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“So what?” I take a swig of beer, the lager more bitter tasting than usual. “They say since coming back she’s made all kinds of changes. Fired their longtime manager. Made a ton of renovations. She’s coming for me.”
My sister laughs. “Oh please. I highly doubt that. She sold her dad’s dealership. Probably has the money to upgrade. What is the big deal?”
Lus has been in the business her whole life. The fact that she gets it, and is still asking that question . . . honestly, if I live a hundred years I still will not understand my sister.
“It was just a dance,” I say, attempting to dismiss her.
Lus should have been a lawyer. She’s scrutinizing me, looking for cracks.
“You know I don’t have time to date anyway,” I remind her.
“Uh-huh.”
Better to quit while I’m ahead. So I shut my mouth.
“Anything else to add?” she prods.
Not taking the bait. “No.”
“So you’re not going to talk to her?”
“Also no.”
Lus pouts. “Now you’re just being stubborn.”
I’m not giving her anything.
“She’s looking for you.”
Whether it’s true or not, I don’t care. If I did care, it wouldn’t matter. I’m too old for games. Or for wasting time. Connection or not.
Ignoring my sister’s glare, and the direction she’s looking, which is obviously toward Evie, I tuck myself in closer to the bar, where I plan to remain for the rest of the night.
7
Evie
“What the heck is going on?” Zara asks as we make our way to the circle of people now crowding around the cake table.
Back in high school, Zara and I were friendly but didn’t really hang out in the same circles. But after Dad died, I moved back to Bridgewater and we reconnected, and since then we’ve gotten pretty close. Or as close as I can get to anyone. Between the funeral and selling my father’s car dealership, and now running the restaurant, I haven’t had all that much time for anything else.
Which is fine, for the most part. I like staying busy. Keeps my mind off that phone call and the past few months of my life. It’s still hard to believe he’s really gone.
“It looks like they’re about to cut the cake,” I say.
Zara tucks a strand of her bright red hair behind her ear. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her with her hair piled on top of her head like that, but it looks stunning. “I mean with Tristano DeLuca, silly.”
I knew what she meant.
Avoiding looking in his direction, I stare straight at the bride and groom instead. “Nothing. We danced. That’s all.”
Zara’s not having it.
Sighing, I spill the beans. “He may not have known who I was. So,” I shrug, “I didn’t enlighten him.”
The music lowers as Enzo and Chari hold the knife together.
“Oh.”
