“Speaking of . . .”

Zoe glanced at Jo.

“Luke? How is that going?”

Zoe bit her lip. “It’s . . .” She sighed. “Amazing. I’m afraid to say that out loud.” And she was.

“Why?”

“I’m going to jinx it.”

Mel sipped her wine. “How can you jinx it? You’re already in a divisive situation and you’re making it work.”

“We are, aren’t we?” Her in Texas . . . him here in Oregon. Crazy family, her career.

“You know what I overheard?” Mel was already reaching for more wine.

“What?” Jo asked.

“Felix was talking to that Rupert guy about future features. Have they asked you for more filming at Miss Gina’s?”

“Felix mentioned it—”

“Ahhh!” Mel was the excitable one.

“Mentioned, Mel. Directors do that all the time.”

A splash of disappointment washed over her face.

Jo called Zoe out. “You’re just being cautious.”

“Felix likes anything other than Texas. It helps that he just broke up with his boyfriend. I love him, but a couple of weeks in River Bend and the flowery disposition will wear off.”

“I like it here,” Mel said.

“So do I,” Zoe defended. “But Felix is all fancy food and men with the same sexual tastes. How many gay men can we set him up with in River Bend?”

Jo and Mel exchanged glances.

“I got nothin’.”

Mel laughed.

“He doesn’t have to live here,” Jo said. “Come in to film your amazingness and off to Eugene.”

The thought had crossed her mind but never went very far.

“One thing at a time.”

Mel squealed. “I’m getting married tomorrow.”

Both Jo and Zoe sat forward, glasses in the air. “To a long, happy, healthy life,” Zoe said.

“To great sex!” Jo added.

Mel flapped her feet like flippers in the sea and they laughed.

Chapter Twenty-Five

For all the events Zoe had managed to be a part of in her life, a wedding wasn’t one of them.

Never been in one . . . never catered one. Hell, she never believed in one.

Go time was three in the afternoon. But before Zoe and Jo preceded Mel down the aisle, they had some serious needs to be met.

Two women from Waterville drove down to ensure they all had pretty fingernails and polished toes. Mel sat in the queen chair with Zoe’s stylist working her hair into an updo. Something they’d all have before putting on their dresses.

Both Mel and Jo sat with their feet in hot water when Zoe ducked out of Jo’s house to check on the staff cooking their lives away at Sam’s.

A light dusting of white cloud floated overhead.

With no makeup, her hair pulled back in a knot, and wearing sweatpants that said Juicy on her ass, Zoe ran in the back door at Sam’s.

Her impressions came fast. There were four butts cooking in a two-butt kitchen. Pasta boiled on an open flame. Ernie stirred what smelled like a cream sauce. Brenda stood over a prep sink, cleaning vegetables, and Tiffany was yelling out the time.

“I totally won!” Ernie glanced over his shoulder, fist pumped the air, and went back to his sauce.

“Won what?” Zoe asked as she made her way to the ovens, opened a door, and then turned down the heat by a hair.

“They are betting on your OCD tendencies,” Brenda explained.

“My OCD what? I’m not OCD.” Zoe lifted the spoon in Ernie’s work, dipped a finger, and took a taste. “Perfect,” she said before moving to another station.

“Yes, you are.” Tiffany removed a Styrofoam cup from the window and turned it around so Zoe could read the writing on the side.

Everyone in the kitchen had their name scribbled in ink and a time.

“What is that?”

Tiffany pointed to her name. “I thought you’d be here an hour ago. Ernie was off by five minutes, but the next time is Dell’s, and she has you down for a half hour from now.”

“That’s because I thought she was getting her nails done first,” Dell said from the other side of the kitchen.

Zoe rolled her eyes, glanced at the money inside the cup, and pushed out her chest. “Ten bucks a bet?”

“Go big or go home,” Ernie said.

“You guys are bad.”

Laughing, she finished her rounds and glanced at the time. “Shit, I gotta go.”

As she retreated, she heard Tiffany say when she was just out of sight, “Okay, bets for round two.”

Wyatt and Luke sat on Miss Gina’s back porch, watching a team of busy hands setting up chairs, makeshifting an arbor, placing flowers on every possible surface or rock.

“What do you think the women are doing right now?” Wyatt asked.

“I doubt they’re watching TV.”

Wyatt laughed.

“It looks nice.”

“It does. Mel did an amazing job.”

The tent for the reception sat on the north side of the property. So far, the weather was cooperating, and it appeared that they’d be able to have the ceremony in the sun and dance the night away in the tent.

Wyatt pointed to a flatbed truck that was bringing in extra tables. “Do you think we should help?”

Luke shrugged. “I think someone will yell at us if we do.”

Wyatt swung his feet off the railing and stood. “I could use a sandwich . . . want one?”