“Perhaps I ought to have had the grass cut,” Heath says. He digs the toe of his brogue into the grass and frowns. “It’s a little unkempt.” Heath looks up.

Frankie doesn’t appear to have been paying the slightest bit of attention. He whistles some ditty low under his breath and toys with an empty glass tumbler.

“Frankie.” Heath folds his arms over his chest. “Frankie. Did you hear what I said?”

“Hmm?” Frankie turns his gaze onto Heath. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “In all honesty, I stopped listening when you began to fuss over the table linen.”