The last year has been dedicated to electing Maxim Cade president. There wasn’t much time for cookouts or hanging out. I was on the road and on television a lot more than I wanted to be, but hey. That’s the job, and God and Mateo Ruiz willing, I’ll be starting up the next cycle in a few weeks. This is a reprieve and a chance for me to reconnect with my family, and this city that used to be my home.

And with old friends.

Noah runs up to me right away, his dark blue eyes lit and excited.

“Kimba!” he says. “You’re here.”

“I am.” I’ve never been a kid person, but something about this one gets to me.

“Come play with me.”

Play? I’m definitely not one of those “aunties” who gets down on the floor and crawls around with small humans on my back. Not even my own nieces and nephews, though cleaning up after Joseph was quite the baptism.

“Um…play?” I hope I don’t have to crush his opinion of me as a “fun adult” this soon.

“Chess.”

Chess? I should have known. This is Ezra’s child after all.

He leads me to a chessboard set up on Mona’s screened-in porch. I’m incredibly competitive, so I have to remind myself to go easy on him. He’s just a kid.

“Checkmate,” Noah says twenty minutes later, wearing a triumphant smile so wide it practically hangs off his face.

“But…wait.” I review our last few plays. “How did you do that?”

“Strategy.” He taps his temple and winks at me. “It’s all up here.”

“Well, you better bring it down here for a rematch,” I say, reaching across the board to grab his king.

“No fair!” he squeals, running around to my side and reaching for the chess piece.

“She cheats, Noah,” Ezra says from the porch door, muscular arms exposed by a short-sleeved T-shirt and folded across his broad chest. His hair is a sable cap shorn into ruthlessly restrained waves. His eyes, that navy color I remember when he’s most relaxed, rest on his son in obvious affection and then turn on me, sending a jolt right down my middle.

“I do not!” I can’t quite meet Ezra’s intent gaze, so I focus on Noah. “That was beginner’s luck.”

“Who’s a beginner?” Noah cocks one brow. “I’ve been playing since I was five.”

“He’s so much like you when you were this age,” I tell Ezra. “And that may not be a compliment.”

Father and son both laugh, and I find myself laughing, too, feeling lighter than I have in months.

“Son, go wash your hands,” Ezra says, bending to kiss Noah’s head. “Food’s ready.”