I stiffened as I eyeballed him. My dad was oblivious.

“He’s doing okay. On Divorce Number Five Hundred,” he said nonchalantly, but I knew his father’s inability to be faithful and not lie was a huge issue for him. Not a hang-­up, though. If it was, he wouldn’t have gotten over the fact I had lied. But still bothered him nonetheless. “Same old same old stuff, basically.”

Dad cleared his throat. “Well, one of these days, I hope your father finds happiness. Everyone deserves that.”

Did they? I wasn’t so sure about that, but my parents were seconds away from finding a tree and hugging it. It was when I was helping Mom clean up the table and Reece had disappeared into the den with Dad, my brother, and Megan, that I was completely cornered by her and the expansion of her grandmamma dreams.

“Are you two stopping by and seeing his mother before you head back?” she asked as she loaded up the dishwasher.

Wait. Were we? I hadn’t even thought about that. I wasn’t sure I could do Round Two. “I don’t know.”

She took the plates I handed her after rinsing them off. A moment passed. “What is going on between you two? And don’t tell me you don’t know. Last time we were chatting about your relationship status, he wasn’t in the picture, and now he is.”

I opened my mouth.

Mom went on. “And I know your brother was giving you a hard time.” She twisted at the waist, looking me straight in the eye. “But, honey, everyone knows you’ve been in lov—­”

“We’re dating,” I cut her off before she could finish. “Okay? I guess that’s what we’re doing. It’s nothing serious. Okay? I’m not fifteen anymore.”

She arched a brow.

And I wasn’t drawing sketches of him on my wall. I was painting his face now. Ugh. Walking away from Mom, I snatched up the rest of the silverware and separated the pieces into their cubbies.

“Honey.” Mom touched my arm. “I’m worried about you.”

Straightening, I leaned against the sink and kept my voice low. “Because of Reece?”

She smiled, but it was a pang to the chest, because it was so sad. “Yes. Because I know you’ve cared strongly for him for years, and he’s here, with you. That boy is here, and you’re acting like it’s nothing?”

“Mom—­”

A hand came up, silencing me. “And you still won’t try this museum thing? Now, on top of it, there’s some man breaking into your apartment? That has nothing to do with the first two things and it has nothing to do with what I’m about to say to you now. It’s time to have a come-­to-­Jesus conversation.”

Oh no.