My father winces as Willard leans over to whisper something. Willard’s smile stays in place, but his eyes are already two moves ahead in a game no one else is playing. A warning hums in my gut, but I tell myself they’re probably just talking golf.
Mrs. Stone dabs her mouth. “Caspian was invited, of course, but he’s always off doing something dramatic.”
“Well, yeah. Usually helping with my dramatic single-dad life,” I say before I can stop myself. Snark’s easier than silence tonight.
Mr. Stone hums. “That’s nice. But you’re here. And he isn’t.”
Mom’s smile sharpens. “He dropped by earlier, actually. Something about a charity event. For homeless people,” she adds with a pointed look.
Mr. Stone chuckles coldly. “Always choosing galas over family.”
James turns to me. “You sang splendidly at the festival. Art demands discipline.” His smile says compliments, but his eyes say collar and leash optional.
Before I can respond, Noah barrels in holding a cookie box, chocolate smeared on his face. “Grandma, I spiritually connected with four cookies.”
James blinks. “Is that normal?”
“Just vocabulary from Mom,” I say, amused.
“With whom have you spiritually connected, darling?” Dad asks Mom.
“Oh, stop it,” she says. “We saw a painting the other day. ‘Spiritually Connected to Oven Mitts’. Delightful.”
“I liked the milkshake I got after,” Noah comments before vanishing again.
Mrs. Stone smiles sweetly, but the words are meant to sting: “Speaking of Noah, how is Lizzie?”
“She’s doing wonderfully,” Dad says. Like the last time he spoke to Lizzie wasn’t in their hallway, Dad repeating he’s sorry and Lizzie saying it’s too late.
“I always told Sarah,” Willard says, “that Hudson girl would end up in trouble.”
Mom’s smile tightens. Danger zone. You shouldn’t poke a mama bear. Not even the kind who lost her daughter because of her own actions.
I meet Willard’s gaze. “Turns out you were wrong.” He holds my eyes a beat too long.
James clears his throat. “I bought a yacht. A real looker, too, only sixty-five grand.”
“Divorce auction?” Mr. Stone asks.
“Estate liquidation.”
“What’s the name?” Sarah Willard asks.
“Chardonnay Therapy.” Could be worse. Could’ve been Sea Discipline.
“Three staterooms. One’s basically a floating spa,” James adds, then turns to me, eyes gleaming. “You’re welcome to stay aboard anytime. My assistant can arrange it.”
Mom beams like I just got engaged.
Mrs. Stone clears her throat theatrically. “You won’t believe who’s back in town.” She pauses dramatically. ”Xaden Bailey!”
The room goes still. Dad looks rattled. Mom looks sharper than a kitchen knife.
“Already paid him a visit,” Willard chimes. “Just a friendly reminder Baywood’s respectable.” He says it looking straight at me.
And although I despise the man Xaden has become, I can’t help it.
Defending him is in my blood, and for once I don’t freeze. “Xaden has never caused trouble here.”
