Shoving the vacuum cleaner into the closet, Nick glanced at Ruth, then walked up to her and dipped his head to take a sniff of the sauce she was stirring in a large pot.

Spaghetti Bolognese, one of his favorite dishes.

“Not that I mind, but why did you invite guests for dinner again? The other one was only the day before yesterday.”

Ruth paused the stirring and shifted to her other foot. “I’m doing it for Brundar. He needs to make friends.”

That was a worthy goal, and an ambitious one. It was hard to make friends without talking. The dude was weird.

“Why is he like that? And what’s his deal with shaking hands? Is he a germophobe?”

Ruth shrugged. “No one knows. I guess it’s the result of some childhood trauma. Brundar doesn’t talk about it. Or maybe it’s PTSD.”

That made more sense. The guy was pretty like a store mannequin, and just as animated, but he had a deadly vibe about him that was hard not to notice. A commando, no doubt.

“Where did he serve?”

She waved with the wooden spoon. “No one knows that either.”

“He must be Special Forces.”

“Yeah, I think so. Anyway, I thought it would do him good to spend time with friendly, outgoing people. That’s why I invited Roni the other time, and today I invited Jackson and Tessa.”

Calling Roni friendly was a stretch. Nick liked the dude, but Roni was sarcastic and offensive and probably pushed most people away and not the other way around.

But whatever. If Ruth wanted to help out her cousin, that was cool with him. Maybe he could get Brundar to talk about his missions, provided some of them weren’t classified.

Brundar and Callie arrived right on time, the knock on the door sounding on the dot of seven with a military precision.

Jackson and Tessa showed up ten minutes late.

“Let’s get right to it,” Ruth said, herding everyone to the table. “Before the spaghetti gets mushy.”

“Delicious,” Tessa said after wiping her mouth with the napkin. “I’m not a pasta lover, but you might have made a convert out of me.”

“My pleasure,” Ruth said.

“Scotch?” Brundar said his first word of the evening.

“Not for me.” Nick wasn’t going to fall for that again.

“Jackson?” Brundar asked.

“I don’t like scotch. What else is there to drink?”

“I can make you vodka cranberry,” Ruth offered.

“Sounds good.”

“I’d like one too,” Tessa said.

That was a surprise. As far as Nick knew, Tessa only drank wine and not much of it. “Since when do you drink vodka?”

“Since I discovered it tastes great when mixed with something else. I love screwdrivers. Do you have orange juice, Ruth?”

“I do.” Ruth started to push to her feet.

Nick put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll get it.”

“No, that’s okay, I’ll do it.” She practically flicked his hand off and made a dash for the kitchen.

What was going on with her?

She’d been acting strange lately, jumpy as hell and avoiding looking into his eyes, but Nick couldn't figure out why. Add to the mix the frequent dinner get-togethers she was arranging, and he was certain something was up.

But what?

They hadn’t had a fight, the café was doing well, and she wasn’t on her period. In fact, Ruth didn’t get them at all. She’d told him that her contraceptive eliminated them entirely.

Which was great. Nick still remembered how everyone had to tiptoe around Sharon when she’d been getting hers. Thankfully, she’d found something that fixed it for her, so they didn’t have to deal with her crankiness every month. Tessa had never made a fuss, and Eva, well, Eva was an alien from another planet.

A very pregnant alien.

A moment later Ruth returned with the two juice bottles. “Here is the orange juice, and the cranberry juice. Which one do you prefer, Tessa?”

“The orange juice.”

“I’d like the cranberry,” Jackson said. “But let me mix the drinks. You’ve worked hard enough making dinner.”

For some reason, Ruth didn’t object to Jackson’s offer.

“Let me mix you one too, Nick. You can’t be the only one not drinking. What’s the fun in that?”

Talk about peer pressure. “Fine, but make it light. I don’t want a repeat of what happened at the other dinner.”

Mixing the drink for Tessa, Jackson lifted a brow. “What happened?”

“They got me drunk, that’s what happened. I blacked out.”

“Who are they?” Jackson handed Tessa her drink and started with the next.

“Brundar.” Nick pointed at the blond. “And Roni. They kept toasting to everything under the sun. And let me tell you, Ruth and Sylvia must have some Irish blood in them because they kept up no problem.”

“Scottish,” Ruth said. “We have quite a tolerance.”

“Roni is not a Scot.” Nick was quite sure of that.

“Maybe he has some Irish in him,” Tessa suggested.

“Germans drink a lot too.” Jackson finished making the two cranberry cocktails and handed one to Nick.

“The British. More than the Germans.” Brundar surprised everyone by offering his opinion. “Also the Brazilians and the Dutch.”

Nick took a small sip from his drink, adamant about going slow and not getting goaded into having more than one. “I see that you’ve researched the issue.”

Brundar shrugged. “I co-own a club. I see all kinds.”

That was the biggest surprise of the evening. Brundar the Special Forces dude, or even Brundar the undercover spy, Nick could believe. But a club owner?

“What kind of a club is that?”

“A nightclub,” Callie said. “I serve drinks at the club, and I have to agree with Brundar. Germans are lightweights compared to the Brits.”

“I wonder why that is,” Ruth said while sipping on her own cocktail. “It must be something genetic.”

As the discussion about alcohol tolerance continued, Nick absentmindedly finished his drink and was immediately handed another by Jackson.

“I made it light for you,” the guy said, making it impossible to refuse.

With an inward groan, Nick took the glass.

He ended up having three, which should’ve been okay, but by the end of the evening, his eyes started to droop. It felt more like being tired than drunk, and sleepy.

Maybe it was the food. He’d had two heaping helpings of the spaghetti and then two big slices of the tiramisu. Was it possible that he was a diabetic?

“I don’t feel so good,” he said. “I think I ate way too much.”

“Do you need to barf?” Jackson pushed away from the table and walked around to where Nick was sitting. “Let me help you to the bathroom.”

“No, that’s okay. I’m not nauseous, just tired.” He was feeling faint, but to admit that would’ve been too embarrassing.

A young guy like him should be able to tolerate a couple of diluted cocktails and a big meal.

“Let me help you to the bedroom, then.” Jackson moved to wrap his arm around Nick’s torso.

Pushing his arm away, Nick stood up on shaky legs. “I can make it to the bedroom on my own.”

“As you wish, dude.”

“I’ll turn the bed down.” Ruth jumped to his side.

Nick wanted to tell her to stay, but the truth was that he wasn’t sure he’d make it. The dizziness was intensifying by the minute.

When they got to the bedroom, he dropped on the bed before Ruth had the chance to remove the coverlet. “Just let me sleep a little.”

“It’s okay, Nicki. Good night.” She kissed his cheek.

He was still semi-conscious when Ruth turned off the light and closed the bedroom door. It crossed his mind that it was strange that she hadn’t seemed worried by what was happening to him.

Maybe she didn’t know what symptoms diabetics exhibited. Not everyone spent hours a day watching random YouTube videos.