“Almost done,” Wyatt told her as he pushed the barbeque fork into the center of the meat.

“Not bad, Mr. Gibson.” She closed the lid to the grill, turned off one burner, and lowered the others to a small roar. “Five minutes.”

She blew past him and back into the kitchen.

She stumbled over her own feet at the first sight of Luke. “Just in time,” she said as she blew past him without a hello. “Dinner’s ready.”

Luke simply laughed while Mrs. Miller shoved a massive bowl of salad into his hands.

Mel and Zanya returned and helped parade food to the back porch.

Mel had done a great job of setting the perfect table on the covered porch. Flowers sat in vases on the long expanse of wood, and a hodgepodge of white and blue plates offset old mason jars that were either filled with spiked lemonade or tea. Mr. Miller held the long neck of a beer, as did his son.

The food was simple . . . perfect, but simple.

And Zoe took pride in every moan as her friends and family consumed each mouthful.

“Remind me to visit Texas,” Mr. Miller said between bites.

“If there is one thing I have learned from living there . . . it’s that Texans take their barbeque seriously. This is the best I can do without a smoker.”

“It gets better than this?” Wyatt asked.

“It’s really good, sis.” Zanya had gotten over her bellyache and was plowing through her plate like a linebacker.

Jo pointed the end of her corn on the cob in Zoe’s direction. “It better not be another decade before you visit again.”

“It’s been less than ten years since I visited,” Zoe defended her absence.

“A real visit,” Miss Gina added. “Not a hit and run. Those are fine for a one-night stand, not for us.”

“Miss Gina!” Mel chastised, eyes wide as she shifted her gaze to her daughter.

Zoe’s mom laughed and Mrs. Miller tried not to.

As the laughter died out, Zoe caught Luke’s piercing gaze.

And she knew, in that moment, that she couldn’t promise anything. As much joy as everyone at the table brought her, she knew the fall was going to suck.

“Hey? Where is everybody?”

Zane.

The voice of her brother interrupted the meal.

He walked around the side of the inn, his footsteps less than steady. He smiled and waved. “Am I late?”

“Only by an hour,” Luke said.

The second Zane tripped on the first step, Zoe knew he was drunk. Or something else. If the table were filled with people from her life in Dallas, she’d want to hide. There wasn’t one person at Miss Gina’s table who didn’t know her brother.

“Can’t blame a man for not wanting to break bread with a cop.”

Zoe exchanged glances with Jo. “Knock it off, Zane.”

Zane was the spitting image of their dad. All dark hair, dark skin, muscle, and attitude. When he drank too much his temper wasn’t easily controlled and his mouth ran like a faucet stuck on high.

“Sit down before you fall down,” their mom told him as she pulled out the empty seat beside her.

“Who’s that?” Zoe overheard Hope asking Mel.

“That’s Zoe’s brother.” Mel ruffled her daughter’s hair.

“Oh.”

Zane must have heard the question from the other end of the table. “I’m the black sheep. You know what a black sheep is?”

“Zane!” Zoe yelled.

“Knock it off!” Zanya shook a finger in her brother’s direction.

“Mommy?”

“I’ll talk about it later,” Mel whispered.

“Sheryl says you have a job up in Waterville,” Mr. Miller changed the subject.

Zane glanced at their mom. “Yeah. Part-time.”

Several people started back on their plates while Zane reached around to fill his up.

“What do you do?” Wyatt asked.

“A little of this, a little of that.”

Zoe found Jo’s concerned gaze again.

“I’ve had jobs like that,” Mel said.

Zane muttered something under his breath that only their mother heard. She elbowed him in the ribs.

The last thing she wanted on her last day in town was a scene. The itch on the back of her neck told her that no amount of hoping was going to do a damn bit of good.

“So, Zoe . . . are we going to see you on the TV this year?” Mrs. Miller asked.

“There is some talk about a holiday special. I should know by August if it’s going to happen.”

“Did you film the last holiday gig in September?”

“Yes. It was awful. They had me dressed in sweaters for the promotional stuff when it was ninety degrees and dripping with humidity.”

“The price of fame,” Jo teased.

“Could be worse.”

Zane snorted and once again their mom elbowed him.

“Knock it off.” He jerked away from her with a glare. “She’s bitching about cooking.” He stood and searched out a cooler that held chilled beer.

Like he needed another drink.

“You know, Zane, I’m glad you saw it fit to come here to say good-bye before I leave. Would it be too much to ask for you to bring it down a notch?”

“What’s the matter, sis? I don’t fit in your world?” He twisted off the top of the beer and tilted it back.

“You’re being an asshole,” Luke put it the way it was.

Zane glared. “Who the fuck asked you?”

“Hey!” Wyatt pushed his plate aside. “Language.”

Zane’s gaze moved to Hope.