She flushes pink. “Probably not the best way to explain; I’ll grant you that.”

We both laugh, but mine dies down first. “Daddy always loved the classics.”

“I miss that man,” Mama says wistfully.

It makes my heart hurt. “I do too.”

“There were times when he’d make me hit him over the head with a pillow, but I loved him something stupid.” She shakes herself out of her reverie. Sharp blue-gray eyes pin me. “What is going on between you and Macon?”

“It’s complicated. Macon and I . . . kissed. And he . . . I . . .” A flush hits me. I can’t talk about this with Mama. But no one else knows our history. No one except Sam, and she’s gone. Not that I’d be able to tell her about this.

My mother is silent for a moment, drinking her tea and frowning slightly. “You’re working for him,” she says finally, her expression stern. “And living in his house.”

“We decided to end that arrangement.”

“Living together?”

My cheeks heat. “Working for him.”

“Well, that’s good.” She opens her mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. “He was Samantha’s beau.”

I hate the term beau. It sounds so old fashioned, but there’s also something so much more to it than boyfriend—a solidity, a sense of time and history. It makes me cringe. Because I hadn’t even been thinking of Sam when I kissed Macon. I rarely do think of her in conjunction with him anymore. I am now, however. It twists and curls in my belly like an agitated snake.

I don’t want to tell my mother about how Macon viewed Sam. It isn’t my place to say. Still, I can’t keep from cringing.

Mama notices and makes a small tsking noise. “Although I have my doubts over how serious they ever were.”

I grip my glass a little harder, my hands slipping on the condensation. “And yet you brought up their relationship.”

She does a double take as if she’s just realizing something, and her lips purse. “Lord, I didn’t even . . . no, honey, I didn’t mean you should be ashamed or guilty about being drawn to Macon. I was merely thinking in terms of complications.” She reaches across the table. Her smooth, cool hand wraps around mine. “You and Macon make more sense than he and Sam ever did.”

Shock has my heart tripping. “Why would you say that?”

“Sam and Macon never sparked the way you do. They were . . . flat, off in a way. They brought out the worst in each other. Oh, not how you and Macon would engage in petty bickering, but something darker. They made each other less than they could be.”

“I can’t believe it. You never said a word.”