“So this fella at the luncheon today,” she said, “he would not take the hint. Bryn sidestepped him a couple of times, but he kept going after her like a bulldog with a rawhide. Flirting, compliments, double entendre, the whole shebang. It was almost enough to make me jealous, ’cept I know my gal better than that.”

Bryn’s cheeks reddened, and she swatted at Delia with her napkin. Delia grinned, swatting her right back.

“So then,” she went on, “she puts her left hand on her hip to show off her wedding ring. Like, she’s trying to be nonchalant about it, but…” She gestured, sticking her elbow up at an unnatural angle in imitation of Bryn. “It was so ridiculous! I thought I was going to keel over laughing. And he still didn’t get the message! So, finally, I came up to them to try to bail her out, and Bryn says real loudly, ‘Oh, Mr. Jørgensen, I’d like you to meet my WIFE.’ And he just looks from her to me and goes, ‘Ah. Shall we make it a threesome, then?’”

Mama D’s boisterous bellow of a laugh echoed off the high ceiling of the dining room. Bryn rolled her eyes. “Really, Delia, what kind of story was that for the dinner table?” Her voice was scolding, but her own laughter betrayed her.

Tamara caught my eye, our eyes locking for an intense second before hers crinkled with a grin and she dropped her gaze. After another second I lowered my eyes, too, and took another bite of chicken. I assume it was delicious, though I certainly couldn’t taste it.

“So, Isaak. How has it been at the dig site?”

Bryn’s question nearly made me choke on my rice. I shot Tamara a panicked look before clearing my throat, swallowing, and stammering, “Um... okay, y’know, good. Shells and fossilized teensy fish. Spider weeds. Dirt.” I laughed, trying to come off nonchalant. “Pretty boring, unless you like that kind of thing.” Well, I did like that kind of thing, but I wanted to get us off any line of discussion that might lead to the artifact currently residing in the basement.

“Tamara, sweetpea,” Mama D interjected, leaning over to refill my still-mostly-full water glass, “have you told Isaak about the museum opening yet? Star of the show here.”

Tamara ducked her head in embarrassment, her cheeks getting the faintest rosy tinge to them. “Mama, I’m not the star of anything.” She glanced at me quickly, then dropped her gaze to her lap.

“She did tell me a little,” I jumped in, eager for the change in subject. “Something about playing and singing at the opening?”

“Oh, more than that,” Bryn said. “She wrote all the music for the performance.”

I blinked and turned to Tamara. Her face was red as a tomato now. “Seriously? I didn’t know that! Tamara, that’s stellar!”