With a sigh that may have held the barest whiff of envy, Mia looked down into her wine. “Come on. I’ll buy you a drink.”

Zack bided his time. He talked with the other guests, danced with the ladies, shared a celebratory beer with Carl. He listened with apparent interest to village complaints and scrutinized the alcohol intake of anyone who held car keys.

He watched Nell serve food, chat with the guests, replenish pots staying warm over little cans of sterno. What he observed, he thought, was a blooming.

He started to ask if he could lend her a hand, then realized it was laughable. Not only did he have no clue what needed to be done, but she so obviously needed no one’s help.

As the crowd thinned out, he drove a few celebrants home himself, to be on the safe side. It was nearly midnight before he felt his own duties were dispatched and he could hunt Nell up in the kitchen.

Empty trays were stacked neatly on Gladys’s marbled white counter. Serving bowls were nested. The sink was filled with soapy water that sent up little fingers of steam, and Nell was systematically loading the dishwasher.

“When’s the last time you were off your feet?”

“I lost track.” She slid plates into slots. “But the fact that they’re killing me makes me incredibly happy.”

“Here.” He held out a glass of champagne. “I thought you deserved this.”

“I certainly do.” She took a quick sip before she set it aside. “All these weeks of planning, and it’s done. And I have five, count them, five appointments for jobs next week. Did you know Mary Harrison’s daughter is getting married next spring?”

“I heard that. To John Bigelow. Cousin of mine.”

“I have a shot at catering it.”

“I vote you put those meatballs of yours on the menu. They were really tasty.”

“I’ll make a note of it.” It felt so good to be able to plan ahead. Not just a day or a week, but months ahead. “Did you see the way Gladys and Carl danced together?”

She straightened, pressing hard on the aching small of her back. “Thirty years, and they were dancing on the patio, looking at each other like it was the first time. It was the best moment of the night for me. Do you know why?”

“Why?”

She turned to him. “Because them dancing together, them looking at each other the way they were, was what this was all about. Not decorations or pretty lights or cocktail shrimp. It was about people making a connection, and believing in it. In each other. What would have happened if either one of them, all those years ago, had stepped back or turned away? They’d have missed dancing on the patio, and everything in between.”

“I never got to dance with you.” He reached out, skimmed his fingers over her cheek. “Nell—”