Page 27 of Once Upon A Second Chance

God, I hate small towns.

One of the few really good restaurants in Mount Juliet is Vincenzo's, a dimly-lit Italian placewhere the red-checkered tablecloths haven't been changed since 1997 and the garlic bread is legally considered an addictive substance.

I'm adjusting my earring for the twelfth time when Richard's truck pulls up outside my house. He steps out holding a single daisy—not a bouquet, just one goofy flower with its stem wrapped in a paper towel.

"Ground Rule #2," he says solemnly. "No grand gestures. This is a medium gesture."

I snort. "It's literally a weed."

"No, it’s not. It's resilient," he corrects, tucking it behind my ear. His fingers linger near my temple. "Like someone I know."

The hostess grins like she's won the lottery when we walk in. "Y'all want the corner booth?" she stage-whispers. "Extra privacy?"

Richard opens his mouth.

"No," I cut in. "Normal table. Normal lighting. Normal human treatment."

Mandy sighs dramatically but seats us between a family of six and an elderly couple who immediately start whispering.

Richard leans across the table. "We could've had privacy."

I kick his shin under the table. "We're being watched by half the town already."

As if on cue, Old Man Jenkins raises his wine glass to us from across the room.

Two hours later, we've demolished a basket of garlic bread, eaten too much pasta, argued over the best Die Hard sequel (it's 3, you're wrong), and somehow landed on the topic of his divorce paperwork.

"...so Rebecca wanted the good silverware," Richard says, swirling his Chianti. "Which is insane, because we registered at Crate & Barrel."

I nearly spit out my water. "You had a registry?"

"My mother had a registry," he corrects, shuddering. "It included monogrammed napkin rings."

I'm laughing so hard my ribs hurt when the air suddenlychanges.

A shadow looms over our table.

Oh, no.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," growls a familiar voice.

I don't even have to look up. "Jesse."

My older brother stands there, arms crossed, looking like he's about to flip the table. His flannel is rolled up to show off his "I Will Fight Your Ex" forearm muscles.

Richard straightens. "Hey, man."

Jesse's glare could melt steel. "Hogan. You forget how to stay gone?"

The entire restaurant goes quiet. Even the kitchen staff has poked their heads out to watch.

I stand so fast my chair screeches. "Outside. Now."

The summer air is thick with humidity and unresolved sibling rage.

"What the hell, Jess?" I hiss.

He jabs a finger toward the restaurant. "That asshole left you crying for months—"