Page 33 of Merlot Marriage

“Nothing.” Ophie straightens, conspicuously ignoring me while she scoops curry and a samosa onto her plate. “Sydney, would you grab me a piece of the naan?”

She rips a chunk of the flatbread off, bits of garlic flying into the air and landing on the counter, the bread glistening with melted butter. Instead of handing it to Ophie, she holds it near her mouth. “This naan?”

“Hand it over.” Ophie rolls her eyes, hand outstretched. I’m not going to lie, watching my wife scold a grown woman is hotter than I expected. Of course, that could just be because I suddenly can’t stop thinking about how much I want to kiss her again.

The Adams/Moore clan descending on us was not in my plan for the evening.

“Speaking of the commute…” Maggie pipes up from the couch. Kel looks up from his spot beside her on the couch, not making eye contact. Maggie glances at him, then lightly slaps his arm. “Don’t be ridiculous. My name is still on the lease.”

Ophie backs out of the kitchen, abandoning me to Sydney. “What’s up?”

“Well, I was thinking, if you don’t mind, Ophie…Since the drive out here from Sunshine is not exactly fun, maybe on the weeks Olive is at her mom’s, Kel and I might stay here? Just until we find somewhere of our own closer.”

“You guys want to stay here. Together?” Ophie repeats, eyes darting my way.

“Well, as beautiful as it is, we don’t really want to keep living out at Sunshine since Kel isn’t working there anymore. And he starts class so early—he likes to get there by seven thirty—and I have client meetings. It would be nice not to have to get upquiteso early sometimes.” Maggie cuts herself off when she shovels a huge bite of curry into her mouth, peering hopefully over the edge of the plate.

“Uh. Sure?” Ophie takes a seat at the small four-seat table, pulling out the chair beside her with a meaningful glance in my direction. “Like you said, your name is still on the lease. And apparently, Philip is going to go stay at Sunshine, so feel free.” She shrugs before turning her attention to her plate of food.

I shove my samosa in my mouth, chewing as I move to sit beside her. Leaning close as I sit, I bump her knee with mine. “You could always come stay out at the winery with me.”

“What was that?” Maggie’s mouth is full of rice, muffling her words.

“Nothing,” I say before Ophie can. “Just that we seem to be playing musical houses. Maybe we can get a discount on a moving van.”

Maggie takes over the conversation, teaching me more than I ever wanted to know about pregnancy. I thought it was bad when Nicola was pregnant, but at least she didn’t share her gastrointestinal distress stories while eating curry, of all things.

Any chance I had of getting Ophie back into my bed again fizzles away with each story Maggie tells. Sydney keeps refilling our glasses, making it hard to keep track of how much I’ve had to drink. My head is buzzy and delightfully unfocused by the time Kel slaps his hands on his thighs and pushes to his feet.

“We should go, Sprinkles. I have class tomorrow. Plus, I promised to help Nate fix the tractor once I get home.” A grimace contorts his face as he pulls Maggie to her feet. “Don’t suppose you’re handy with equipment, are you?”

“Sorry, if I can’t fix it with a wink and a smile, I’m no good to you, man.” I tip my almost-empty glass in his direction. “You good to drive?”

“Yeah, I only had the one glass,” he calls over his shoulder. “Maggie drove, anyway.”

I glance at the three empty bottles on the kitchen counter. He only had one glass?

“Designated driver for the next six months. Take advantage while you can.” Maggie laughs, slinging her purse over her shoulder. She stops to hug Ophie, then Sydney, before joining Kel at the door. “See you tomorrow, roomie,” she adds as they leave.

“Did she mean me or you?” Ophie asks, gathering up the dishes on the coffee table. When I move to help, she pushes me back onto the couch and shakes her head.

“Does it matter?” Sydney mutters, her head flopped on the back of the easy chair she’s commandeered. “Fucking Nate.”

“Why do you hate him so much?” I probably wouldn’t have asked her if I wasn’t buzzed, but the question pops out before I stop to think about whether or not I should be asking it. Ophie rinses dishes in the sink, the clatter of cutlery and glasses drowning out my conversation with Sydney.

She humphs, lazily swirling the half inch of wine left in her glass, her arm dangling over the side of the chair. For the firsttime tonight, I’m not trying to watch Ophie in my peripheral vision and finally take a good look at Sydney.

Her hair is pulled up in a tangle on her head, and I can’t tell if the black smudges under her eyes are makeup or not. But either way, she looks a little rough.

She rolls her eyes and drains the last of her wine. “Because he’s an asshole.”

“No arguing there. But you seem to hate him a little extra.”

“Do I need a reason?” She turns her glare on me. Her eyes have that slightly unfocused look of someone who’s been drinking heavily. Mine probably match, if I’m honest.

I shrug. “I guess not. It just seems personal.”

“It is.”

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