“Pish. You hold grudges for too long.”

“Too long? He was a monumental dickhead to me for years!”

“Water under the bridge. You should let it go too.”

Too. As if she’d been called Tater Tot by a mob of sycophantic Macon worshipers. As if she’d had those little potato bits pelted at her when she was the most vulnerable. To this day, I can’t stand tater tots.

“They show his ass in two episodes,” she went on blithely. “And I’m here to tell you, it is hot. I mean, we’re talking grade A bubble-butt perfection. He’s definitely built that thing up since high school.”

Not wanting to talk about Macon’s butt or the fact that my sister may or may not have seen said butt long ago, I had changed the subject. She knows how much I hate Macon. The fact that she’s using him as a practical joke now is too much. Anger flows through me in a rush of heat. I’m all thumbs as I reply.

How dare you bring that ass canal into this?

Ass canal? Only one person I know uses that term. Jesus, this really is Delilah, isn’t it?

I want to scream. I want to chuck the phone to the devil and run out of the kitchen. But mainly, I want to punch my sister.

Fuck you, Sam. Consider yourself uninvited to brunch.

It’s Macon. And you really hate me that much, Tot? After all this time?

No, no, no. It is not Macon Saint texting. Sam hasn’t talked to him since he dumped her the night of the prom. It’s a matter of pride with her. Never mind the fact that he’s famous; he probably has people to text for him, for Pete’s sake.

It has to be a bad dream. A nightmare.

Stupefied, I stare at the phone in my hand while it lights up.

Tater?

Tot?

Delilah? You there?

Pick up the phone, Delilah.

Wait. What?

I nearly jump out of my skin when the phone starts ringing.

Oh. My. God. No. Just no. It cannot be Macon.

The call goes to voice mail, but the phone simply rings again.

He won’t stop; Macon is like a tick that way. He’ll keep at this until I lose my mind. I’ve got to nip this in the bud now. Taking a deep breath, I answer. “What!”

“Still all the grace, Delilah.” His voice is deeper now, a rumble of smoke and ashes.

I ignore his sarcasm. “How did you get my number, and why are you bothering me?”

Laughter comes through the phone. “What, no ‘It’s been so long. How have you been?’ At least confess how much you missed me.”

Oh, how I remember that irritating smugness. The fact that I’m actually talking to Macon after all this time unsettles me so much my legs tremble, and I have to lean against the counter.

It’s a surprise my voice is anywhere near normal. “Answer the question, or I’m hanging up.”