Abby laughed and cried and practically climbed over the table as they reached for each other. “Thank you,” she said through her tears.
“Now, that’s one hell of an endorsement,” Aiden said, sparking cheers and applause from their friends.
“Thank you, guys.” Abby wiped her eyes as they sat down, sharing a warm, silent moment with Deirdra across the table. “Thank you, Dee.”
Deirdra sat back with one hand over her stomach and said, “I might have to think about that nasty E word after this meal.”
“Enough?” Jock asked.
“Exercise.” Deirdra feigned a full-body shudder.
“I don’t exercise, either, but Jock does. You could jog with him,” Daphne suggested.
Deirdra grabbed another puff pastry and said, “Thanks, but I prefer to get my workout in with single guys and earn my sweat in more pleasurable ways.”
“Damn, Deirdra. Who knew you were so into sex?” Brant chuckled.
Abby rolled her eyes. “Don’t let her fool you, Brant. Sex takes time, and Deirdra’s got none of that.”
“But I have plenty of time for fantasies, and in them I’m super fit and the single guys are as smart as they are hot.” Deirdra looked at Cait with a secret smile, as if they’d talked about this very subject, and said, “And they have off and mute buttons.”
Abby laughed along with everyone else. For a minute there she was jealous of Deirdra and Cait, but she and Deirdra had shared the same sentiments about guys over the years. She pushed to her feet to quiet everyone down and said, “Now that you’ve tasted everything, I could use some help figuring out what to serve to the judges.”
“Everything,” Brant said.
“Definitely that shrimp thing,” Jules added.
“And the duck,” Jock chimed in. “That was magnificent.”
Daphne grabbed another dessert and said, “And the Paris-Brest!”
“I like breasts, and they don’t have to be from Paris,” Brant said, causing everyone to Boo him, which led to a multitude of jokes.
“What’d I tell you, Abs?” Aiden said as everyone talked over one another. “You might have gotten the magic touch from your father, but”—he motioned to the food, their friends, and the restaurant itself—“this is your own brand of magic.”
CHAPTER TWENTY–TWO
LATER THAT EVENING, Abby cuddled closer to Aiden on their blanket as laughter and shouts rang out around the bonfire on the beach in front of the Bistro, where they were playing charades. They’d pushed open the glass panels of the restaurant, and the lights of love illuminated the interior. Abby still had so much to do—interviewing, hiring, moving her things from New York—but she couldn’t think past tonight. Her last night with Aiden. The pit of her stomach burned at the thought.
“A dead fish?” Leni shouted, drawing Abby’s attention.
Brant was standing up with his arms over his head, his hands steepled, wiggling his entire body, and every few seconds he pointed to the water.
“A belly dancer?” Deirdra asked.
“More like belly dancer having convulsions,” Grant said.
Brant glowered at him. “Dude. You’re not even trying.”
Deirdra laughed and said, “Come on, Remington. Use that hot bod of yours in a different way, and maybe we’ll figure it out.”
Brant did pelvic thrusts, and everyone laughed.
“Love you.” Aiden kissed Abby’s temple, pulling her tighter against his side.
She rested her head on his shoulder and said, “I love you, too.” Those sentiments had come often, along with yearning and sorrowful looks. How could two fiercely independent people feel so lost at the idea of being apart from someone they’d known only a few weeks? She was done questioning, done worrying. She didn’t want to play games or think. She wanted to be alone with Aiden, cocooned within his loving arms for the rest of their time together.
“A mermaid?” Leni guessed.
“Oh! I know!” Jules shouted. “What’s that movie where Daryl Hannah is a mermaid?”
“Splash!” Leni chimed in.
“I love that movie,” Daphne said.
“I know you do, babe. Anything happy.” Jock cuddled with Daphne across the fire from Abby and Aiden and said, “Hey, Brant, is it Mystic River?”
“No, and I’m not a damn mermaid.” Brant raked a hand through his hair. “Come on, Cait, work with me.”
“Me?” Cait knee-walked forward and warmed her hands by the fire. “I hardly ever watch movies.”
Grant nodded toward the Bistro and said, “Hey, Abby, someone’s checking out the restaurant.”
“Be right back.” Abby and Aiden pushed to their feet and headed up to the patio, their friends’ voices fading behind them. A young dark-haired guy wearing a striped Baja hoodie with a guitar strapped to his back was peering into the restaurant. When he turned around, Abby recognized his shaggy dark hair, thick brows, and pitch-black scruff. It was the guitarist they’d seen in Chaffee.
“Hi. The restaurant isn’t open yet,” Abby said. “But were you playing your guitar in Chaffee last week?”
“Yeah, I was.” He whistled, and the dalmatian they’d seen in Chaffee bounded around the corner of the building to him. He loved the pooch up, looking more carefully at Abby and Aiden. “I remember you. You danced as I played. Thanks for the donation, man. That was cool of you. I’m looking for Ava. Is she around?”
Abby’s chest constricted. Aiden put his arm around her, and she said, “Um, no. How do you know her?”
“She’s a friend. I cook for her when I’m in town. I’m here for a few weeks and thought I’d see if she needed my help.”
“I’m sorry, but Ava passed away a few months ago. I’m her daughter, Abby, and this is my boyfriend, Aiden.”
“Hi.” Aiden offered his hand.
“Oh, man . . . That’s . . . Sorry,” he said forlornly, shaking Aiden’s hand. “Jagger Jones.” He was quiet for a moment, his features sagging as he stroked his dog’s head. He lowered his eyes, blinking repeatedly, sniffled, and cleared his throat before meeting their gazes. “I’m . . . I’m sorry for your loss.” He swallowed hard. “Ava was a good friend. May I ask how she died?”
Abby wondered about this good friend of her mother’s whom she never knew existed. He couldn’t be older than about twenty-four or -five. “Cancer. It hit fast. She was gone within a few weeks after she was diagnosed. When was the last time you spoke to her?”
“Over the holidays. She called to check in, which she didn’t do very often,” he said. “She asked me to play her a song, and I did. She didn’t mention being sick. She told me to tell my brother she sends her love, and we talked for a bit.”
“She knew your brother?” Abby asked. “I don’t recognize you as being from around here.”
“I’m not. I’m from Boston. I’m a musician, and I travel a lot. My brother, Gabriel, lives in Boston with our parents. He has nonverbal autism. We do video calls when I’m traveling, and I play my guitar for him. He loved to hear your mom sing.”