Was it in bad taste that he hoped Uriel had some regrets about his gun-toting wife? Certainly. Horrible taste. Tasted like Simon.

But Uriel had stuck by his decision, and that was more than Zechariah could say about his own … woman-based struggles.

Uriel was one of the saner men of the Meijer tree. Uriel had normal problems, like tripping into love over a series of romantic outings in which one (just one!) night may have taken experimenting with the future bliss of matrimony too far and too imprudently. Uriel was not prone to drink dictating his life.

Had Zechariah known where drink had taken Uriel in the last year alone … well.

“Here, let me get the bottle opener.”

Had he known that, he would not have commenced rifling through the drawers for a bottle opener.

“That is … excellent news,” Zechariah said.

It felt foreign on his tongue, but he was trying.

“Your … pragmatism is something to be admired.”

Ugh. It would be easier to talk about once the wine started rolling.