Chapter Thirty-Seven

Jen

 

When Beth said we had reservations for the rehearsal dinner, I didn’t expect that meant they reserved the whole restaurant. The charming little bistro was empty except for the tables pushed together to form an equals sign. Lighting was low and romantic, but like everything else Beth touched, never pretentious. The French countryside menu gave us elevated comfort food that suited the special occasion without being fussy, and everyone could find something they liked.

A car had been sent for and brought Dylan’s parents.

Lincoln showed up, too, and my dad.

Dad had sat next to Grandma.

Dylan’s parents were on his other side.

The two lines of tables were separated enough for waiters to bring food down the middle, but not so far that we couldn’t easily talk to the whole group. I’d never seen a big party setting like this, but it was ingenious to have the two halves facing each other instead of people needing to shout to the ends. Lincoln managed to grab a seat next to Michaela, so he’d be happy tonight.

Beth stood. “Welcome, everyone. If you haven’t met me, yet, I’m Beth Lindsey, friend of the bride and groom, host for the ceremony, bridesmaid, and wedding coordinator. We’d like to thank Dylan’s parents for coming out from Florida.” We clapped. “Jen’s mom and dad and grandmother are here, too. Wedding party, please raise your hands. This is Jacob and Bob, Mikey the best man, Hannah, and Shelley the maid of honor. We thank everyone for coming to celebrate Dylan and Jen’s nuptials. Order anything you like off the menu provided.”

She sat and Jake kissed her cheek.

Shelley stood. “Hi, I’m the maid of honor and Jen’s sister. This is my first time doing this and it’s been pretty cool, but the best part is seeing my sister happy. She went through some rough stuff before meeting Dylan and I don’t know how long she might’ve been sad up in her mountain house if it wasn’t for that Christmas Eve knock on her door. We haven’t spent a ton of time together, yet, Dylan, but thank you. Welcome to the family.” She sat. “That’s it.”

The party raised their water glasses in cheers.

“Aw, Shell.” I leaned over and hugged her. Mom’s eyes were glistening.

With everyone in place, the wait staff came to get drink and food orders, one for each table and going end to end. I would normally go for something like coq au vin or beef Bourguignon, but being pregnant, I hesitated on boozy dishes in case the alcohol wasn’t fully cooked off. I took no chances in this first trimester.

Shelley leaned toward me and whispered, “I don’t know what these things are.”

“Get the coq au vin. It’s chicken, you’ll like it.”

Finally, I chose Steak Diane and roasted vegetables. Dylan picked rabbit with onions and mushrooms that came with a side of skillet potatoes and cheese.

This was not a night for anyone on a diet.

French names made everything sound fancy, but much of the cuisine, especially the oldest stuff, were simple stews or roasts devised by farmers’ wives to use what was handy. Duck was too fatty for me personally, but I understood the general appeal, and Dad liked it. I heard him order cassoulet. Once the waiters passed me, I got up and moved to thank him for coming.

“You look lovely, Jennifer,” he said when I stopped at his side.

“Thank you.” I leaned closer to his ear and dropped my voice. “Are you and Gram okay sitting next to each other?”

“So far. We’re adults, honey, and tonight isn’t about the past.”

I straightened and smiled. “Good. Wasn’t Shelley’s speech nice?”

“Of course.” He glanced her way.

“Well, make sure to tell her. She’s been a great maid of honor so far.”

He nodded and I moved on, checking with other guests.

Michaela was next to Hannah and my friend was doing a decent job of drawing the girl out in an unfamiliar crowd. Lincoln’s elbow was on the table, his hand propping up his head as he tried to listen to their conversation. Poor guy. I was pleasantly surprised to see he’d left the biker jacket and jeans at home in exchange for a dark green shirt and black trousers. Even combed his hair back into something less rakish. Maybe if he was patient, she’d give him the time of day. A rockstar with a heart of gold could be a pretty awesome catch.

I returned to Dylan.

“I was just telling Mom and Dad where your cabin is in relation to ours, how small the world is,” he said when I rested my hand on his shoulder.

“Oh, yes, we’ve probably known some of the same people at different times. Dylan’s done a nice job of personalizing his cabin. We added some Christmas decorations just recently.”

“Has there been snow?” Mr. Smith asked.

“Only a little,” I replied.

“I hope you winterize the place if you don’t use it,” he said to Dylan.

“I have a maintenance man on retainer, remember, Dad? The cabin is in perfect working order. We were there a whole weekend this month.”

