One side of his mouth lifted in a smile that couldn’t decide whether to be boyishly charming or wickedly sexy. “I’m definitely not an angel.”

Goodness, was he flirting with her? Her silly heart raced at the thought. “I believe that.”

“Smart girl.”

Night was falling, shadows deepening across the grass. Candles and torches were lit, adding warm illumination to the luster of a new moon and the light from a sprinkling of stars. The piano player was into waltzes and love songs and Tiffany longed to be with Philip and away from his brother. Whereas Philip was strong and silent, a man whose patience and understanding added to his allure, this man was all pent-up steam and energy, a man who would have trouble finding satisfaction in life.

“So when’s the big day?” J.D. asked. He fished into his breast pocket for his cigarettes again. Shaking the last one out, he crumpled the empty pack in one hand.

“Excuse me?” She began to pick up empty plates and cups since it was time to shut down the tent.

“Your wedding day. When is it?”

“We haven’t decided.”

He clicked a lighter to the end of his filter tip. “Doesn’t sound like Philip. He has his life planned down to the last minute. He’s probably already picked out his cemetery plot.”

She cringed inside. That much was true. Philip balanced his checkbook to the penny, filled his gas tank when the needle hit the one-quarter mark, wore his suits by the days of the week and, as far as she could tell, his only vice was that he liked to gamble a little. But just a little.

“Philip would like to get married before Christmas,” she said, then instantly regretted the words as J.D. surveyed her with eyes that called her a dozen kinds of fool.

“For tax purposes?” He sucked in a lungful of smoke.

Because we’re in love, she wanted to cry out. The tent was too dark, too close, and Philip’s younger brother too . . . male—the kind of male a smart girl avoided like the plague. “It makes sense.”

“Does it?” He gave her a last once-over and tipped his head. “Good luck. I think you’re gonna need it.”

“I doubt it.”

“You haven’t lived with my brother yet. I grew up with him.” He sauntered away and spent some time talking to the bartender while, disdaining his family, he got himself a bottle of beer rather than the traditional Santini glass of wine.

She watched as he found a tree to lean his shoulders against, then smoked and slowly sipped his drink as night fell.