my hand. In unison, we looked down. His hand felt heavy, like a rock, around mine. Slowly he let go.
We sat together at the cramped table—Nana across from me, Sam to my right. Nana smoothed the linen tablecloth with an inspecting hand, pursing her lips; I could tell she was still mad about the view and barely containing the need to voice it to someone else, to hear them confirm that she was right to be up in arms over this injustice.
In my peripheral vision, I caught Sam’s long fingers as they reached out and engulfed his water glass.
“Well now.” Luther leaned in, pulling a whistling breath in through his nose. “How long have you been in town?”
“We just landed, actually,” I said.
He looked at me, smiling beneath his bushy, old-man-pornstache. “Where you all from?”
“Guerneville,” I said, clarifying, “about an hour north of San Francisco.”
He dropped a hand on the table so heavily that Nana startled and his water rippled inside the glass. “San Francisco!” Luther’s smile grew wider, flashing a collection of uneven teeth. “I’ve got a friend out there. Ever met a Doug Gilbert?”
Nana hesitated, brows tucking down before saying, “We . . . no. We’ve not met him.”
“Unless he drives up north for the best blackberry pie in California, we probably haven’t crossed paths.” I said it proudly, but Nana frowned at me like I’d just given them some scandalously identifying information.
Sam’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “I hear San Francisco is a pretty big city, Grandpa.”
“True, true.” Luther laughed at this, at himself. “We have a small farm in Eden, Vermont, just north of Montpelier. Everyone knows everyone there, I suppose.”
“We sure know how that is,” Nana said politely before surreptitiously peeking down at the dinner menu.
I struggled to find something to say, to make us seem as friendly as they were. “What do you farm?”
“Dairy,” Luther told me, his smile encouraging and bright. “And since everyone does it, we also do a bit of sweet corn and apples. We’re here celebrating Sam’s twenty-first birthday, just three days ago.” Luther reached across the table, clutching Sam’s hand. “Time is flying by, I tell you that.”
Nana finally looked back up. “My Tate just graduated from high school.” A tight cringe worked its way down my spine at the way she emphasized my age, glancing pointedly at Sam. He might have been twice my size, but twenty-one is only three years older than eighteen. Going by her expression, you’d think he’d been practically middle-aged. “She’s starting college in the fall.”
Luther coughed wetly into his napkin. “Whereabouts?”
“Sonoma State,” I said.
He seemed to be working on a follow-up question, but Nana impatiently flagged down the waiter. “I’ll have the fish and chips,” she ordered, without waiting for him to come to a full stop at the table. “But if you could put them on separate plates, I’d appreciate it. And a side salad, no tomatoes. Carrots only if they aren’t shredded.”
I caught Sam’s eye and registered the sympathetic amusement there. I wanted to explain that she owns a restaurant but hates eating out. She’s picky enough to make her food perfect, but never trusts anyone else to do the same. After he gave me a small smile, we both looked away.
Nana held up a hand to keep the waiter’s attention from turning to me yet. “And dressing on the side. Also, I’ll have a glass of chardonnay and an ice water. With ice.” She lowered her voice to explain to me—but not so quietly that everyone didn’t hear it too: “Europeans have a thing about ice. I’ll never understand it.”
With a tiny grimace, the waiter turned to me. “Miss?”
“Fish and chips.” I grinned and handed him my menu.
The waiter left, and a tense, aware silence filled his wake before Luther leaned back in his chair, letting out a roaring laugh. “Well now. I guess we know who the princess is!”
Nana became a prune again. Great.
Sam leaned forward, planting two solid arms on the table. “How long you here for?”
“Two weeks,” Nana told him, pulling her hand sanitizer out of her purse.
“We’re doing a month,” Luther said, and beside him, Sam picked up a piece of bread from the basket at the center of the table and wolfed it down in a single, clean bite. I worried they’d ordered a while ago, and our appearance had really delayed the delivery of their meal. “Here for a couple weeks as well,” Luther continued, “then up to the Lake District. Where are you staying