Without another word, he went back inside, leaving the door open. She followed. He still hadn’t answered her question about Duke. He waited for her by the table, which was now covered in newspaper and bills, instead of her clothes.

He held out his hand. She went to shake it, but instead of taking her hand, he opened his. Nestled in his palm was Gabriela’s gold-and-diamond bracelet.

“This must be yours. It was on the floor in the kitchen when I got home this morning.”

Oh, Gabriela. I am a terrible friend. She lifted it from his palm, blushing. “Thank you,” she said awkwardly. “Are you Duke’s father?”

“Yes. I am Willis Lewis.” He moved behind the island and started making coffee.

“I’m Angel. I was at your march for education equality last year. I think it’s great what you’re doing for the community.”

“If only my son felt the same way.” He fiddled with the stove.

“So, I take it he’s not here?”

Willis took his time before answering. “No. I have no idea where he is.”

Well, this is fun. She was about to say thank you to his back and leave, when she noticed a stack of letters on the table next to her. What caught her attention was the looping signature. Regina. The letter was handwritten—flowery cursive punctuated by a lot of heavy underlining.

Angel guiltily moved away. Why did Willis have letters from Regina? Or maybe they belonged to Duke? Wasn’t his ex out of the picture? What was going on? Do I really want to know?

Willis came around the island, putting himself between her and the table, folding his arms across his chest, scowling at her. “I wanted Duke to help organize a luncheon for the aldermen today. As usual, he is not willing to take care of anyone but himself.” He narrowed his eyes. “Though he can’t even do that right. Believe me, little lady, you’re barking up the wrong tree. Duke needs to concentrate and get back in the game. You’re going want to find yourself another man to hang on.”

Angel took a step back, dismayed. “Que?”

“‘Que? Que?’” the older man mocked. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Mr. Lewis, believe me, I’m not trying to get anything out of Duke.” She slung her purse over her shoulder and strode to the kitchen door. “I do think your son could use a real friend. Some support. He’s struggling.” Marches for fair treatment, huh?

He followed. “He has plenty of friends. He doesn’t need another woman looking for a meal ticket.” With that, the old man opened the door and waved her out.