Page 118 of The Difference Between

I force a smile. “Of course I am.”

“Good,” is all she says.

Nancy walks in and claps her hands, coming straight behind the bar to hug me so tight I grunt. “That was wonderful, Reese.”

Gavin, Remy, Banyan, and the kids follow behind, the kids screaming as they enter.

“Nancy,” Mom says, “how about we steal a bottle of wine and get these kids something to eat?”

“Beat ya to it,” I say. “I ordered pizza that should be here in fifteen minutes.”

The kids let out a celebratory shout—it’s amazing how loud four tiny people can be—then dart back outside.

My mom winks, then they’re gone, leaving me behind the bar across from Gavin, Remy—who’s about as upright as a melted crayon—Rue, and Banyan. I put all the uncorked bottles on the bar along with a handblown glass for each of them.

Gavin’s eyes meet mine—briefly—the way they have all day. Only this time, there’s nothing for me to busy myself with. The day is done, they all helped it happen—he did—and the only thing to do is look at him.

“You ever hear about that time when all the grapes were sad?” he asks.

My brows raise as I pour. “Believe it or not, I haven’t.”

His lips twitch. “Happened during the grape depression.”

I slide the glass of wine to him, leaning over the bar until my face is in front of his. If my sisters weren’t here, I’d kiss him. At my whispered, “Bad,” his smile makes me smile.

“I’m the grape depression,” Remy slurs. “And Serendipity is a cunt.”

My eyes bug—Remy never uses that word. To Rue I mouth, Serendipity?

Rue makes prayer hands and mouths, The yoga teacher.

Ah.

“Touch the ground, Remy Pemy.” Banyan blows into his horn. “Big Mama gives all the support you need.”

I slide a glass of water in front of Remy and say, “I think you’re just grape.”

She rolls her eyes and takes a hefty sip of wine then drops her forehead to the bar with a groan.

At the wail of a harmonica, in walks Nash. He slides onto the stool next to Rue.

“Well, Reese,” he drawls, raising a glass after I pour. “We did it.”

I laugh. “We?”

He grins, draping an arm around the backrest of Rue’s stool. “Someone had to charm ’em and get ’em out here.”

Banyan scoffs. “There’d be nothing to drive them to if I wasn’t spreadin’ the love.” He lifts his glass. “And Banyan’s love can’t be contained.”

“Thank God your chest can.” I eye his buttoned shirt. “And feet.”

“Shoes are already off, Fire Lady.”

It earns a collective laugh.

I know alcohol is as good for fertility as it is for recovering from brain surgery, but I pour a glass for myself too.

Rue’s eyebrows disappear into her bangs. “What happened to wine being bad for⁠—”