Mouth-watering aromas wafted in the warm summer air. The setting sun lit the rooftop aflame with an orange glow that made light-colored surfaces appear as if they were on fire. “Do you mind if I pour the wine?” Aziza called out. “No!” Brandt and Ciara chorused. Jordan sniffed the air. “I smell baked beans.” Ciara turned and smiled at him. “Give that man a cigar.” “Damn, brother,” Alex drawled, “you have a helluva nose.” Brandt beckoned to those sitting at the table. “Grab your plates and come serve yourself.” Ciara hadn’t permitted him on the rooftop until after she’d set up the table with a white tablecloth, then added a colorful runner. The far end of the table was covered with flower petals and tea lights. Each place setting held wine and water glasses, cloth napkins and small bowls of water with lemon slices. He’d helped her load the serving cart and set up the chafing dishes on a buffet server. Ciara didn’t treat him like an invalid, and for that he was grateful.
