Cocktail etiquette is second nature to my mother. She never forgets. Which means she’s either lying or hiding something.

“A male friend?” I push.

She hesitates. “He is male, yes.” Another long moment passes and then finally she dares to meet my gaze, her rose-painted lips pursing with a small, knowing smile.

“Are you dating someone?” I whisper excitedly.

“I’m not exactly sure. We’re taking things slow.”

Lord knows it’s time. After her affair with the tennis player that summer I was at Wawa and the ensuing ugly divorce, there was a lengthy dating blackout period in Mom’s life, where she wouldn’t even broach the thought. There’ve been a few men since then—one who even managed to slip a ring on her finger for all of a week before she politely returned it.

It’s been at least two years since she last mentioned anything that sounds like a date, though I’m sure there’s been no shortage of suitors lurking.

“Who is he? What’s his name? What does he do?” I rifle off question after question.

She holds a perfect, manicured hand up in the air to quiet me. “It’s still in the early stages.”

“You have to tell me something!”

“Well. He’s . . . a man,” she begins.

I roll my eyes.

“He’s age-appropriate.”

“More than I can say for Dad, so thank you for that,” I mutter through a sip. While my mother could easily pass for a decade younger than her fifty-seven years, I’ve had enough of my parents dating people closer to my age than their own.

She smirks. “He’s unexpected. And surprising.” Her blue eyes twinkle. “And that’s all I’m comfortable with saying at this point, so please don’t push. I don’t want to jinx it.”

“Wow. It sounds like you really like this guy.”

“Honestly?” She lets out a shaky sigh. “I haven’t felt like this in forever, Piper. He brings out something in me that I thought I’d lost. Well, anyway, I’m really hoping this works out, yes.” She laughs. “Listen to me. I sound like a giggling, foolish teenager! Never thought I’d be revisiting those years.”

I snort, and nearly choke on my wine. You and me both.

“So? What’s new with you? You mentioned in your message that you wanted to talk about something.”

“Yeah.” I groan. “Dad.”

She holds a smile, but it turns tight. Forced. “What did he do now?”

“Not now, but I think he did something really shitty thirteen years ago.”

Leaning back in her chair, drink in hand as if arming herself, she mutters, “Go on.”

“Do you remember that guy from camp? Kyle?”

“Oh. Yes.” Her eyes widen knowingly. “You were a mess over that boy for your entire junior year, if I recall. Wallowing in your room for hours on end. You lost ten pounds that you didn’t have to lose, not eating. As if I’d ever forget about him.”

“I was in love with him, Mom. And only sixteen,” I remind her, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “And there was a lot going on back then, if you will recall. Marital affairs, a divorce—”

“Yes, I suppose,” she cuts me off, intently focused on her bracelet’s clasp for a moment. It took her a year to admit her indiscretions to me, long after the illicit high had faded and the lifelong regret had set in.

“Well, I found out that Dad paid Kyle to go away.”

The flash of recognition in her eyes answers me right away.

My jaw drops. “Are you kidding me? You knew!”

Her gaze flitters around us to make sure no one heard my outburst. “I didn’t know about it at the time. He didn’t tell me until months later. I swear, Piper. The tears, the moping, the not eating . . . it had been going on for so long that I finally mentioned maybe hiring one of your father’s people to track this boy down and get you some closure. That’s when your father told me the truth.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me then?”

“Why would I? Honey, he took the money! He chose money over you. Why would I want a boy like that in your life? No, I was furious with your father, but I didn’t disagree that this boy didn’t belong with our daughter. And don’t shake your head at me like that; you’ll understand one day,” she mutters through a sip of her wine, the glass already half-finished.

“Of course he took the money! You knew what kind of life Kyle came from. What that money could do for him and his family.”

“Yes, but—”

“And you also know Dad better than anyone else. He threatened Kyle, Mom. Can you imagine what it would have been like for seventeen-year-old Kyle to face that?” Just thinking about it now incites a deep burn of fury inside me.

She sighs with resignation. “Why are we even talking about this?”

“Because I ran into Kyle recently and he told me.”

“Really . . . Here, in Lennox?” She keeps her expression smooth, but I hear the wariness in her voice.

“Yes.”

“How’s he doing?” She watches me through shrewd eyes.

“He’s doing well. He was in San Diego, but he moved here recently. He’s working full-time. Security.” I intentionally leave out the part about where he’s working security, until I can figure out where my mother’s head is at with this. “He’s basically cut off all ties with his family, except for his younger brother, who has made something of himself.”

“That’s . . . good.” She pauses and then feigns casualness to ask, “So, is he dating? Or married?”

“No, Mom. He’s single.” I meet her steady gaze with my own.

“I see,” she murmurs quietly. “I guess that explains this effervescent glow.” The waiter passes by to take our orders and collect our menus, stalling the conversation. “Does your father know about you two . . . reconnecting?” she asks when we’re alone again.

“We haven’t yet. Not exactly.” Our mouths have reconnected and it was euphoric. “And, no, after what Dad did, I don’t plan on telling him anytime soon. I want to see if Kyle and I can salvage what we had before I have to deal with that problem.”

“I don’t know if there will be any dealing with your father about this.” She lets out a derisive chuckle. “He’s still holding out hope that you’ll come to your senses over David. At least I assume so, if I know your father at all.”

“Oh, no, he has now moved on to ambushing high-rolling lawyers at galas.” I tell her about last night’s guerrilla-style Sternum introduction.

She groans. “I swear, that man . . .” She traces the rim of her wineglass with her fingertip as she considers me. “Do you still care about Kyle?”

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him,” I admit.

“And are those feelings mutual?”

I smile, thinking about the feel of his body pressed against mine last night. “Yes. But he’s convinced we can’t work, and he’s not willing to try. He says he can’t handle losing me again.” Which only makes my heart ache for him more.

Her blue eyes drift out the window, past the sun-soaked boardwalk and milling pedestrians to the river, as if searching for an answer out among the sailboats floating in the distance. “Piper, you know that I understand, better than anyone, that a bank account shouldn’t determine who you fall in love with,” she says carefully, a worried look on her face. “But you are going to be running Calloway Group one day.”