“Okay. I’ll see you soon.” Skating my fingers over his in a fleeting touch, I climb into the back of the Lincoln and settle into the cool leather seat, wishing dinner away.

“You made your mother very happy, agreeing to attend this . . . budget camp of hers,” my dad says through a sip of his cocktail, his eyes scrolling over the menu, his lips curled with distaste. For the scant wine list or the lackluster food options, I can’t tell. He’s already made comments about both. We found what he referred to as the only semi-respectable restaurant in town—an oversized white farmhouse that doubles as an inn, with several room rentals on the second floor. The dining room overlooks the river that cuts through town, which would be picturesque if not for the dilapidated houses and public beach on the opposite bank. My dad has scowled at the view as if it’s a personal affront to him. Poor city planning has always been a pet peeve of his.

“You’ve talked to her?” I ask, hope in my voice. Does this mean they’re working through things?

“Briefly, this morning. She called to tell me about the incident with the golf cart and the fact that my daughter is now on probation at her summer job, like some sort of delinquent.”

Shit. Darian must have called my mother.

Now this impromptu meeting makes sense. My father wants me to know how disappointed he is in me, and he needs to look me in the eye to do it. My shoulders tense. This is not good.

“I don’t know what it is with Calloway children putting golf carts into water. You’re lucky you didn’t break your arm like your brother did,” he mutters, shutting his menu and tucking away his reading glasses. “And you could have lost your job. That would have been an embarrassment for everyone.”

“It was an accident.”

“A completely avoidable one, from what I understand. This doesn’t sound like something you’d do, Piper.”

He’s right, it’s not. Until you throw a hot guy into the mix and then I’ll—literally—jump off a cliff for him.

All I can do is shrug. Shrug, and worry my lip as I wonder what type of punishment he’s about to dole out. When Rhett ditched that golf cart in the club’s pond, my parents took his car away for three months. I don’t even have a car for them to take away.

“Was this Kent guy with you?”

“No.” Dad’s eyebrows spike and I know Mom told him otherwise. “His name is Kyle, and it was my fault. I was the one driving. But he tried to take the blame for it,” I add quickly, hoping to score Kyle some points, seeing as he’s already starting off in the red.

Dad’s lips press tight. “So he’s not bright, but he’s chivalrous.”

“Dad.” I roll my eyes.

The waitress comes by to take our orders and clear our table of menus.

“What do you know about him?”

He’s the most beautiful guy I’ve ever known, and the most adventurous; he makes me feel good about myself. I could kiss him forever. I would be kissing him right now, if not for you. “He’s a nice guy.”

“His family?”

I knew my dad would ask that question. I knew, and yet I haven’t prepared a suitable lie. Shame on me. I buy myself time to think of my answer while taking a long, leisurely drink from my water glass. “He has a few brothers. His parents are married.”

“And what does his father do?”

“Um . . . something to do with the prison system.” I casually toy with my fork, avoiding his gaze.

“A warden?”

“A guard, I think?” I shrug, feigning a casual, clueless expression. “Not sure, though.”

He eyes me for a long moment, and I’m afraid he knows I’m lying. Dad’s bullshit meter would put Kyle’s to shame.

“I don’t want you getting in that car of his. The thing shouldn’t even be on the road. Does he have insurance?”

“Of course he does.” I hope that’s true. “And it’s not like I really have a choice if I want to leave camp.”

“Funny you should mention that.” He reaches into his satchel to pull out a Volvo catalogue and slide it across the table toward me. “You’ll need to choose all the details so we can get it on order.”

I hesitate, momentarily stunned. “Really?”

He smirks. “Your mother enlightened me as to your demands. I figured this is the easiest way.”

I’m not getting punished for the golf cart? Oh, man, Rhett would be pissed. He always did say that I could get away with just about anything in our father’s eyes.

Dad frowns curiously. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I reach for the brochure, unable to help my giddy grin as I flip through the pages.

“Does that smile mean you’re finally coming around to my choice of car?”

“If I must. Though I’d still prefer a Corvette.”

“And I’d prefer to never have to deal with another rezoning committee again, but we don’t always get everything we want,” he throws back smoothly, adjusting his tie. “Sixteen-year-olds don’t belong in sports cars. O’Connell’s daughter drove hers into a concrete barrier within the first week because she couldn’t handle it. It’s a miracle she walked away from that.”

I roll my eyes every time my father uses his friend’s daughter as an example. “Becky O’Connell has ridden her bicycle into a park bench. Twice.”

“And yet she’s never put a golf cart in a lake.”

“Touché.”

He chuckles, always one to enjoy delivering a dig. Settling back in his chair, he clasps his hands and rests them on his small belly. “I can’t remember when you and I had a dinner date last.”

“New Year’s Day. We went for Chinese.”

“Has it really been that long . . .” he says absently, as if not looking for an answer.

“You’ve been busy.” Busy cheating on Mom. I grind my teeth to keep from saying something that could blow up the rest of our “dinner date.” When I first found out about his tryst with the redheaded architect from LA, I was sitting next to my cracked bedroom door, eavesdropping. I didn’t need to strain to hear Mom’s accusations carrying through their bedroom wall.

I assumed it was a misunderstanding. There was no way my father would fracture our already fragile family for one night with some Californian siren. But I’ve heard enough fighting through the walls since then to accept that Kieran Calloway is guilty as charged. Also, that he’s sorry for it. Flowers have arrived at our doorstep every Friday afternoon like clockwork. All my mother’s favorite blooms. Surely ordered by Greta but still. And he surprised her with that trip to Paris back in May—a no-business getaway for just the two of them. That she declined.

I’ve found myself flip-flopping between simmering rage toward him and frustration with my mother, wishing that she’d just forgive him so everything could go back to normal.

I guess that’s selfish of me.

He takes another long sip of his drink, seemingly lost in his thoughts for a moment. “So, what have you been up to so far at summer camp, besides trouble?”

“Let me see . . .” Images of Kyle flash through my mind, but I quickly push them aside. “So there was a bat . . .”