He hadn’t wanted to play fighting horses, but now that he was covered in laughing kids, belonging settled over him. He didn’t fit in here perfectly. But this was as close as he ever came to fitting in. He’d eaten Coleman family pot roast a hundred times before. He knew that the lamp on that sofa table hadn’t worked for a year and that the door to the hallway bathroom stuck. He knew when to humor CeCe and when to compliment her. He understood the rivalries and personalities of the nieces and nephews. And he knew that Ben Coleman was the best friend he’d ever have.

In time, with work, he had to believe their friendship would be all right.

Typically when they played fighting horses, Ben and Sebastian were an even bet. Ben was quicker. Sebastian was stronger.

Tonight though, Sebastian took his punishment, allowing Ben’s riders to whack him in the head and shoulders with a pool noodle.

Since he was the one eating dinner with Leah tonight, taking it on the chin during fighting horses felt like the least he could do.

All day Leah had told herself not to concede too much time or mental energy to her upcoming visit to Sebastian’s house. It was merely an engagement on her calendar that promised to be diverting. Nothing more.

However, the commonsense self-talk hadn’t stopped her from going through the same time-consuming process she’d taken when preparing for dinner out with Sebastian. Long shower. Makeup. Time styling her hair into tousled waves. She dressed carefully in an orange V-neck sweater, gray capri pants, and silver flats.

All this made her feel, sheepishly, like an animal undertaking elaborate mating rituals when said animal had heretofore been too smart for elaborate mating rituals.

She parked in front of his house, then carried the miniature plastic disco ball she’d purchased up the walkway. The lawn, she noted, looked to have been expertly mowed.

If a stranger were to approach this house or study Sebastian’s career, they might assume that he’d lived a charmed life, that he’d had every advantage handed to him. When, in fact, the opposite was true.

He opened his front door before she had a chance to knock and surveyed her with eyes both piercing and warm. His black hair was combed starkly into place. The severity of his slate-colored crewneck shirt and low-slung jeans emphasized the rugged planes of his body.

“You’re wearing the necklace I gave you,” he said.

“I am.” Where was her brain? Why couldn’t she think of anything to say? “I . . . realize that some of the demands I conveyed last night may have been challenging to meet.” She lifted the disco ball. “I brought this in order to save my reputation as a low-maintenance dinner guest.”

“Very clever.”