Amelia is in jeans and a soft green top today, one of the shirts Janie found that makes her eyes look less haunted and more alive. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, and she has no lipstick on, which makes me think she remembered last night and did not trust herself with that much color today. She looks tired. Still. But there is something different in the way she walks beside Derby.
Not behind him.
Beside him.
Derby is pretending he doesn’t know that matters.
He is also pretending he ain’t aware of every person in the room clocking the distance between his hand and her lower back. It hovers for half a second when they come through the door, then drops because she steps forward on her own.
He lets it.
That matters too.
Legend sees me and crosses the room. His eyes are on my face before his mouth reaches mine. Not a kiss, not in front of everyone with the easy affection of a man who takes softness for granted. Legend doesn’t take softness for granted. He touches my waist first, then leans down and kisses my temple.
“What did I miss?” he asks.
“Cornbread is trying to give our wedding menu a criminal record.”
Cornbread appears in the kitchen doorway with a towel over one shoulder, looking offended. “Jalapeños are legal.”
“Barely,” Derby says.
Cornbread points at him. “You don’t get a vote after bringing Panty Lady into my bar and turning the Fire Pit into the gossip pit.”
Amelia goes scarlet.
Derby turns slowly. “Cornbread.”
“What?”
“Call her that again and I’m shoving one of your skillets up your ass handle-first.”
Cornbread thinks about this with the seriousness of a man doing geometry. “Handle-first seems harder.”
Royal murmurs, “Not with enough resolve.”
Becki snorts so hard she nearly chokes on a pickle.
Cider laughs.
It’s small.
Quiet.
But it happens.
Royal’s head turns toward her immediately, and the whole room softens around that one fragile sound.
Cider seems startled by herself. Her eyes drop to the table. “Sorry.”
“No,” Becki says, fierce enough that Cider looks up. “Don’t apologize. That was the first sensible reaction to Cornbread all day.”
Cornbread nods like this is praise. “I do bring folks together.”
Amelia’s embarrassment eases a little. She looks at Cider, then Becki, then me. She is still mapping relationships. Who belongs to whom. Who is safe. Who bites. Around here, that is often the same person.
I cross to her and take her hands before she can apologize for arriving, existing, or breathing near a wedding notebook.