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varying heights had been used as decorations. Seeing them increased my anxiety over Delia’s dream.
    At the bar, I ordered a drink. A strong one.
    My father sauntered over. “After what I just witnessed, you might want to make it a double.”
    “Already did,” I said, thanking the bartender when he handed me the glass.
    Daddy curled an arm around me, pressed a kiss to my forehead, and threw Patricia a weary look. “Are you still considering marrying into that family?”
    My father, Augustus Hartwell, was an astute man who tended to cut straight to the chase on important matters.
    “There’s been no mention of marriage,” I said, watching Patricia laugh it up with Ainsley.
    Daddy harrumphed . “We both know it’s only a matter of when, but I do say that Patricia should be right glad your mama hadn’t witnessed what just happened.” His voice dropped to a deadly serious tone. “She might have pushed Patricia straight over that railing.”
    He sounded like he shared those same vengeful thoughts, which wasn’t like him at all. Daddy was a peaceful sort of man. Patricia’s spitefulness toward me had clearly worked its way under his skin.
    A surge of love for him swept over me, and I leaned up and kissed his cheek. “That would be quite the ruckus.”
    He patted my cheek. “That’s a fact. You know, part of your mama’s crazy plan for me to infiltrate the Harpies is to soften up Patricia with my abundant charm.” Puffing up, he straightened his bow tie. “Smooth waters for you to sail on into her life with Dylan at your side. I’m not sure your mama is aware what a challenge that might be.”
    So that’s how my mama had spun her scheme to him. No wonder he’d agreed to put himself through this humiliation. He’d do anything for me.
    I sipped my drink—an act of great control because I wanted to slam it back—and looked up at my father. “As charming as you are—and you are—smooth waters are not in my and Patricia’s future, Daddy. She just made that quite clear. So save yourself. Run. Run far away from this group and don’t look back.”
    His gaze softened. “Running isn’t going to solve anything, my darlin’ girl.”
    I knew. Oh how I knew.
    Daddy said, “True love is worth fighting for. If you want Dylan you have to figure out a way to make nice with Patricia. We all do.”
    It was something much easier said than done.
    I was still pondering that when Haywood Dodd strolled over and shook Daddy’s hand, then turned to me. “Aren’t you a sight to behold, Miss Carly. Much too beautiful to be wearing that frown. Is the drink not up to your liking? I can get you something else if you prefer . . .”
    Architect Haywood Dodd reminded me of Pierce Brosnan in his Mamma Mia! role , but without the accent or penchant for launching into song: Tall, dark hair threaded with silver, downturned blue eyes, classy, and wealthy. I knew from experience that those last two weren’t always mutually exclusive.
    Quick with a smile, he was warm and welcoming, and just a bit shy. He was more comfortable with his drafting table and architectural books than a crowd of people. But one-on-one, he was open and charming, funny and humble. It was easy to see why Hyacinth Foster, whose standards were notoriously high, had fallen for him.
    The band segued into a bluesy number, and I spotted a number of familiar faces, like my next-door neighbor Mr. Dunwoody; Hitching Post newcomer, Gabi Greenleigh; and one of my closest friends since we’d been knee-high, Caleb Montgomery. I mustered the smallest of smiles. “Thank you, Haywood, but it’s just fine. If anything, it’s not large enough.”
    His bushy brows furrowed, then he said knowingly, “Patricia?”
    I raised my glass in a mock toast. “Ding, ding.”
    Haywood, as a regular customer, knew my colorful history with Dylan’s mama. But truly, the whole town was aware. I had a feeling that there was probably a betting pool going on somewhere on which one of