Amelia watches that too.
This room is full of women rescued from different versions of dark. Some of us know what happened to us. Some don’t. Some have names for the monsters. Some only remember smells and hands and hymns.
Wedding planning in Hell, Kentucky.
God help us. No one can be serious for five seconds.
Cornbread drops a basket of cornbread triangles onto the long table with a flourish. “Regular, jalapeño, honey butter, bourbon bacon, and experimental.”
“What is experimental?” I ask.
He beams. “I put the burgoo in it.”
Derby stares. “That ain’t cornbread. That’s a casserole.”
Amelia laughs.
Cornbread points at her. “Panty La…”
Derby’s chair scrapes.
Cornbread changes course mid-word with impressive survival instinct. “Amelia. Miss Amelia. Woman with excellent underwear.”
The room loses it.
Even Legend laughs under his breath.
Amelia covers her face. “This is my life now.”
Brittany pats her arm. “Honey, around here, if they tease you, they like you. If they stop teasing, run.”
“That isn’t comforting.”
“No. Nothing is comfortable.”
I push the cornbread toward Amelia. “Try one. Then vote.”
She picks honey butter because she has sense. Derby reaches over and takes bourbon bacon. Their hands brush near the basket.
Both pause.
Not long.
Long enough.
Becki sees.
Her eyes sharpen.
Lottie sees.
Janie sees.
Brittany sees.
Legend sees and immediately looks irritated with the entire concept of male hands.
I clear my throat because if this room turns into matchmaking, Derby may leap through a window.