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I can’t help it. I laugh, his uncharacteristic excitement tickling my sides. “I feel like you should aim higher.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Samuel replies. “Now let’s eat these oysters before they get cold.”

I glance at the bivalves in question. “They do look good. Any sauces to go with?”

“Better without sauce,” Nate and Samuel say in unison. They look at each other in surprise, and I bite back a smile.

“Nate might be as much of a foodie as you are, Samuel,” I say. “He makes me dinner. A lot. And then he makes me—”

“Don’t do it,” Samuel growls.

“I was going to say he makes me dessert too.”

Samuel cuts me a glance. “No, you weren’t.” Then he looks at Nate. “What’s your dish?”

“My dish?”

“The thing you make to get laid.”

“Now who’s the pervert?” I murmur.

Nate doesn’t even have to think before he answers. “Pork tenderloin roasted with apples and shallots. I serve it over a bed of mashed potatoes and parsnips with a side of sautéed greens—usually kale or collards.”

He meets my gaze, and my heart skips a beat. Does he know that’s my favorite meal? The one he made the night he left? We didn’t even get to eat it.

His brown eyes are imploring. Full. A promise he’ll make it again, this time without the heartbreak?

“Hm,” Samuel says, and at that moment I really could punch my brother. But I know he’s trying, and it’s time to eat, so I go to grab a plate, but Nate beats me to it, loading it up before handing it over to me.

From that moment on, I never have an empty plate. Nate somehow manages to keep an eye on it while he chats amiably with everyone. Well, everyone but Samuel and Beau. But my two oldest brothers do stick around, and they listen quietly as Nate answers Mom’s questions and asks some of his own about Amelia, Stevie, and Bel.

The oysters are delicious. I generally prefer them raw, but they take on this smoky sweetness when they’re roasted, perfectly tender and warm. Nate and Samuel were right—the oysters definitely don’t need sauce or even a saltine. They’re perfect just scooped right out of the shell.

I fall a little more in love with Nate when he pulls out the chair for my mom at the dinner table, and even more when he goes back for seconds, and then thirds, of smoked turkey.

“Your Romeo’s an eater,” Samuel murmurs, shoveling the last of the cornbread dressing on his plate into his mouth.

“As a woman of appetite, it’s one of the things I appreciate most about him,” I reply.

Samuel nods at the centerpiece, which came out beautifully. “Nice work.”

“Nate helped me gather all that greenery from his property while we were on a hike the other day.” I reach across the table for Mom’s famous mashed potatoes and scoop a big old pile onto my plate.

Samuel pauses, fork midair. “Since when do you hike?”

“Since now.” I smile, slipping my own fork into my mouth. It’s all I can do not to groan. Carbs plus butter plus salt plus sour cream equals bliss.

I savor the flavors for a full minute instead of making conversation or rushing to clear the table. I just sit and enjoy and meet eyes with my Romeo beside me, whose face is flushed in the most adorably boyish way possible.

Finishing the potatoes, I reach for the dram of whiskey beside my wineglass. I sip and savor that too, quiet as I let my mind wander.

My Romeo.

My hot as hell, redheaded Romeo.

“Oh my God,” I say, and grab Nate’s forearm.

Annabel looks up from her plate, clearly alarmed. “What is it?”

“Something not taste right?” Samuel asks, brow furrowed with real concern. “I knew I shoulda put more vinegar—”

“I’ve got it,” I say. “The name for the new whiskey.”

Nate chews thoughtfully before wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Well, that was fast.”

“I’m that good.”

“You are,” he replies with a grin.

“‘Redheaded Romeo.’”

His face immediately lights up. “I dig it.”

“That’s freaking perfect,” Amelia is saying. “It’s smart and sexy, and the Shakespeare reference is just too damn clever. Get it? Y’all have this little ancient grudge thing going on—”

“Oh, we get it,” Mom says with a laugh.

I look at Nate. “Maybe acknowledging the ancient grudge in the name of your whiskey will help us put the damn thing to bed already.”

“I really dig it,” he replies.

Beau nods from his spot across the table. “High time that happened.”

“So let’s make it happen,” I say. “Right here, right now. Let’s put down our swords and name this delicious, expertly crafted whiskey Redheaded Romeo so the feud isn’t a feud anymore but an inside joke. A wink at the history that no longer defines us.”

My plan is met with silence. Emma and Stevie exchange a glance. Hank elbows Samuel none too discreetly, whose gaze flicks between Nate and me like he half expects us to reveal we’ve poisoned everyone’s food Friar Lawrence style.