Her dad’s parents had passed away before Finley’s birth, at which time Robbie’s family of four had relocated to the Sutherland farm. Robbie and June had sold off the farming equipment and continued their long-held jobs—Robbie as an accountant and June as a full-time mom.

When Finley was small, Aunt June had been her dad’s backup caregiver. Whenever Dad needed time to himself to work, run errands, or go on a date, Finley had come here to Robbie and June’s.

She remembered standing on a chair next to her aunt, both of them wearing pink aprons and making sugar cookies. June had let Finley choose the cookie cutters and drop food dye into the white frosting to create the most fantastical colors.

June was the one who’d introduced her to Sesame Street and kept fresh Play-Doh on hand. She’d brought her daughter’s old dollhouse down from the attic for Finley, who’d spent hours concocting lives for the dolls and their pets. Together, June and Finley would walk down to the pond on the property, June’s gray cat prancing along behind them with its tail held high.

Back then, Robbie and June’s kids—Eric and Leslie—had been in their early twenties. At every family gathering, they’d been Finley’s good-natured playmates. Occasionally, luxury of luxuries, she’d had one of them all to herself when they’d served as her babysitter.

In her eyes, they’d been incredibly cool. Young, energetic, great-looking. Eric took her out for ice cream in his sports car, rode bikes with her, beat her at card games. Leslie put makeup on Finley and painted her nails.

Before Finley started kindergarten, she’d served as flower girl at both of their weddings.

Robbie and June were now eighty and seventy-eight, respectively. Eric was fifty, with a college-aged daughter. Leslie, two years younger, also had a college-aged daughter, plus two high school–aged sons.

Finley had never met her mother, so the Sutherlands were the entirety of her family. All she’d known. All she had. She’d been fortunate. They were gracious, loving, supportive.

Finley rang the doorbell, then glanced up at Luke. Just that—the two of them looking at each other without words—caused the air to turn hot.

His eyes glittered. She’d experienced his passion through his kisses but what she saw in his eyes was even more compelling. This . . . this desire that hovered between them was growing unbearable—

June answered the door and enveloped Finley in a hug that smelled, as it always had, of Shalimar perfume. A pretty woman with a pillowy body, June had the type of personality that would have been perfect for a TV chef famous for cooking Southern food. She’d styled her short dark gray hair in a flattering style. She had on knit pants, a turquoise top, pink-rimmed glasses, and an enormous, chunky necklace.