Page 16 of Passing Ships
Lennon is standing in the kitchen. His big body takes up the entire space between the countertop and the island as he searches the cabinet for something.
He turns with a glass in hand when his eyes fall on me, and my stupid stomach does a flip.
Traitorous stomach.
“Hi,” he greets.
“I moved your shit to the guest room. I need the bigger space to set up my laptop and workstation,” I say.
“That’s fine.”
I’m being a little petty, forcing him to sleep in the smaller bed when he’s triple my size, but I’m a girl, and I need the larger closet and private bathroom.
“Good.”
There’s a knock at the door.
“That’s Wade here to pick me up. You have a good evening,” he says.
I watch as he returns the glass to the cabinet and walks back out the door, and then I get back to my task of getting ready.
Damn, why does he have to be so good-looking? Better than I remembered. It’s too bad I made a vow never to touch him again.
His loss.
I arrive at the Harraways’ house at six. It’s a quaint two-story home on a quiet road tucked in the middle of the island. I park on the street and follow the aroma of burgers cooking to a gate that leads to the backyard.
Sebastian’s father, James, is manning the grill and waves me inside the fence.
“Come on in. The party is that way,” he says as his mitted hand motions toward the patio, where Avie, Milly, Sabel, and Naomie are seated around an umbrella-covered table, sipping on what looks like margaritas while watching Leia and Sebastian toss a ball to their pup, Minnow.
“Thank you,” I say as I pass him to join the girls.
Avie scoots her chair over so I can squeeze in between her and Milly, and Sabel fills a glass for me from the pitcher sitting on the table.
“Amiya, we’re glad you’re here. We were just discussing the rehearsal dinner menu,” Naomie says as I take a sip of my cocktail.
“What are our choices?” I ask.
“So far, we’ve narrowed it down to Asian with sushi options or barbeque,” Sabel answers.
“That’s easy. Barbeque,” I state.
“Barbeque,” Naomie says, the corner of her mouth dipping.
“Yeah, the reception menu is fancy surf and turf, so it’d be nice to mix things up. Plus, Avie isn’t a fan of sushi,” I say as if the answer should be obvious.
Naomie turns to her daughter. “You aren’t?”
Avie gives her a tight smile and shakes her head. “Not really.”
“But barbeque is so, so …”
“Yummy and simple when feeding a crowd,” I finish for her.
Naomie’s eyes come to me. “I was going to say messy, but I suppose that doesn’t matter as much as it does on the day of the wedding.”
“And it doesn’t matter if it’s what Avie and Sebastian want since it is their rehearsal dinner,” I stress.