The Best Man (Blue Heron #1)(75)

And maybe Levi would dance with her. Her knees wobbled at the image, the memory of his hard muscles, his heat pressed against her. Probably not, but it sure was a nice thought.

She snapped out of her fog and put the shovel in the shed. Whatever the case, the anniversary party would be a special night. A magical night.

* * *

ON SATURDAY EVENING, Faith was resisting—barely—the urge to strangle her grandfather.

“What the hell is this?” he asked, dangling the suspicious food in front of his face.

“Just shut up and eat it,” commanded her grandmother. “It’s party food. Don’t be such a pain in the ass.”

Make that strangle both grandparents.

“You’re the pain in the ass,” Pops retorted. “You’ve been a pain in my ass for sixty-five years.”

“No fighting, kids,” Ned said. “This is your party. Don’t make us sign you into the home just yet. Pops, it’s a shrimp. It’s wrapped in prosciutto, that’s all.”

“What the hell’s prosciutto?” Pops asked.

“It’s like extra-fatty bacon,” Faith said. “You’ll love it.”

Okay, so the night was not exactly magical. Not yet, anyway. She could still pull it off...if she drugged Goggy and Pops.

The Holland family had come up to the barn for a special dinner before the big party, since only hors d’oeuvres would be served at the event, and God forbid her grands missed a solid meal. Or Prudence. Or Dad. Or Jack. Honor was here; her mystery man was not, and when Faith had asked about it, sotto voce, Honor gave her an icy look as an answer. Mrs. Johnson was also irritated with Faith, since Faith hadn’t asked her to prepare the dinner but to be a guest instead, which had somehow insulted her.

“You look really handsome tonight, Pops,” she said, smoothing some of the more fascinating eyebrow hairs away from his eyes.

“Thanks, sweetheart. Maybe I’ll get a dance with my special girl, what do you think?”

“If I’m the special girl in question, the answer is yes. But don’t forget,” she added, whispering, “you and Goggy have a dance first.”

Pops grimaced.

“You do,” she said firmly. “And you have your speech, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “That’s right here.” He tapped his jacket pocket.

“Hello, hello,” came a voice. It was Jane, the gardener, dressed in a long, shapeless, greenish-brown cotton dress. “Oh, dear,” she said. “Am I early?”

“Party starts at seven,” Pru said, her voice even louder than usual.

“No, it’s fine,” Faith said. “Come and join us.”

“I’ll come back later,” Jane said. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Not at all. We’d love to have you.” She introduced Jane to the family, earning suspicious looks from Goggy, who didn’t see anything wrong with her son staying a widower for a few more decades, as well as from Abby, who was sulking because she’d been made to change into something “less whorish,” according to Pru. Carl was also missing, though Faith had wised up and not asked why.

“Very nice to see you again,” Dad said with an adorably shy smile.

“You, too, John,” Jane said, tilting her head to smile back. Jane and John. So cute.

“Please, sit down,” Dad said, holding out a chair.

“Thank you.” She looked around. “Um, is this...all?” Jane asked, surveying the shrimp and pasta dish Faith had ordered from the caterers. “I’m sorry. I’m a vegan. A rawist, actually.”

Life without cheeseburgers? So sad. “Right. Um, I’ll find you something.” The caterers should have a veggie platter somewhere.

“And what is a rawist, my dear?” Pops said, turning on the charm (the better to irritate Goggy).

“I only eat raw food,” Jane answered.

“Why?” Mrs. Johnson asked. “Are you sick?”

“Oh, no, it’s by choice. For health reasons,” Jane said as Faith intercepted the vegetable tray from one of the servers. “Thanks, Faith. This’ll be perfect.” She took an impressive handful of baby carrots and began shoving them into her mouth like popcorn, crunching madly. And another handful. And some celery. Her mouth worked faster than a wood chipper, Faith thought.

“You eat raw meat? That can’t be good for you,” Goggy pronounced.

Jane paused in her crop decimation. “I don’t eat meat. Raw vegetables and fruits only.”

“What about bread?” Abby asked.

“Nope. Gluten is poison for me.” She picked up another handful of carrots and started chainsawing through them, little flecks of orange flying from her lips. “You should try it. I have literally no mucus issues anymore. And I’m never constipated.”

Dad had that hide me look on his face, and Ned was choking with laughter. Jane did have very strong-looking teeth, Faith noted. The veggie platter was supposed to serve twenty, but at the rate Jane was going, she’d polish that off, then start on the table, which was hopefully gluten-free.

“Faith,” Pru said, draining her wine, “where’s Colleen and the hard stuff? You did say we were having an open bar, right?”

Yes, where were Connor and Colleen? Faith checked her phone. No messages. She sent a quick text, asking if they needed help. It was getting to be crunch time. She excused herself and started putting the centerpieces on the tables, which had been covered with pale blue tablecloths.