Blake gathers his things. “Grady, you coming?”
Grady purses his lips as he gauges the amount of wine left in the bottle on the table.
Jared lifts it in question. “There’s a spare toothbrush in the guest room, and Em’s planning biscuits with gravy for breakfast.”
“I’m convinced.” He pushes his glass forward for a refill. “Sorry, Blake, you’re on your own.”
Blake flattens a hand over his heart. “I’m hurt. Truly.”
Grady gestures for Jared to keep pouring. “You’ll get over it.”
“I don’t know.” Blake backs toward the door. “I might have to tell Chloe what a fickle friend you are, to abandon me and stay here for the night.”
The tips of Grady’s ears turn red. “Haven’t you heard that gossiping is bad?”
With a chuckle, Blake leaves, waving from the side gate.
Jared cracks open another bottle of beer. “It’s getting chilly. Want to take this inside?”
Grady grabs his cane and rises from the table. “I don’t suppose there are any more of those chocolate truffles from last week.”
Jared grabs Grady’s full wine glass and his own beer. “Pretty sure I saw Em stashing some after her trip to the grocery store.”
“Hey!” Emily protests without rising.
Jared ignores her as he helps balance Grady over the slight step into the house.
The back door clicks shut behind Grady and Jared, leaving Emily and me alone on the porch. The string lights sway in the gentle evening breeze, casting shifting patterns across the picnic table. Inside, bottles clink on the countertops, and muffled laughter filters through the windows.
Emily leans back on the bench seat, her profile illuminated by the golden glow. I study her, emboldened by the pleasant buzz of alcohol in my system.
Emily turns, catching me staring. “Do you want another beer?”
I tilt the bottle in my hand, surprised to find it empty. “I should switch to water.”
She rises and returns with two glasses, condensation beading on the sides. The water, sweet and clean after the beer, washes away the bitterness of hops but leaves the warmth behind.
“Thanks for inviting me today,” I say, the words flowing easier than they would have hours ago. “This was… nice.”
“Nice?” She raises an eyebrow, amusement playing at the corners of her mouth. “Such high praise.”
“Better than nice,” I amend, searching for words that won’t sound trite. “I can’t remember the last time I felt this comfortable around people. Maybe back in university? After graduating, my friend group drifted apart as everyone became busy with their careers, and I never clicked with the other teachers.”
“What was it like where you lived before?” Emily moves one leg over the bench to straddle it so she can face me. “Not the work part. The living part.”
“Lonely,” I answer, the beer quieting the voices of caution that often edit my every word. “I had colleagues, not friends. I went to work, came home, graded papers, and planned lessons. Rinse and repeat.”
“No hobbies? No secret passion for competitive kite-flying or underwater basket-weaving?”
A laugh bubbles up from my chest. “I read. A lot. Mysteries, mostly. I like it when everything gets solved by the last page.”
“Guaranteed closure,” Emily says without judgment. “I get that.”
“What about you? When you’re not building houses or teaching woodworking to hopeless cases like me?”
She smiles into her water glass. “I bake. And crochet. And carve. I have a list of donations I aim to finish for the local foster homes every year.”
“Oh, yeah?” I ask. “What’s on your list?”