Georgia’s POV
It was Sunday, my sacred lazy day, and all I wanted was to stay ho in pajamas, cuddled under a blanket with Nick and maybe a marathon of true-cri docuntaries. But no. Vicky had summoned everyone to her house for dinner.
When Vicky "summons," you go. She has that bossy-big-sister energy you can’t really say no to, but also because she has this charm that you would want to follow her.
"Why do you think she invited us over instead of dragging us to so restaurant?" I asked Nick as I blended my foundation carefully. He was behind , rummaging through his side of the closet like a man searching for lost treasure. "I an, she can cook, but it’s not exactly her thing."
"I think she and Oliver already talked," Nick said, distractedly holding up two shirts like he was presenting evidence. "And they’ll probably announce they’re back together."
Then he turned to . "Blue or gray?"
I didn’t even look. "White, babe. You look unfairly good in white at night. Wear that white sweater I bought you last week. Vicky said it’s casual, cozy vibes only."
"White sweater it is..." he said, tossing the other shirts aside. I swear, living with a man has taught two things: one, they own too few clothes, and two, they still manage to make a ss with them.
An hour later, we arrived at Vicky’s house. Predictably, everyone was already there.
I handed the fruit salad Wendy made to Vicky the second we stepped in. She accepted it with the sa expression she reserves for free pastries, delighted and suspicious at the sa ti.
"Where’s Katie?" she asked.
"She has school tomorrow. Wendy wanted to send the salad since they can’t co," I explained.
Vicky pouted, then looped her arm through mine like she was claiming . "That’s fine then. I’m just excited to announce our good news." She practically bounced as she hugged my arm and pulled toward the kitchen.
I laughed. "I think we have a pretty good idea what it’s about."
"Nope." She shook her head dramatically, hair swinging. "I am one hundred percent sure none of you could ever guess it."
Uh-huh. Sure. Because the glow on her face wasn’t obvious at all. The kind of glow only cos from two things: great sex, or being stupidly in love. And knowing her? Probably both.
"Everyone, please sit. Dinner is ready," Oliver called from the kitchen, wearing an apron like a proud ho cook in a comrcial. He was holding a dish carefully in both hands.
Nick imdiately swooped in. "Dude, are you even allowed to cook? Didn’t you just get that thing off?"
Oliver grinned and pointed at his shoulder. "As you can see, no more sling. The doctor removed it yesterday. I’m officially functional."
"Barely functional," Vicky muttered proudly from beside . "I did all the slicing."
Oliver lifted a finger. "But I did the cooking."
We gathered around the table — , Nick, Ella, Liam, Prudence, and Benjamin, and the ho-y chaos settled into that warm feeling of being surrounded by people who’d sohow beco family.
Dinner started, and within minutes, Prudence and Benjamin were already singing praises.
"Oh my goodness, Oliver," Prudence said, taking another spoonful. "Why didn’t you tell us you could cook like this? We would’ve made you do it ages ago!"
Benjamin nodded. "You sure you’re a lawyer? This tastes like soone who graduated from culinary school."
Even Ella and I exchanged glances over our plates.
"Are we sure this isn’t take-out?" Ella whispered dramatically.
"No," I whispered back. "Because there were actual pots in the sink. I checked."
Oliver laughed, embarrassed but glowing, while Vicky looked smug enough to power an entire city.
The room filled with soft clinks of cutlery, easy conversation, laughter breaking out at random monts.
It was chaotic. Loud. Imperfect.
And honestly, perfect.
Dessert ti rolled in with everyone rubbing their satisfied bellies, praising Oliver like he was a Michelin-star chef. Vicky practically glowed as she went to the fridge and pulled out Wendy’s fruit salad like it was the grand finale of a magic show.
"Okay, dessert is served!" she announced cheerfully as she placed the bowl in the center of the table. "Everyone, please take so!"
Prudence clapped her hands. Benjamin reached for the serving spoon. Ella was already eyeing the bowl like she hadn’t just inhaled two plates of dinner.
As Vicky started scooping generous portions for everyone, Benjamin cleared his throat loudly — the "father-about-to-make-a-big-announcent" kind of throat clear.
"Sweetheart," he began, leaning forward with that unmistakable fatherly enthusiasm. "Is this dinner... for a celebration?"
Vicky’s eyes sparkled. Oliver’s shoulders straightened. I swear I could feel the excitent vibrating off of them.
"Well... yes..." Vicky said, dragging the word out with a grin, "Oliver and I are—"
But Benjamin gasped and practically lunged across the table.
"YOU’RE BACK TOGETHER?!"
The whole table jumped.
Vicky burst out laughing. Oliver hid his face behind his hand, his shoulders shaking.
"Dad!" she said, giggling. "We have better news than that."
There was a split second of confused silence.
Then Vicky looked at Oliver.
Oliver looked at Vicky.
He reached out with his left hand, gently lifting her left hand, showing the rings on their fingers.
And together in perfect unison and absolutely no warning, they said...
"We’re married."
The world froze.
Dead. Silent.
You could hear atoms stop moving.
Liam, mid-scoop, stared like soone had hit pause on him. The serving spoon slipped from his fingers and hit the table with a loud CLINK that echoed like a gunshot.
Ella’s mouth dropped open so wide I thought her jaw might relocate.
Prudence and Benjamin both blinked rapidly, as if buffering.
My brain? Empty. Just a single blinking cursor.
Nick, who had been pouring water into my glass, also froze. Completely. Like a statue caught in the middle of a malfunction.
Unfortunately, the water... did not freeze.
It kept pouring.
And pouring.
And pouring.
Into my already-full glass.
Overflowing steadily.
Until it cascaded off the table...
...straight onto my skirt.
And onto Ella’s lap beside .
Reviews
All reviews (0)