“Right. Good.” He finally lifted his gaze to me, his eyes the same color as Dylan’s. “So, Jane—”

“Jen.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a writer.”

He grunted. “Anything published?”

“Ten novels, sir, plus some short stories for anthologies.” Getting a short accepted is how I met my editor and got a contract.

“I’m in a book club,” Mrs. Smith said. She wore a gold lamé blouse that probably came from the ‘80s and blue eyeliner. “Last month was a Harlequin.” She stage-whispered the name, then giggled. “Do you write those?”

“No, ma’am. I’m in a different genre. Reading is one of the things that Dylan and I connected on,” I replied.

“Introducing him to the classics didn’t seem to do much good,” his father muttered.

Dylan’s muscles stiffened under my hand. “Hey, Dad, Lincoln, over there—his father’s a history professor.”

“Really?” Mr. Smith and I said in unison. Mr. Smith stood from his spot and left our conversation.

“Don’t mind your father,” Mrs. Smith said. “The hotel pillow wasn’t to his liking, so he rolled around all night. I loved the mattress, though, and the restaurant had a decent brunch buffet.”

“That’s good, Mom.”

“Can you flag a waiter to refill my Chardonnay?”

“I’ll do it since I’m standing,” I said.

Couldn’t people have happy conversations for one night?

I ran into—not literally—a waiter bringing bread baskets and passed on the wine request, then continued to the ladies’ room. First moment I had for a bathroom break since five-thirty.

Michaela was standing at the sink when I exited the stall to wash my hands. “Sorry.” She backed into the opposite wall. “Thanks for dinner. I could’ve taken an Uber home or something.”

“That isn’t how this family is wired. Is Hannah entertaining you?” I reached for a paper towel.

She smiled. “She’s nice. Yeah. You’ve all been nice. But if you want to take my meal out of the—”

“Nonsense.” I tossed the towel in the trash. “Beth asking you along has zero to do with your performance fee.” I’d thought upon first meeting that she was young, maybe a college kid, but seeing her in better light, I theorized now she was closer to my age. “Some people are okay with enabling the starving artist thing, but not us. We all had to work hard and pay our dues, so we’d never disrespect you like that.”

Her cheeks reddening, she averted her eyes. “Noted. Thanks. It was rough before the Christmas season kicked in. A lot of places hire live music that don’t bother the rest of the year, but there’s a lot of competition, too, so…” She sucked in a breath and straightened. “Guess we should get back out there.” She reached for the door handle.

“Hey…Michaela.” My next words came on instinct. “If you ever need a place to stay, like you’re between apartments—”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She flashed a small smile, then yanked the door open.

Damn. Maybe I overstepped. But it felt like she needed a lifeline of some kind.

Oh, well.

I returned to the table to see Dylan and his parents chatting with my parents and had a moment of wanting to turn around and come back later. But then platters of plates passed by me and my stomach gurgled. Feed me. At least dinner was a distraction.

I sat in my spot. Beth was across from me. The little furrow of her brow asked if I was okay. I nodded. She smiled. Hannah grabbed Michaela’s attention again.

My steak landed in front of me and my mouth watered. The fillet was drizzled in a pan sauce made with mustard, Worcestershire, and cream. So tender. The vegetables roasted in butter and herbs smelled amazing, too. The carrots were perfectly au dente and the Brussels sprouts had gotten sweet. I might’ve moaned.

“Enjoying yourself?” Dylan murmured.

“Shut up.”

His mother sniffed toward his meal. “Is that chicken?”

“Rabbit.”

“You eat bunnies?” Shelley said. “Dude.”

“Rabbits are livestock, too, Shell,” I replied. “Not just pets.”

“But they’re way cuter than a chicken.”

“Want a bite?” he offered, holding his fork upright. “Or are you scared.”

I hid my grin. My sister never resisted a harmless dare. She held out her hand.

Dylan winked at me while passing her the loaded utensil.

She made a deliberate show of putting the bite in her mouth and bringing the fork out clean. But then she chewed. “Dammit, it’s delicious.”

We laughed. Then he offered me a spoonful of his potatoes.

“Mm. So good.”

His eyes danced with humor. “Regretting your healthy veggies?”

“Healthy? They’re dripping in butter. And there’s more fat in my steak than your bunny.”

“We’ll burn those calories later,” he said only for me.

“Insatiable.”

