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“Showtime,” he shouted.

Bodhi, Beck, and Bowen all looked at each other.

“Girls,” Ben said to his daughters. Bodhi’s mom pulled a bottle of whiskey out of a bag at her feet, and Beck’s mom pulled out a tray and arranged shot glasses.

“A toast,” Bodhi said, sounding confused. “How did you know we’d have something to celebrate?”

“There’s always something to celebrate,” Ben said, standing.

Bodhi’s mom began to pour more than two fingers.

“It’s going to become one of those types of parties,” Nico said. She hugged Lang. “We’re going to be sisters,” she said. “I always wanted a sister.”

“Me too,” Lang admitted. “And I always wanted a brother, and it looks like I scored one of those too. Did Bodhi tell you about his dad, his bio dad?”

“A little.”

Lang huffed. “I’m going to need a spa day and a vacation after today, but the secret’s out. He’s my half-brother, although his mom didn’t spell it all out yet. I think there’s going to be more than one heart-to-heart at the Bash tonight. Might take all night.”

“I have a lot of time,” Nico said, linking hands with Bodhi.

Nico looked over at Langston’s dad, who sat on the hay bale with a shot glass full of water. Servers had come out of the smaller equipment barn with trays of shots or whiskeys or apple juice and were quickly passing them out to the guests. Where did all this come from? Neither she nor Lang had worked on it. She hadn’t seen any boxes of whiskey shot glasses with the Three Trees brand and the year arrive during all the setup she’d done for the past few days.

Even the band had stopped playing.

“Thank you all for coming,” Ben Ballantyne announced, holding his shot glass aloft. “Marietta has always been my home, and it’s clear changes are afoot.”

“Oh no,” Bodhi whispered beside her, and Nico saw that Beck and Bowen looked equally tense.

“We’ve had some happy news today, and I’m deeply touched,” he said. “But what I really want to know is—” he looked hard at each of his grandsons “—do any of you want to play a game?”

Dead silence. Unease slithered through the crowd, a buzz of confusion, and Nico could feel Bodhi’s tension ratchet up.

“Granddad?” Bowen spoke for all of them.

“Not a bride game, although I do admit that has a flare that caught even me initially by surprise.” He nodded toward Bodhi. “You know I love irony. However, I prefer more long-term commitments. Games with intention.”

He looked at his three grandsons and their fiancées standing in front of him in a semicircle, and Nico felt like she was once again on a stage with the audience behind her. The moms flanked their father.

“I like games,” Bodhi’s mom said.

“We’ve always played them,” Beck’s mom said.

“And every Ballantyne worth his salt plays to win from the cradle,” Bowen’s mom said. “Wouldn’t you agree, Dad?”

“Definitely.” He looked at his grandsons, his gaze measured but calculated. He smiled, but for the first time, he looked crafty, and a frisson of nerves shivered through Nico. Her fingers tightened on Bodhi’s.

He squeezed back, comforting her, but his expression was serious, watchful, and his body coiled.

“I know this was your idea, Bodhi, and you’ve always been wicked smart, but I’m not sure you played it out to its natural conclusion.”

“Sir.” He didn’t deny anything.

“Most of the town is here.”

“As it is every year,” Bodhi responded.

“That means I got at least one judge. County clerk. And a preacher at my whim.”