Wes had become so immersed in his conversation and time with Sophia he’d not even realized Jake was giving the next set of instructions. Refocusing on the chef, he started prepping the duck breast and continued to enjoy the fake date much more than he knew he should.
As the night continued on, Sophia was a good sport and played up teasing him and allowing him to feed her several bites of the dishes. For that Wes was thankful. Hopefully, it would help halt the anorexia rumors. Sophia didn’t know it, but tonight’s date was more for her benefit than his. . . . Well, after the surprise intruder, it was a little for his benefit as well.
As they finished up the main course, Wes noticed the Knitting Club had grown a bit rowdy. Snickering and catcalling at him when he walked over to the sink to wash his hands. Making brash comments and kissy sounds each time he and Sophia got too close.
Dalma even went as far as coming over to their table and swiping one of the mini red wine bottles, claiming they needed extra sauce. “You sure are nice to look at,” she commented while clutching the bottle to her chest and squinting up at him with glassy eyes.
“Uh . . . thank you.”
“Oh no, honey. Thank you.” Dalma wobbled a bit to the side and Wes reached to steady her. After openly staring for a few awkward beats, she finally shuffled back to her table.
By the time dessert was served, the old ladies were completely out of hand.
As Wes wiped a dollop of fresh whipped cream from the corner of Sophia’s mouth, a chorus of whistles and catcalls erupted from the other side of the room.
“You go, girlie!” Bertie shouted, followed by more hoots and hollers.
“I think I have some cream on my lip, too,” crooned the one they called Madge as she puckered her wrinkly lips.
Jake scowled at the group of hens, all rosy-faced and grinning wide, and shook his head. “Ladies, you were supposed to cook with the wine. Not drink it.”
Their googly eyes wandered to one another and some seemed dumbfounded by the revelation. “Oops,” Trudy said, sending the ole gals into a fit of snickers.
Sighing, Wes offered a pleading smile to the other two couples who were innocent bystanders to the night’s shenanigans. “Would you mind helping us get these women home safely? I can fit two or three in my car.”
They divvied up the tipsy women between them and headed out. Wes and Sophia ended up with Dalma, Bertie, and Ethel. Bertie was even chattier than normal and Ethel, surprisingly enough, wouldn’t stop singing. Little Dalma fell asleep, so her only contribution to the chaos on the ride home was a soft snore drowned out by the other two.
“This is one fancy-dancy car, Doctor,” Bertie commented.
“These leather seats are too dang slippery. What’d you do, grease ’em?” Ethel complained on a hum. “Oooh, look at the stars through the sunroof.” She followed that with a bluesy version of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”
“Sophia, child, you like to snatch up the rich boys, don’tcha?” Bertie slurred, and when it became clear that Sophia wasn’t going to answer, she continued on rambling. “You have a good time, dear?”
“I did.” Sophia patted her flat belly. “I ate too much, though. Wes is an amazing cook . . .” She giggled. “Heck, the man is simply amazing at everything, though.”
Wes glanced over when Sophia’s hand landed on his where it was resting on the center console. “You sneak some wine, too?” he whispered.
“No, silly.” She winked before turning to look at the wobbling heads he kept seeing in the rearview mirror. “Do you girls know that other women in town are trying to snatch my man?”
Wes knew Sophia was stirring the pot for his benefit, but his gut told him it would be at her expense. He flipped his hand over and squeezed hers gently, but she squeezed it back and continued. “What should I do?”
Ethel began singing a sloppy rendition of Mary Wells’s “My Guy” with Bertie singing backup. As they belted out lines about sticking like glue and no one was going to tear her away from her guy, Wes chanced a glance at Sophia. She was staring out the window with her lips set in a deep frown.
“Hush up, Ethel.” Bertie leaned forward and said, “Sophia Grace, you can’t let any woman that comes sniffing around have your man like last time. It ain’t dignified. And it’s right disgraceful for a Southern lady to carry on like that.”
And there it was, just as Wes had predicted. It was time to shut them down. “Ladies—”
“First off,” Ethel interrupted, “you need to put some meat on your bones. You’re too scrawny to even stand up for yourself. Grow a backbone and let them floozies know Weston is your man!” Ethel was the orneriest woman Wes had ever encountered, but he liked how she put that last part.
“I’ll tell ya what . . . us gals will send out a message to the local girls to back off.” Bertie clucked her tongue and wobbled backward.
Wes let out a noisy breath. “Now the gossip ring sounds more like a front for the mob.” Picturing the gray-haired—plus one orange-headed—mob grannies, he couldn’t contain the snort of laughter.
“What was that, sugar?” Bertie questioned, grunting to right herself in the seat.
“We’ve gotten you home,” Sophia interjected. She squeezed Wes’s hand one last time before releasing it to help wrangle the sisters and Dalma out of the backseat.
The sisters had made mention that they were taking care of Dalma while her roommate was out of town. As Ethel slurred the information, she pointed two fingers toward her eyes and then tried aiming them back to Dalma, but she missed the mark when she stumbled. Wes didn’t have much faith in Dalma being in good hands, but he had a feeling the little old lady did fairly well taking care of her own self. Even though she was less conventional than most. Wes made a mental note to swing by first thing in the morning to check on all three of the silly women.
Once they were back on the road and fairly winded from the effort it took to get the women inside safely, Sophia began chuckling in a hushed snicker until finally cackling out loud. It had been a tiresome night, but Wes would gladly relive it just to have her laughing like that.
“You’re one interesting fellow, I have to hand it to you.” Sophia shook her head.
“Well, I think we make a good team,” Wes commented as he turned onto the beachfront road.
“The cooking part or the wrestling tipsy old ladies part?”
Wes chuckled. “Both and beyond. Even at work, I have to admit you run a tight ship. I like that about you.”
They made it to the beach house within a few more minutes. That was one of the things Wes liked about Sunset Cove. Everything was under a ten-minute drive or even a walkable distance. He wasn’t quite ready to end the evening, so he shut off the car and leaned back against the headrest. The ocean was just visible past the luminous sand dunes. It still amazed him how the beach glowed at night, even after witnessing it for a couple months now.
“I don’t like how the town talks about you,” Wes admitted on a sigh.
Sophia didn’t answer right away. But when she did, it affected him in such a visceral way that he wanted to shield her and dare the world to mistreat her ever again.
“I’m not the doormat they’ve made me out to be. No one knows how I fought to fix my marriage. A lot went on behind closed doors, and that’s where it’ll remain. I had to learn the hard way that some things just are not fixable.” Sophia sniffed and then whispered, “I feel like a failure who no one respects, nonetheless.”