She throws me a knowing grin. It’s bright and genuine, and it makes a rush of something thunder through my veins.

When I glance up, I see Jean-Claude coming toward us.

“Going to get myself a pair of shoes,” Bea mumbles, slipping away.

Not quite ready to face my betrayer, I turn to my bag, sit down, and lace up my bowling shoes. I sense Jean-Claude watching me, but knowing lying isn’t a forte of mine, I remain quiet, waiting for him to make the first move.

“You brought your own,” he says.

I glance up, laces in hand. “Of course I brought my own. Don’t get me started on the dubious hygiene of shoe sharing.”

He clears his throat. “How are things with Bea?”

I stand. “You mean the woman you tricked me into dating?”

“Oh, come on. ‘Tricked’ is a little strong. More like—”

“Manipulated?”

“I was going to say ‘maneuvered.’ ” He shrugs. “Either way, you’re here with her, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Jean-Claude. I’m here with her.” I search the bowling balls next to us, on the lookout for a good fit for Bea. She’s not short, but she’s not tall, either. She needs the right size for her grip. There’s hot pink, classic black; then I find one that’s marbled—cream with swirls of aqua, coral, and canary yellow, the colors of the little flowers on her dress tonight. I select that one.

Just as I peer up, Bea strolls back with her shoes to a chorus of balls connecting with pins. She has a fast, no-nonsense stride that makes me smile for no good reason. Eyes narrowed, arms swinging, she’s off in thought somewhere else.

“I know that look,” Jean-Claude says.

“What look?” I mutter, eyes still on her.

“The look of a man falling hard,” he says, as if I should know this. “You don’t have to play it cool with me, West. I know how alluring a Wilmot girl is.”

“Woman,” I correct him.

He waves a hand. “What difference does it make?”

I’m distracted from answering him as I watch Juliet approach Bea when she sits, then roughly kicks off her boots and slips on her bowling shoes. Juliet speaks to her, and Bea’s shoulders hitch higher as her sister continues. When she glances my way, her expression is tight. I have no idea if this means she wants me with her or not, but I’m erring on the side of caution.

“Excuse me,” I tell Jean-Claude.

In a few long strides I’m next to Bea, bringing the conversation to a standstill. Awkward silence stretches between the three of us.

“Here.” I offer Bea the marbled ball. “Juliet.” I nod to her sister.

Juliet looks at me intently. “Hi, West.”

“You brought me a ball?” Bea asks.

“Yes. It should be the right size, but give it a try.”