Michael leans back against our makeshift bar, arms folded, wearing a warm puppy grin. “I’d say we did it.”
“I’d say we did.”
A stream of aunts, sisters, cousins, grans, moms and daughters ferry dish after dish from the kitchens. Each one sets down some platter or server then beelines for the bar.
Michael raises his voice. “It’s getting kinda noisy don’t you think?”
“The Irish and the Italians? Two of the most famously vocal races in the world. And they’re at a party. Ah…” I point… “The Happy Couple have joined us at last.”
Ryan and Kirstie, hand-in-hand, pause in the doorway, gaping, then breaking into delighted grins. I can’t hear a word they’re saying over the racket, but Kirstie claps her hands. Kyle comes up to his brother and the two shake hands, clap shoulders. Kyle gives Kirsti
