“Dinner’s ready in twenty minutes. Roman, don’t ruin your appetite. Nicola Beatrice, would you join me in the kitchen?”

Uh-oh. Breaking out the middle name. She was in trouble. No one else seemed to notice as a football appeared out of nowhere, soaring across the living room, and her mom didn’t give her a chance to wiggle out of that request. Nicola walked the familiar path to the kitchen, hearing the same floorboard creak as it had so long ago.

“Why don’t you make the salad?” Her mom pointed to everything lined up on the counter.

“I can do that.” This had been planned, but she was okay with it. The lineup of incoming questions made her nervous, but better to stay busy with her hands than fidget with her shirt.

“Thanks. So I’m going to skip all the boring and sad stuff and skip to you and Cash. That okay with you, angel?”

Nicola choked, spilling all the cherry tomatoes she had lined up to split, salt, and pepper. “Cash?” Her voice squeaked. Yeah. That’s not a dead giveaway of anything hot and heavy.

Rolling her eyes, her mom laughed. “All right. We can dredge up years of missing—”

“I can talk Cash. I ran into Cash and Roman—”

“Angel, I know that already. You think either of those boys can keep a secret?”

I guess not.

Her mom smiled. “The more I feed them, the more they talk. It’s the only way I’ve stayed sane knowing what they run all over the world doing. I’ve also known the two of you have circled each other from afar since you were—honest to God—believers in cooties. And now, he’s holding your hand. Arm around the shoulder. Clearly, cooties aren’t a problem anymore.”

Nic knew her cheeks blazed bright pink. “You noticed?”

“I notice everything. Mothers always do.”

“What about fathers? Do you think dad, um, noticed?”

Her mom laughed. “Maybe. Do you like him?”

“Of course I like him, mom. It’s Cash.”

“Do you love him?”

“Mom!” Nic’s eyes bugged out like she was in the twelfth grade again.

“You know, before everything happened,” her mom gestured to the window. Her dad, Roman, and Cash were outside tossing a football with one hand, nursing their beers in the other. “Cash had called your father. Wanted to talk to us. Without Roman or you there.”

Silence. I had a ring. His voice echoed in her head. She hadn’t doubted him when he threw that jab at her, but—

“Know anything about that?” Her mom cocked an eyebrow, smiling like she knew a secret. “Keep chopping, angel. We have hungry men to feed.”

Nicola stared out the window instead and let her mom remove the knife and salad makings. She watched them in the backyard. Laughing and roughhousing. Cash threw the ball, spun round, and caught sight of her through the glass.