She smiled. “His mother told me last night.” The look about her became shrewd. “I think he went out of his way to do so. Out of his way, Roxy. Hmm, don’t you find that interesting?”

“Oh, Mom.” I rolled my eyes. Of course, she knew I had a huge crush on him from the moment he’d moved in next door. I was convinced that she and
Reece’s mother might have plotted to get Reece and me together last year over Thanksgiving, because they’d been dropping hints about both of us being sadly single to the point Reece’s brother almost choked on mashed potatoes because he was laughing so hard.

It had been an uncomfortable joining of the two families, which meant it was going to be even more awkward this year, since the almost-­hookup happened not too many moons after the Thanksgiving dinner.

“He’s a good boy, Roxy.” Mom droned on, sounding like an infomercial for Reece. “He fought for his country and then came home, took a job where he puts his life in danger. And what happened last year, with that boy. He had to make a tough—­”

“Mom,” I moaned.

I was able to steer the conversation away from Reece and toward the upcoming debut of grandbaby number one. When it was time for me to get ready for my evening shift at Mona’s, I got a warm and squishy hug from Mom.

As she pulled back, she looked me straight in the eye. “We didn’t talk a lot about Henry and what he wants, but I wanted to let you know that your father and I support you, no matter what you decide.”

Tears rushed me, and I blinked them back. Aw man, I loved my parents. They were too good to me. “I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t even want to see his face.”

Her smile was sad as she nodded, and I knew what she was really thinking. They wanted to see me let go of the big old baggage of hate that sat on my shoulders. “If that’s what you want, then we are right behind you.”

“It is,” I confirmed.

She patted my cheek and then roared out of the house the same way she’d come in, and as I closed the door behind her, I realized there’d be no time for a nap.

Which was a good thing, because I’d probably end up dreaming about Reece again, and that was the last thing I needed to do. Right that second, I developed a list of priorities.

Number One: I needed to shower. Baby steps.

Number Two: I needed to stop dreaming about him. Easier said than done, but whatever. It was high on the priority list.

Number Three: I also needed to stop painting his stupid—­albeit sexy—­face.

And finally, Number Four: I needed to be up front with Reece the next time I saw him and tell him the truth about that night. I could do that, at least. Let go of that baggage of hurt. I needed to, because I couldn’t stop thinking about what he had asked me.