“I do not understand,” I was saying to Martin, two days after Parker’s impromptu visit, “why my mother insists that I come home every year for this fishing tournament. I don’t even like to fish.”

He spread himself dramatically across my bed. “Well, your daddy likes to fish, and he likes for you to be there, so maybe it’s more about that.”

I zipped four sundresses into a hanging bag, knowing that I absolutely loved the Summer Splash. I was just in a mood.

“You said, like, a million times that you weren’t going to this thing this year. What made you change your mind?”

I shrugged noncommittally. So, yes, maybe, just maybe, it had something to do with the fact that I hadn’t been able to get Parker out of my mind since he showed up on my doorstep two days ago and shone in that board room, damn it. I saw him in a brand-new way, one that combined the charm of our history with fresh feelings for a real man at the top of his game, one who could command a room but also listen, who could make rules but also take criticism. I had known Parker was cute and smart and all that. But it had eluded me that the man was a catch.

But Parker meant baggage. He meant backstories. He meant mothers who were best friends. Most of all, he meant living in the shadow of a dead woman, because Parker would never get over her. And I wasn’t willing to put myself through that.

Fortunately, Martin either didn’t notice my pause or simply decided not to press me on it. “Traveling with a hanging bag seems like a nightmare,” he said.

I rolled my eyes. “It is. It totally is, but Mom will be mad if I’m wrinkled.” I sprayed the perfume that Harris got me in the air and walked through it, feeling my annoyance dissipate. “I owe you big-time,” I said, turning back to look at my friend.

He nodded. “I know. And don’t screw this up. If you throw him out like last week’s garbage, it will not do great things for my career.”

I smiled. “I won’t” I said. And I meant it. I couldn’t count the number of times over the months since Thad and I had split that I had said I wasn’t going to move on, that I wasn’t going to get serious with anyone. And, while Harris and I weren’t serious per se, we were heading in the direction of serious at a rapid clip. “I think I’ll probably stay at his place tonight,” I said. “That okay?”

Martin groaned. “Is it okay not to have to sleep with my noise-canceling headphones on? Yeah. I’d say that’s okay.”

I gasped, flushing, and put my hand to my mouth.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” Martin said, even though he wasn’t.

I bit my lip and said, “Well, let’s just say if I had slept with Harris a little bit earlier, I would have realized a lot of things about my marriage sooner.”