“You obviously like this woman,” he said then. “Why don’t you date her?”

Unable to explain my insecurities to my little brother, who has his shit to deal with, I said, “It’s dinner. Not a big deal. Would you like a chance or not?”

“Hmm, she’s hot, and you’re an idiot,” he answered. “I’ll be there.”

Now, as Gil pours the wine and Marigold arranges the game, it feels too late to stop it. I tend to dinner, back and forth to the grill outside—at least they’ll get a good meal out of this—while they chat over her game. It must be fun because the room fills with laughter as they play, and she cheers them on.

Waiting for the roasted vegetables to bake, I grab the wine and refill their glasses before getting one for myself. I sit with them in the living room, just as Marigold and Gil’s game ends.

He wins. Marigold stifles her disappointment, moving aside for Marina to take her place. She fake-cracks her knuckles over the rustic board, challenging him with a villainous grin.

“Don’t worry, Marigold. I’ll avenge you,” she says.

“Only because she knows all the answers,” Gil protests. “I’ve never met a game maker before. This is really cool.”

She shrugs sheepishly. “Thanks.”

“You were always creative,” Gil says. “I loved your sets for SOM.”

“SOM?” I cut in, desperate to be included.

“The Sound of Music,” he says. “The musical we worked on together in high school. Marnie constructed backgrounds out of recycled bottle tops.”

“The hills were alive with Mountain Dew caps,” she sings with a giggle.

“One of my favorite things,” he hums. “Oh, that and wine corks.”

“Yes, it was surprising to discover how many bottles of wine Seagrove goes through in a month,” she returns.

“Probably still not enough,” he jokes, clinking his glass with hers and making her laugh.

I hate this.

“I must’ve been away at school. I don’t remember seeing that one,” I say.

“Yeah, you weren’t there. A good thing, probably.” His grin falls as his eyes cut to hers across the board. Worry flashes across her face at whatever memory they share, and he recovers with, “I mean, we were behind the scenes.”

“Yeah, and everyone’s seen SOM,” she tacks on weakly.

“You didn’t miss anything,” he says, assuring me that the opposite is true.

I know to drop it—Marina doesn’t want to talk about it. And I don’t want to make her more uncomfortable. Or more upset.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” I say before retreating to the kitchen again. From there, I see Marina mouth the words thank you over their game, and he gives her a reassuring smile.

Not only do they have history, they now have a thing between them that I’m not privy to.

I really fucking hate this.