Dennis slurped light beer. “They leap to the ‘Irish Assumption,’ as I call it, when in actuality, many redheads are Germanic, even Italian in heritage. Of course, the Celts spread their seed across the ancient world.”

With a shiver, she wiped from her mind the image of Dennis spreading any kind of seed. His subsequent catalog of famous redheads who fought in the Civil War was interrupted when the food arrived. She thanked the gods of antipasti, ordered a cocktail, and dug in. Her spaghetti carbonara was as flavorful as Dennis was bland. She tuned him out, along with Jenn and Adam and the two men arguing about politics at a table two inches away. The twelve, brass wall sconces emitted a cozy glow, and tea lights illuminated each face, even Dennis’s, to its best advantage. Did Jonas eat every evening meal by lamplight, the flickering flame dancing in his deep-sea eyes?

Dennis rapped on the table. “Are you?”

The farm vaporized in a flash. “Am I what?” She sipped her cocktail. Turned out a sprig of rosemary was lovely in a beverage.

“Moving here in the fall?”

Jenn fed Adam a bite of meatball. “Yup. Lizzy needs a roommate in September, and I know Tess will love her. Right, babe?”

“Absolutely.” Adam nibbled Jenn’s neck.

Jenn swatted him with a napkin.

Tessa cleared her throat. “Well, I’m still working out my plans—”

“You’re coming here—that’s the plan.” Jenn nuzzled Adam’s cheek. “Tell Tessa that’s the plan.”

“That’s the plan, Tess,” Adam said.

At least, that’s what she thought he said. His face was buried behind Jenn’s ear. She loved her friend, but where a penchant for PDA was concerned, Jenn apparently hadn’t changed a bit. Tessa twirled a forkful of creamy pasta. “I had no idea bacon and eggs were so delicious on spaghetti. And here I thought marinara sauce was the only way to go.”

“You know, the origins of spaghetti carbonara are hotly debated.” Dennis gestured with his fork, and tomato sauce spattered the white tablecloth. “But the theories are anecdotal…”

She raised her cocktail to Jenn in silent toast.

“This discussion is not over,” Jenn mouthed back.

Shrugging, she nibbled her bread. “Is that right, Dennis?” She flashed a smile. “So, you’re a food historian as well as a Civil War reenactor?”