“C. S. Lewis quote,” Sebastian said.

“Well done, Sebastian!”

How long was he going to be stuck holding the appetizer tray like a waiter?

“I’m just glad that you kept Polka Dot Apron Pies open here in Misty River,” Ben said. Penelope had converted a 1950s camper trailer into a food truck. For years she’d sold pie from her spot near Misty River’s downtown square. “I’m a huge fan of your apple pie.”

“Thank you! Does it taste the same as it always did now that Kevin’s managing the pie truck for me?”

“It does.”

Penelope looked pleased. “Kevin’s fastidious about following my recipes.”

“Are you still baking pies in Germany?” Natasha asked.

“I don’t have a storefront. But people on the base place orders with me, and I bake out of our kitchen. I’ve also been working on a cookbook.”

“I’ll buy the cookbook the moment it comes out,” Natasha vowed.

“She’s an incredible baker,” said Eli, who apparently couldn’t compliment his wife enough in public.

“Here’s to those of us who have significant others who know their way around food.” Genevieve lifted a meatball as if it were a champagne glass.

Sebastian couldn’t have cared less whether Leah knew her way around food. He could pay to have food delivered.

Sam called them over. Genevieve lifted the tray from him, and they found their place cards and took their seats.

Light gray clouds drifted lazily through a dark purple sky. Candles, pumpkins, and berries decorated the center of the table. The conversation flowed. Laughter expanded into the night.

Genevieve sat next to Sam, her hand draped over his elbow, her eyes sparkling at something he’d said. Sebastian had been concerned when Genevieve had turned her life upside-down like a bucket of golf balls and moved from her home in Nashville to Sam’s farm. In an effort to win back her mental and physical health, she’d stepped away from writing contracts, speaking engagements, and social media for the last ten months. She’d slowed the pace of her life.

It turned out that his concern had been misplaced. Genevieve had never looked better, never seemed more at peace than she did now.

As glad as he was for her, this dinner was giving Sebastian the same unsettling sense he’d experienced many times before when surrounded by cheerful people . . . the sense that he was an island, and the rest of them were an ocean, flowing around him. He was close to them, but he was separate, not a part of them in the same way that they were a part of one another.