“I’m here for dinner,” Cat reminded him. “Did I get the time wrong?”

“Dinner?” he repeated, blinking.

“Oh, good! You’re here,” Sara called from the foyer. “Geez, Dad, let her in before she freezes.”

Wordlessly, Noah stepped aside, and Sara pulled Cat inside.

“I hope you’re a good cook because we’re just getting started,” Sara said, practically dragging Cat’s coat off her shoulders.

“Uh, your dad didn’t seem to know that I was coming to dinner,” Cat pointed out.

Sara wrenched the bottle of wine away from Cat and handed it over to Noah. “Here, Dad. Go open this.”

“You want to explain why you’re inviting dinner guests over without telling me first?” Noah asked.

Sara rolled her eyes and ignored their questions. “Cat, take your shoes off. Dad, open the wine. Then we’ll chat.”

They both watched as Sara bopped back to the kitchen where a cheery pop song was playing.

“What’s happening?” Cat whispered.

“I think we’re being played,” Noah whispered back. “You look incredible by the way. I’ve missed you.”

Cat reached out to hold onto his arm while she pulled off her boots. “I might have missed you, too.”

“What are you wearing under that sweater?” Noah asked, peering down the neckline of her shirt.

“I don’t think you’re going to find out tonight,” Cat said, nodding toward the kitchen.

“Dad! Wine!” Sara yelled from the depths of the house.

“We’d better get back there,” he said, giving her subtle cleavage another look of longing.

“I feel like we’re walking into a trap.”

“Oh, we most certainly are. Welcome to parenting.”

Sara had three salmon filets on a baking sheet. She was dressing them with salt and pepper. There were two empty wine glasses and a corkscrew on the counter.

“Cat, do you want to do something with these tomatoes and asparagus?” Sara asked, jutting her chin toward the pile of produce next to the cutting board. “I printed out a recipe you can follow.”

Cat padded over to the veggies. “Recipe schmecipe,” she scoffed. “My nonni would slap me upside the head if she saw me using one. Just point me in the direction of your balsamic vinegar.”

Sara pointed, and Noah poured, and an 80s rock tune came on.

“Come on, Dad! It’s your jam,” Sara announced.

Noah shook his head, cheeks going a bit pink. “Nope. Not happening.”

“He does an air guitar solo that any other time I can’t get him to stop. Now suddenly he’s embarrassed,” Sara explained, shaking her head.

“Oh, I need to see this air guitar solo,” Cat insisted.

“No way.”

“It’s AC/DC. I’ll drum,” she offered.