MUSIC STREAMED OUT of the juke, beer poured from taps, and voices filled a space empty too long. Family and friends mixed and mingled over appetizers, sat and talked, talked, talked over entrées. And lifted glasses in toast to MacT’s.

Avery bustled from kitchen to dining room to bar and back, a redheaded dervish in a short green dress with a bubblegum ring bouncing from a chain around her neck.

Hope finally stopped her with a hard hug.

“It’s really good,” Avery told her. “Is it really good? We’ve got some glitches.”

“It’s really good, and they don’t show.”

“We’re working them out. Candles on the tables, music, good food. Good friends.”

“You hit the target, Avery, dead center. Just like you did with Vesta. You can expect to pack them in, day after day, night after night.”

“We’re booked solid for dinner tomorrow, and the day after. Did you see how people are stopping to look in the windows?”

“I did.”

“Look, Clare and Beckett are dancing, and my dad’s talking to Owen and Ryder at the bar. That’s my bar, you know.”

“It is indeed. And a beautiful bar it is.”

“And that’s my boyfriend sitting on one of my bar stools. He’s so cute. I think I’m going to marry him and live happily ever after.”

“I guarantee it. I’m so happy for you, Avery. So proud of you.”

“Everyone who matters to me is here, right here in this place. In my place. It doesn’t get better. Go, sit and have a drink. I need to check on some things.”

Don’t mind if I do, Hope thought and walked to the bar and Ryder. He slid off his stool, waved at it when she gave him a puzzled smile.

“Take it. Your ankles have to be crying by now.”

“My ankles are steel, but thanks.” She slid on.

“Give her some of that champagne you’ve got,” he told the bartender. “You look like champagne tonight.”

“Thank you. You look pretty good yourself.”

“I’m no Willy B.”

In his dark three-piece suit and polka-dot tie, Willy B flushed. “Oh now.”

“Where’s Avery?” Owen demanded.

“She went to check on something.”

“She needs to sit down for five minutes, whether she knows it or not. I’ll take care of it.”

When Owen walked off, Willy B smiled into his beer. “He sure loves my girl.” He sighed, looked around the bar. “Look what she did. My little girl. What you all did,” he amended and tapped his glass to Ryder’s.

“She’s the machine.”

“I’m going to go tell her I’m proud of her.”

“Again,” Ryder commented when Willy B lumbered off. “He’s not especially drunk, just really happy.”