“Always.” He dropped a kiss on my shoulder, then straightened in his chair.

Our friends across from us were grinning. Yeah, yeah.

Why do we have to tease anyone else who’s being romantic? Humans…

I glanced around the tables. Everyone was eating without hesitation. Thank you, Beth.

Every bride and groom hoped for the smoothest processes and friends and family getting along was part of that. While Dylan’s parents didn’t seem to want to be here much, they were civil—well, his mom was. His father had a bug up his butt about something.

Mom and Dad were getting along alright. You know how it is with divorced parents—sometimes it’s relaxed and sometimes it’s awkward—but I hadn’t seen signs of tension tonight.

Traditionally, rehearsal dinner dessert came with toasts, but we weren’t traditional. The groom’s family hadn’t hosted this and I wasn’t a first-time bride. The restaurant gave us a dessert menu. Never hearing of a frozen chocolate mousse before, I ordered it. There was also a pear tart and a spiced cake Buche de Noel, along with espresso, cognac, or a sweet liqueur.

The mousse was actually frozen and coated in dark ganache. The chef had sliced it thinly, then fanned out the slices and topped them with a dollop of whipped cream, a sliced strawberry, and a raspberry. It was so pretty, I snuck a photo of it before trying a bite.

OMG, chocolate.

“Babe, you’re getting inappropriate with your food again,” Dylan murmured in my ear.

My eyes went wide. “What?”

“You moaned.” Oh.

“Well, they say chocolate hits the same pleasure receptors as—”

“Oh my God, this chocolate thing is awesome. Jen, did you try yours, yet?” Shelley blurted out. I chuckled. My sister and her timing. “Mom, your pears were the wrong choice.”

“Darn tootin’,” Grandma said from down the table.

Mike and Hannah and Beth and Jake had the same dessert we did and looked equally in love. Celeste had paired the spice cake with cognac. Bob—interesting, was just drinking coffee. Lincoln and Michaela…hello. She fed him a bite of the pear tart and they were quietly debating the merits of their desserts. Maybe he’d get her number, after all.

A chair sliding to Dylan’s right drew my attention. His father had pushed back from the table. “It’s late,” his mother said.

“You’re leaving? Now?”

“We’re not kids anymore, dear.”

“Dad. It will take a while for the car to arrive,” Dylan said.

His father stood. “It’s outside. I called between dinner and dessert.”

Dylan stood, and then all attention was on them. “What is your problem?” he asked quietly, but heatedly. “You’ve acted like you want to be anywhere else from the moment I picked you up at the airport.”

I touched his arm. “Maybe this isn’t the time.”

He stepped out of my reach and met his father eye to eye. “I asked a question, Dad.”

Mrs. Smith wedged between them. “Now, now, boys…”

“Mom, I love you, but he owes me a reason for his rudeness.”

His father’s jaw ticked. “Fine. You want me to support your choices? I came because your mother wanted me to, but I don’t have to be happy about it.”

Dylan’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“This shotgun wedding! We all know you’re getting married fast because you knocked up this girl you haven’t even known a year. You want to be irresponsible, I guess you can afford it, but I don’t have to support your behavior.” He grabbed Mrs. Smith’s hand. “Come on.”

He saw the news from the concert.

“Jennifer?” my father said. Hurt and confusion and other things swirled about his face.

“DAD,” Dylan barked. They stopped at the door. He linked his hand with mine. “You know nothing. I asked Jen to marry me because I love her. Period. She’s the first person I want to see when I wake up and the last before I fall asleep.” He turned to me. “Seeing you come to life after the pain he put your through has been a privilege. You’ve not just made me better, you’ve become an essential part of this family, and I am so damn proud to call you wife in two days.” He looked to his parents again. “You have a chance to be part of this family, too, but it’s your decision. I’d like you to be there when I marry the love of my life, but if you aren’t, it’ll be you who is missing out. Not us. We’re rich in ways money can’t buy.”

I blinked against the wetness in my eyes. A tear started coursing down my cheek and he dashed it away with his thumb.

His mother had broken his father’s grip on her hand and her eyes showed feelings for Dylan I worried before she didn’t possess. His father’s face was still hard, but his eyes were downcast. He pushed the door open and left.

She looked between the men in her life until Dylan nodded.

She smiled sadly and followed his father.

My fiancé’s shoulders drooped. I hugged him, whispering, “I’m sorry.”

“Well, this is bloody awkward,” Jake said.