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svelte, golden-tanned California beauty, but she had a problem holding her water, and she was almost always excited about something. So this sort of declaration was nothing out of the ordinary, and Savannah wasn’t worried.
    But sitting beside the squirming, effervescent Tammy was Waycross Reid, Savannah’s younger brother. And it was pretty obvious by the red flush on his freckled cheeks that he wasn’t accustomed to such earthy candor—at least, not on the part of females. Recently, he had immigrated to San Carmelita from a small, conservative, rural town in Georgia, and he still got embarrassed easily. One mention of any basic bodily function in mixed company and his face would turn the same color as his ginger mop of curls.
    Savannah found it one of his most endearing qualities. As far as she was concerned, the ability to blush was a virtue all too rare in modern society.
    â€œHow about you?” Savannah asked him.
    â€œNaw. I took care of business before we left the house.”
    Savannah laughed. “I was asking if you’re excited.”
    â€œOh. Well, sure. Who wouldn’t be?” he replied, rearranging the napkin on his lap for the tenth time.
    Waycross was always a bit uneasy at gatherings of any kind. Thus far, his life hadn’t included very many formal, or even informal, social events—except high school football games and their hometown’s annual barbecue cook-off.
    While Savannah had enjoyed those activities herself in days gone by and missed them from time to time, she was glad to see her little brother branching out a bit. It was good for him.
    She took a quick glance around the packed restaurant. Every seat was filled and waiters scurried from table to table, taking orders. Meanwhile, Ryan and John moved calmly and with great poise among their guests—ever the charming hosts.
    As Savannah soaked in the ambiance, she took a moment to enjoy the room itself. She could see both of her friends’ tastes reflected in its décor.
    John’s love of the old British gentlemen’s clubs showed in the reclaimed, antique brick walls; the enormous gilt-framed mirrors; and the leather club chairs with their nailhead trim that had been placed invitingly in front of the lit fireplace in the waiting area. Like Ryan’s and John’s home, there were bookshelves everywhere, lined with beautiful old books and interesting artifacts they had collected from their world travels.
    She could see Ryan’s contemporary touches here and there, as well. She was sure he had chosen the amazing water feature behind the bar. It was a large, continuous slab of exquisite green slate, lit from above, with water cascading over its surface downward into a line of flickering flame.
    To Savannah, just being here, inside the physical manifestation of their combined dreams, felt like being hugged by both of those glorious men at once. And she reveled in the warm and loving sensation that evoked.
    Then, to think that she was actually going to get to eat the famous Chef Baldwin Norwood’s scrumptious food in this magnificent setting . . . it was almost more than she could stand.
    But she wasn’t the only one thinking about food.
    Waycross leaned closer to her and said, “If this supper’s even half as good as that tasting thingamajig the other night, we’re about to be treated to a humdinger of a spread.”
    Sitting beside Savannah, Dirk grumbled something under his breath.
    â€œWhat was that?”
    Savannah was almost afraid to ask. Dirk wasn’t shy about making inappropriate comments, and the ones he mumbled to himself were often the worst.
    â€œI just said we wouldn’t know about that tasting thingamajig, ’cause we were protecting and serving and all that good stuff.”
    Tammy gave him and Savannah her most sympathetic smile. “And we’re so proud of you for it, too,” she gushed. “You got those horrible people off the