“Um, I don’t know.” I rarely drink wine unless at Cora’s house for a dinner party or at the Seagrove Lake Club for one of the Sullivan’s charity events, and then, I always take what they hand me. “Surprise me.”

She smirks at the challenge and contemplates the bottles.

Carmela presents a plate with two meat-filled, crunchy tacos. “Help yourself to all the toppings, chips, and dips.”

The island is crowded with condiments and dips: seven-layer, bean, queso, cheese, avocado, and fresh salsas of every variety, with little index cards indicating what they are and their spice level. Tiny splotches of tomatoes, chip crumbs, and cheese drizzles dot the granite surface between dishes, revealing that the family has already been through the line.

“So, um, how often do you guys have game night?” I ask, piling veggies on my tacos.

Grady helps himself, moving around his mother and sampling as he goes.

“Once a month,” Carmela answers, her eyes darting to a huge wall calendar near the fridge. It’s jam-packed with Sharpie-marked events. Zoe’s horse shows. Zach’s soccer matches. Trivia night at Rebellion. Birthdays. Anniversaries. Book clubs. Church events. I can’t find one empty space.

“Wow, you’re a busy family.”

Elena hands me a long-stemmed wine glass. “I went with red. You are a red, after all.”

“It’s a mutation,” I blurt before taking a gulp. Why am I so freaking nervous all of a sudden? “My hair. It’s a genetic mutation.”

Grady eyes me curiously, his lips twitching in a smirk.

“Oh, that’s… I didn’t know that,” Carmela says.

“Um, thanks for the wine and dinner.” I tip my glass toward them. Elena stands next to Carmela on the other side of the island, both seeming to scrutinize me.

Willow strolls in, smiling. “Your aura is lighter today, Marnie. That’s nice to see.”

“Oh, thanks.”

Zoe and Zach race in, bumbling around Grady for more chips and gloating about how they just stomped their grandfather in Farm-opoly, an irony since he’s the farmer.

I take another long sip of wine, wondering how long before the alcohol will mellow me out. It makes no sense to feel so anxious around these wonderful people.

But these aren’t my people. And this isn’t my stomping ground.

Colin weaves into the kitchen, shuffling around Grady and rounding up his kids. “Oh, Marnie, do you know if Ashe is still buying that house?”

I almost choke on tacos. “House?”

“The four-bedroom place near his parents?” Colin clarifies so matter-of-factly that I first think he’s confused his clients. Ashe has a condo near the beach and no house plans, as far as I know. We discussed buying a house later, once we settled into our store manager positions and found a good middle ground between them.