“I swear to god,” Diego says, “the new interns, they don’t know how to sign a document.”

“Ours bitch that they can’t read my handwriting. Fucking children.” Conor shakes his head. Then glances at me. “No offense.”

“None taken.” I smile sweetly. Under the table, I squeeze my hand around his thigh. “Feel free to start discussing how much lower your testicles have been hanging of late.”

Avery spits out her wine. Sul is very close to choking on his cheese cube, so I pat him on the back as I head to check on Nyota, who’s huddled with Tisha.

“Okay, so.” Tisha lifts her fingers and starts counting. “First of all: fuck. Second: shit. Third: goddamn.”

“I was expecting you to continue with the alliterations.” Nyota looks at me, shaking her head. “An all-you-can-eat source of disappointment, my sister.”

“What happened?”

“We’re in trouble,” Tisha explains. “Our parents just told us that they’re no longer flying in. And they were in charge of bringing the present I bought for Rue, this supercute emerald necklace that looks like a leaf. What am I supposed to give her now?”

“I could lend you the trilegged magnet Maya got me,” Nyota offers.

“Oh, shut up. What are you giving Rue?”

“A follow. On Instagram.”

I whistle. “Lucky girl.”

“I know.” Nyota sips her rosé. “But it’s only on a trial basis. The first time she posts a picture of a mountain range with an inspirational quote superimposed, I’m blocking her.”

“You’re safe with Rue,” I reassure her.

“Do I get a follow, Ny? I’m your goddamn sister.”

“Not online, you aren’t. Not until you start curating your profile. For the love of baby toddler Jesus, stop using hashtags like it’s 2014.”

I’m worried about Rue, so I go search for her. The main building of the winery has a lovely porch-like balcony that wraps around it. I walk to the back of it, and that’s when I find her: sitting at a bench in the vineyard below, facing Mount Etna as the oranges and reds slowly trickle out of the uppermost crater. Eli is with her, one arm wrapped loosely around her waist.

“God,” I mutter.

“What?” Conor asks. Somehow, his sudden appearance doesn’t startle me.

“Look at them. They love each other a cringeworthy amount. They just want to be married, and the damn underground magma is not dense enough to let them.”

“Isn’t it the opposite?”

“What?”

“Isn’t the underground magma too dense?”

“The magma has to have enough buoyancy to rise to the surface.”

“I thought the main factor was gas bubbles that…” He shakes his head. Chuckles as he leans forward, palms against the railing.

“What?”

“I can’t believe I was arguing over fluid dynamics with you.”

“Neither can I. Shall I school you on the Nasdaq?”

“And on my low-hanging testicles, too.” He looks at me sternly, desperately trying to pretend he didn’t enjoy the way I called him out. I sit against the railing, facing him, to make it even harder on him.