Chapter Six
Amiya
I t’s just my luck to be stuck sharing space with Sebastian’s brooding brother. I’m not thrilled with the situation, but I don’t tell Avie that. She has enough to stress about. Besides, I can handle Lennon Harraway.
I never shared the details of that night with my best friend. It’s not like I’m hiding it from her. She just never asked, and I never mentioned it. There wasn’t any reason to at the time because I knew her well enough to know that she’d be worried about how it would affect the dynamic between me and her future in-laws.
Which is ridiculous.
We’re both adults. Adults who had a good time together.
He didn’t want it to go any further.
So, it didn’t.
End of story.
He didn’t say it in so many words, but I put my name and number into his phone while he was in the bathroom that night after our little rendezvous, and he never used it.
Not a phone call or text in nine months.
I can read between the lines.
No harm. No foul.
I’m over it, and there’s zero chance of a repeat performance, so cohabitating at the cabana is not a big deal.
After moving his oversize green duffel bag to the smaller room, I make haste to unpack, and then I jump into the shower and start getting ready for dinner at Sebastian’s parents’ house.
I’m drying my hair when I hear the front door unlock and close.
I take a deep breath and open the bedroom door to peer down the hall.
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.
Her eyes go to Avie. “Oh, yes, of course. If you prefer barbeque, we’ll do barbeque.”
“That was painless. What’s next on the agenda?” I ask.
“We need to decide on the desserts, and the bakery sent over a list of options. Let me find it on my phone,” Naomie says.
“Oh, there’s no need for that,” Sabel says. “Ida Mae and I have desserts covered.”
“You do?” Naomie asks.
“Yes, Mom. The rehearsal dinner is hosted by the groom’s family, so I asked Sabel if she could make some of Sebastian’s favorite things,” Avie interjects.
“Oh, how nice. You’ll be making them yourself?”
“Yes, I’ll be making the cobbler, and Ida Mae, the pudding,” Sabel answers.
“Cobbler and pudding. For a wedding?”
Sabel looks her in the eye and smiles. “This is North Carolina. We don’t have showers, receptions, or rehearsal dinners without peach cobbler and banana pudding on the menu. I’ll also be serving sweet tea and lemonade. You may serve whatever froufrou parfait and beverage you prefer in addition to those though.”
“No. That sounds lovely and will fit perfectly with the barbeque cuisine,” Naomie says.
Avie reaches across the table and takes her mother’s hand. “Mom, we really would like it to be more laid-back so everyone can just relax and enjoy themselves before the wedding.”
“Of course. I didn’t mean any disrespect. I want everything to be perfect for you, sweetheart, and I am sure Sabel’s cobbler is to die for,” she says, bringing her apologetic eyes back to Sabel. “I’d be happy to help if you need me,” she offers.
“I can always use an extra pair of hands to pit and cut the peaches. Sebastian and Lennon can eat an entire cobbler apiece, so I plan to make several.”
“I’m an excellent sous-chef,” Naomie states, happy to be involved in any way.
“Look at us, drinking margs and getting shit done,” I say as I raise my glass.
Avie gives me an appreciative smile and mouths, Thank you , before raising her glass to clink mine.
I wink at her and down the rest of the liquid in my glass, and Sabel refills it.