A spark of excitement catches in my chest. I’m getting that good feeling again—the one I got on Friday night when I went over to Grey’s house for the first time.

We stop at the door. Grey turns to look at me.

“I’m glad you came, Julia.”

“Me too,” I say.

He opens the door and holds it, nodding for me to step in first.

“Helloooo,” he calls.

A woman appears in a doorway straight ahead of us. She’s wearing a snazzy pair of tortoiseshell glasses and a roll-neck cream sweater and matching jeans.

She’s also wearing an enormous smile, her eyes lighting up when they land on me.

“Welcome, y’all! I’m so glad you could make it. Grey, baby, give your mama some sugar, would you?”

She pulls Grey into a hug. There’s no awkwardness. No hesitation. There’s a warmth and a familiarity about their embrace that makes me melt a little.

This is not the coldhearted Greyson Montgomery I met at the barn how many months back.

His mom has the same Southern drawl that Grey does. A little thicker, little slower. There’s something about her mannerisms, her gentle, easy warmth, that almost reminds me of a Southern Meryl Streep.

“Mom, I’d like you to meet Julia Lassiter,” he says when they pull back, turning to me. “Please don’t scare her off.”

Tucking the chardonnay into the crook of my arm, I hold out my hand. “Mrs. Montgomery, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you so much—”

“Honey, please call me Eliza. And don’t be silly, you’re getting a hug,” she says. And then she pulls me into her arms. “We are so very glad you could join us tonight.”

I meet Grey’s eyes over Eliza’s shoulder. He’s smiling.

So am I.

“Very glad indeed! Hey y’all!”

We turn at the sound of another voice in the doorway, and I nearly start. The handsome man standing there looks exactly like Greyson, just with a few more wrinkles and salt and pepper hair. But the blue eyes, square jaw, and dimpled chin are the same.

Jesus, those genes are strong. I can’t help but wonder whether Charlie Brown—if he’s a boy—will inherit them.

Something about the idea makes my heart skip a beat.

“I’m Greyson senior, but everyone calls me Monty,” he says, extending a hand.

I turn to Grey. “So you’re a junior?”

“I’m actually a third,” he says, glancing at his dad. “Dad here is the junior.”

Monty claps his hands and rubs them together. “What can I get you to drink, Julia?”

Eliza’s eyes drift to my chardonnay. “Some white wine? I’ve already got a bottle open. Monty can also whip up whatever cocktail you’d like. I’ve got tea, too, sweet of course, and some sparkling water…”

“Tea would be great, thank you. And these are for y’all.” I hold out the wine and the book.

“Well, doesn’t this look inviting,” Eliza says, taking the book. “I do like a man in a kilt. Have you watched that show Outlander?”