It’s JoJo’s turn to snort. Though my mother has excellent manners and is the soul of kindness, she also curses like a trucker when she thinks her children aren’t around to hear. I don’t consider that a flaw, but it is amusing when she tries to put on airs.

“He was horrible to me,” I say firmly.

Mama waves a hand. “That doesn’t mean anything. You know, they say boys are meanest to the girls they like the best.”

“I hate that saying. Meanness is meanness. To tell a girl that there’s some sort of benevolent action behind it all is to say that it’s okay for her to be victimized.”

Mama stares up at me for a moment, then shakes her head. “You’re right, pumpkin. I don’t know why I said that.”

JoJo snorts again. “Because you and I were raised with ‘boys will be boys’ tossed in our faces.” She sits back in her chair and turns her face to the sunlight. “I say it should be ‘dicks will be dicks, and a misbehaving dick deserves a knee to the balls.’”

Mama and I look at each other and then start to laugh.

“Well,” Mama says finally with a faint gasp. “There you go, Dee. If that boy gets out of line, knee him in the balls.”

“Hopefully I won’t give her cause to do that,” says a deep, amused voice behind us.

I’m ashamed to say we all jump like escaped convicts.

Macon stands, leaning slightly toward his good leg, the sunlight glinting in his black hair. A slight smile plays on his lips. His gaze meets mine, and a flush of . . . something goes over me.

“You’re back.” I try not to make that sound like an accusation. And fail.

A taunt flares in his eyes. “I am.”

He lingers a second longer before turning his attention to my mother.

“Mrs. Baker, Ms. Davis, you’re both looking well.”

“As are you, dear boy,” JoJo drawls. “So handsome. You have the jawline of a young Robert Redford, even if it is hidden by all that scruff. Now come over here, and give your elders a proper kiss on the cheek.”

I barely refrain from coughing “cougar” under my breath.

Macon grins and strides forward, making it look effortless even with a cane and a severe limp. Dutifully, he leans down and kisses both JoJo and Mama on their presented cheeks. As he pulls away from Mama, he gives me a sly wink before straightening, and I know he’s going to put on a show—sweet, gallant Macon Saint.

“I hear felicitations are in order, Mrs. Baker. Happy birthday.”

Mama all but titters. “Why, thank you, Macon. And please call me Andie.”

His smile is all charm. “I don’t think I’d be able to. It would feel disrespectful. You’ve always been Mrs. Baker to me, ma’am.”

Lord, help me.