Nick looked back down at the mail, opened a letter. “I don’t think I can get away this weekend. Y’all have a great time.”

“No way. You’re not getting out of this. I can’t entertain their entire family for the weekend without you. You know I can’t handle the boat and all that stuff. You are going. Remember, this is why you work for the family company. So you can get away when you want.” She reached over and rubbed his arm.

“That is not why I work for the family company. And I just can’t go this weekend. Too much to—”

“Do?” She lifted her palms up, raised her eyebrows. “You can do it on Monday.”

He slammed the mail on the counter. “I don’t want to go this weekend. Can’t that just be enough?”

“No, it can’t. What is your problem? You met these people for one afternoon—they couldn’t have made you mad in such a short time. Come on.”

He hadn’t thought this far ahead. Excuses—he needed them and he didn’t have them. At least not any she’d want to hear.

“Answer me. Is it the Reynoldses? I have never, ever seen you not want to go to the lake house—it’s your favorite place.”

“Drop it. Please. I can’t go this weekend. I’m buried.”

“Then bring your work with you.”

“Damn! Don’t you ever give up?”

“God, what did these people do to you? Date your precious daughter? What did you think—that she’d never fall in love?”

“Jack seems like a very nice guy.”

“Do you know something about him that I don’t?”

He picked up his briefcase, then turned to walk out of the kitchen. “What’re the dinner plans? The boys home?”

“Can’t you hear them?”

He glanced up to the ceiling. “Yeah—just wondered if they were staying for dinner.”

“Don’t you dare change the subject on me. Reynolds, Reynolds—I’m trying to place their name, figure out what they’ve done to you to make you not want to go to your favorite place.”

Nick continued walking.

“Phil Reynolds. Hmm . . . never heard of him. Jack Reynolds . . . did he get into some kind of trouble? Amy Reynolds . . . I only know one other Amy.”

He froze, but didn’t turn. Stop, he begged inside his head. Stop now. But she never did. Eliza was relentless in all she did; this single-mindedness was one of the many complex reasons he was here—carrying a briefcase down a polished pine-paneled hallway to his tray-ceilinged bedroom with the floral wallpaper.