Instead, Jenny had whooped and announced she'd won the betting pool because she'd guessed it would take us less than three weeks to get together.
There was a betting pool. About us. That I didn't know about.
"Earth to Maya," Levi's voice breaks through my reminiscing. He's standing beside me now, close enough that our shoulders brush, holding out a spoon. "Taste this sauce before I send it out?"
I take the spoon and taste it: butter and thyme and lemon, bright and rich at the same time. Perfect, like everything he makes.
"It's delicious," I tell him.
"Not too acidic?"
"It's perfect, Levi. Trust yourself."
He gives me that soft smile, the one that's just for me, and steals a quick kiss before returning to plating. We've been careful about PDA in the restaurant during service, keeping things professional in front of customers. But today, with just family and friends, we can be ourselves. And that apparently means Levi stealing kisses while plating chicken and me trying not to turn into a puddle every time.
"Maya, sweetheart, can you grab the rolls from the oven?" Granddad Jim calls from across the kitchen. "They should be just about perfect."
"On it!"
I've gotten close with Jim over the past month. He's everything Levi said he was. Gruff but kind, proud of his grandsons, and absolutely delighted that Levi found someone who "gets the restaurant business and doesn't mind his grumpy ass." His words, not mine.
I pull the rolls from the oven, golden brown and brushed with butter, filling the kitchen with that incredible fresh-bread smell, and transfer them to a basket lined with a clean kitchen towel.
"Beautiful," Jim says, inspecting them. "You've got good instincts, girl. Levi's lucky to have you."
"I'm pretty sure I'm the lucky one," I say honestly.
"You're both lucky and both idiots," Owen chimes in, walking into the kitchen with empty wine glasses. "Ivy needs a refill and wants to know if the food is almost ready because she's 'starving to death.'" He grins. "Her words."
Levi snorts. "Tell her five more minutes. And stop letting her drink on an empty stomach."
"I'm not 'letting' her do anything. Have you met Ivy? She does what she wants." But Owen's grabbing the wine bottle anyway, his expression soft in a way that makes it obvious how gone he is for her.
I know the feeling.
The two brothers work side by side for a moment, Levi plating while Owen refills glasses, and I'm struck by how comfortable they are together. They have that easy sibling shorthand, and can communicate with looks and half-sentences.
"You two are sweet together," I observe.
"We're not together," Owen deadpans. "I'm dating Ivy, remember?"
I throw a dish towel at him and he dodges, laughing.
"Alright, alright." Levi claps his hands once, surveying the completed dishes. "Let's get this food out before Ivy actually does starve to death."
We work together to carry everything to the dining room: platters of roasted chicken, bowls of roasted vegetables, the basket of fresh rolls, my apple galettes that have become a permanent menu fixture. The table looks incredible, like something out of a magazine.
We did this. Levi and I, together.
Everyone settles into their seats, and I find myself between Levi and my mom. She reaches over and squeezes my hand, her eyes suspiciously shiny.
"I'm so proud of you, baby," she whispers. "Look at everything you've accomplished."
"Mom, don't cry. You'll make me cry."
"Too late." She dabs at her eyes with her napkin, laughing. "I'm allowed to be emotional. My daughter is living her dream and dating a wonderful man. Let me have this."
Levi's watching us with that content expression again. When he catches my eye, he mouths, "You okay?"