Melinda, oblivious, added, “And it was hairy and had big fat legs.”
Again, Wyatt shook his head. “Lies,” he mouthed.
Simon chuckled. “I caught Vienna playing with spiders a few times when she was little; she liked them. But she hated beetles.”
“Still do. Have you ever stood on one? That horrible crunching sound it makes …” I shuddered. “Can’t stand the things.” I looked at my dauntless boss. “I don’t suppose you’re creeped out by insects, are you?”
He shrugged. “They’re just creatures, same as us.”
“What about snakes?” asked Melinda.
He shook his head. “I’ve never been bothered by them.”
Well, of course not. They were agents of the devil.
“You must have at least one fear,” Melinda insisted. “Everybody fears something.”
He pursed his lips. “I do get uneasy whenever Vienna attempts to bake something.”
I gasped, bristling. “Hey!”
“You cook like a pro, baby girl, but the ability to bake somehow eludes you.”
Simon, the traitor, nodded. “He’s right. I’m sorry, sweetie, but he is.”
“Baking is a completely different ball game,” I defended, trying to pull away from Dane.
He tugged me closer using the arm he’d curved around my neck. “Don’t be mad,” he coaxed, all soft and sweet.
I sniffed, haughty. “I’m not mad.”
“Then why do you look like you want to scratch my eyes out?”
“I don’t need a reason.”
Melinda snorted. “While we’re on the subject of food, Heather’s booked a table at her favorite restaurant for her birthday next week.”