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“Evie Fuller. How the hell are you?”
“Papa Donovan. How are you?”
He looks older, more fragile, but the fact that he’s here, standing without assistance, is a good thing. Cole’s grandfather and my dad went way back. Papa Donovan always said my father was his best student, and they stayed close for many years.
Hugging him, I can’t help but wish I had a grandparent. Especially now. But it wasn’t to be. Between cancer, heart disease and an aneurysm, not one of my four grandparents was spared.
“Hanging in there, kiddo. Beautiful wedding.” He looks around the barn.
“Beautiful” hardly even scratches the surface. The circle has been broken up and individual couples dot the dance floor, all smiling and laughing. I sigh, determined to take it all in. Enjoy every moment.
Life comes at you too quick not to.
“Isn’t it? I’m so happy for them.”
He’s looking at me the way too many people do these days.
“How about you, Evie? Are you doing alright?”
I start to give the automatic answer. That yes, I’m fine. Yes, it’s sad I had to sell the car dealership. But I just couldn’t run that and the restaurant like my father did. Especially since I had to fire the restaurant manager for cooking more than just the food.
I’m happy to be back. Yes, I miss New York, but Bridgewater is home.
But he isn’t asking to be polite, as most people do. This is Papa Donovan. The same man who broke down in tears at my father’s viewing. Who played poker with him every Sunday for years. He really wants to know.
So I don’t give the standard answer.
“The restaurant keeps me busy.”
He frowns. “Just don’t let it keep you too busy.”
He isn’t the first one to say that to me, and he probably won’t be the last. But what else am I supposed to do? Sit at home and wallow in grief? No way.
“I won’t,” I promise him.
“You didn’t even make it to the bar?” Cole says to his grandfather. “You really should have run for mayor.”
I gently push Papa Donovan along to join his grandson. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up with you later.”
He gives me a look, the very kind you’d give a wayward child, and it makes me all warm and fuzzy. Like he’s looking out for me.
“Cole, would you please tell your grandfather I’m fine?”
Cole pulls his grandfather along. “You think he listens to me? Fat chance. Come on, leave the poor woman alone. She’s being pursued anyway.”
Pursued?
As the Donovans move toward the bar, I turn to look where Cole had been staring. But before I can grab my wine back off the bar, my hand freezes.
This time, there’s no mistaking whether or not Tristano is “giving me eyes” or not.
He strides toward me. Holy hell. It’s like someone lit a firecracker under my dress. As he gets closer, I remind myself to breathe.
He is, after all, just a man.
4
Tristano
