That would be five glasses for each of us.

Five glasses that have been more delicious with each refill.

Five glasses that have turned us slightly giggly, very silly, and completely anti-social. Everyone else around us is engaging in conversation while I’m turned toward Ryot, and he has one arm draped over my chair.

On occasion, his hand will caress my shoulder.

Every once in a while, I’ll press my hand to his thigh.

Gone is the mention of divorce, the awkwardness, the tension, and in its place, is just . . . friendship. Enjoyment. What feels like a distant memory of happiness I once felt but am truly feeling now.

“Then what would be an even trade?” he asks.

I glance down at his plate that he has torn apart. The cleat cheese, a cracker, and an olive are all that’s left.

Not much to choose from.

“Your cracker. I want it.”

“I was saving that cracker,” he says, chin tilted in defiance.

“What were you saving it for?”

“I was going to dip it in my white wine.”

“Dip the cracker into your wine?” I hiss whisper. “Ryot, you realize we’re surrounded by the upper crust of people. They don’t dip crackers in wine.”

“They might.”

“They don’t,” I reply.

“Maybe.”

“Guaranteed, they don’t.” I reach for the cracker, but he slaps my hand away.

“Keep your sticky paws away from my cracker.” And to my horror, he lifts his knife to his wineglass and clangs it against the surface, drawing everyone’s attention.

He stands tall from his chair and says, “I would like to ask the room a question.”

“Someone is enjoying his wine,” Banner says, sitting back in his chair, nearly falling out. He grips the table and chuckles. “Whoa, maybe I am too.”

Ryot lifts his cracker up and shows it off to the room. “Who here would dip this in their white wine?”

I tug on Ryot’s pants and whisper, “You’re drunk. Sit down.”

“I would,” JP says, rising from his chair.

“So would I,” Breaker says, rising as well. All three of them holding up crackers.

“And so would Huxley,” Lottie says, nudging him to stand.

“No, I wouldn’t,” he says back to her.

“Huxley, they’re clearly enjoying some sort of man bond, so pull the stick out and get in there.” Rolling his eyes, Huxley rises as well.

“I’ll dip,” Banner says.

“So will I,” Kelsey’s stepdad, Jeff, says.

“Then, men, we shall dip,” Ryot says, lifting his cracker into the air.

Oh boy . . .

Chapter Eighteen

MYLA

Six years ago . . .

“You are completely useless,” my mom screams at me before she slams the door to the guest bedroom that I’ve been sleeping in since she called to tell me my dad had died.

Once she coldly delivered the news, Ryot rushed me to my mom’s house, where she explained that he had a heart attack and never recovered. Three days before she called me.

Three!

I asked her why she didn’t call me sooner, and she said because she didn’t think I needed to know.