"Ms. Ward, he never touches the pickles. Hand them over."

But before she could reach for the plate, Rupert Garcia snagged it first.

"Who says I don't like pickles?"

"..."

Sylvia Lloyd stared at Rupert in surprise as he dipped his fork in the tangy brine.

He was acting a little strange today.

But she shrugged it off, poking at a couple of pierogis on her plate just to be polite.

As soon as Ms. Ward finished her meal, Sylvia got up to help clear the table, hoping to nudge her toward the door. But after a brief lull, Ms. Ward's favorite pastime kicked back in-gossip.

"So, it's really over?" she asked, wiping down the table with a paper towel. "Yeah." Sylvia glanced unconsciously at Rupert and nodded.

Not that there was ever really anything to end, anyway.

Ms. Ward's eyes lit up with excitement. "Well, I'll set you up with someone!"

"What?"

Sylvia almost dropped her mug.

Rupert, as your aunt, I promise I'll thoroughly vet anyone I introduce to your

eyes narrowed as he looked at Sylvia, his tone chilly, "What do

shook her head quickly,

a little small talk and

enough, you're still young. But just don't go crawling

a smile. "Not going back... Oh! I almost forgot-I

gift box and handed it over. "Open it when you

bit embarrassed, "Thank you,

gathered the plates and headed toward

as if something just popped

the moon He wants to commission a special piece of jewelry for her, so

her pocket

"Thanks."

card. Turned out, Ms. Ward had given her a slip of paper with a handwritten phone number

at the numbers, a weird feeling of déjà vu washed

she could figure it out, a sudden presence loomed

pressed against her back, pinning her to the

pushed her tighter against

you have

shooting back, "Who I eat with is none of your business, Uncle Rupert!

at the end, echoing through the quiet

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