Greer, of course, had the baby. A little baby girl she and Andre named Evangeline. I’d flown out to see my namesake four weeks before the wedding. She was cute as a button, but she cried a lot. Despite my “advancing” years, Roane and I had already tabled the kid discussion. We would try, but not for a few years yet. Seeing baby Evie scream and cry every other hour, I’d been grateful for that decision and in awe of my best friend.
We were sad she couldn’t make it to the wedding, but Roane and I were planning a trip out there next year so we could visit them and then drive to Indiana to see Mom and Phil. And to show him where I grew up.
It was certainly different from where Roane had grown up.
I’d, of course, been inside Alnster House, that huge sandstone mansion belonging to my husband and his parents, named by the ancestor who’d built the place back in the seventeenth century. It had been added to and renovated over the centuries, and if I thought it was awe inspiring on the outside, it was nothing compared to the interior.
Marble floors and staircases, huge oil paintings, beautiful sculptures. The public rooms were like rooms in a museum. The family rooms on the second floor, although opulent with Aubusson carpets and Chinese silk wallpaper, were more comfortable and welcoming.
We’d had the wedding reception at the house, making use of the ballroom.
Yes, it had a ballroom.
The first time I walked into Alnster House, I’d felt Roane watching me anxiously. All I could do was hold his hand and smile reassuringly. That mansion wasn’t him. That’s why he lived in the farmhouse. The house, however, was his legacy, and maybe one day we’d have to move there with our kids, but for now I was getting a huge kick out of redecorating our cozy farmhouse. I’d even convinced Roane to hire an architect so we could start opening up the spaces to make it free flowing and modern.
“It’s ‘Don’t Look Back in Anger,’” I said, tired of listening to the back-and-forth.
My friends stared at me, uncertain.
I huffed, holding up my hand. “Who is the only person here who remembers 1996? Some of us”—I turned to Roane—“had only been walking for, what, two years?”
He smirked.
“And some of us”—I looked at Caro—“were still in diapers.” Then I gestured to Lucas and Viola. “And some of us weren’t even born. God, why am I friends with you? You’re making me old. Put down ‘Don’t Look Back in Anger.’”
“Words to live by,” Viola said pointedly.
“Ha ha.” I rolled my eyes as they grinned at my expense.
“I don’t remember you being this touchy about your age.” Caro tapped a finger against her chin. “I think marrying Roane has made you tetchy about your age.”
Months ago, a joke like that might have fallen flat, but now Roane just winked at me and squeezed me closer.
“I don’t know why.” Vi snorted. “Think about it, Evie. When you’re forty, your husband will still be a hot, young thirtysomething. You’re like my hero.”
Roane chuckled.
“He’s lucky I love him.” I scratched his beard playfully. “Or I would never forgive him for turning me into a cougar.”
“Oh, you’re not a cougar,” Lucas said. “Roane would have to be fifteen years younger rather than ten.”
“He’s six and a half years younger,” I corrected him.
Lucas grinned mischievously. “Oh, is he? My mistake.”
As he and Viola fell against each other laughing, I mock glowered at them. “Why are you home for Christmas again? Just to torture me?”
“No, we’re home so I can have a painfully awkward Christmas dinner with my loving mother and a father who won’t talk to me.” Lucas’s lips twisted into an unhappy smile.
Vi covered his hand with hers. “At least he’s letting you in the house.”
“Aye, because my mam put her foot down. At last.”
Although I saw a happy ending for Viola and Lucas, I wasn’t sure there was one in the cards for Lucas and West. His father just couldn’t let it go, and if it would mean losing his youngest son, then I pitied him. I pitied the bitterness that was choking the life out of him slowly but surely.
“Right, hand over your answers, you lot,” Milly said, approaching our table with a beaming smile.
Roane handed them to her as I shot a look over my shoulder to make sure Shadow was okay. He was sprawled in front of the roaring fire and had been since we’d arrived two hours ago.
“Maybe we should pull him over to us.” I turned to Roane. Shadow had a habit of staying in front of a fire too long.
“You know he’ll move when he’s too hot,” Roane assured me as he always assured me.
Less than ten minutes later, Dex retook the mic to announce, “And the winner is Maggie, Annie, and Liz!”
We looked over at their table, pretending to boo at the same time we raised our glasses to them. Maggie blushed in delight as Dex placed the huge hamper in front of them.
“See,” I said, “age and experience matter in a pub quiz. Don’t”—I raised a finger at Lucas, whose eyes were sparkling with some mischievous comment about my age—“even say it.”
Choking on his laughter, he buried his head in Vi’s throat as she grinned at me.
Roane’s arm slipped down my shoulder to my waist, and I felt his fingers slip under my shirt to tickle me lightly. Shivering, I turned into him with a soft smile. “You feeling me up in public?” I murmured.
His dark eyes dropped to my mouth. “When am I not feeling you up in public?”
“True. You’re very handsy. You should stop. I’m a married woman, you know.”
“Oh, I know.” He bent his head toward mine, seconds from stealing a kiss when—
“Evie, how’s the new tenant working out?”
Roane and I moved away from each other as Dex pulled a seat up to our table.
“Good,” I answered. “So far so good.”
Once I’d bought the store from Penny and realized I’d have an empty apartment upstairs when I moved in with Roane, I had a new door put on the rear of the building and closed off the entrance to the bookstore at the back to separate the apartment from the store. I was intending to let it as a holiday apartment, but a guy called Bryan Holmes, some financial dude from London, paid me up front for three months’ rent.
He said he needed a long vacation from London. When I’d met him, I’d thought he was a good-looking guy in his late forties. He was only thirty-eight. The stress of working in the financial hub of the country had led him to a bit of a midlife crisis. He’d decided the cold sea air in a tiny little village would do him good.