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I need to take my mind off my own issues.

Mom’s still asleep when I get back from a run around our quiet neighborhood, so I turn on the state-of-the-art coffee machine I bought her last year and take a quick shower, making sure I’m in the kitchen—coffee in hand—by the time she rises.

I may not spend a lot of time here, but when I do, I try to help out as much as I can.

“If only the world saw this side of you.” Mom pats my cheek as she walks in, still in her robe, and after taking the coffee from my outstretched hand, she closes her eyes as she breathes in the aroma. “You’re my angel.” She smiles with her lips pressed to the mug, and a calm settles over me.

Something draws her attention and she walks toward the window, her smile widening. “Your sister’s here. How do you feel about making her one of your special hot chocolates?”

My eyes glance at the driveway, and sure enough, Henley’s black Audi Q5 is parked in the dead center, blocking my rental.

Typical.

“She’s early. What time does the official lunch start?” Once again I’m seeking information, and once again, I get nothing.

“I’m aiming for twelve,” she says, her eyes still on Henley, watching her walk to the door.

“There’s no rush. What time is your flight?”

“I smell coffee,” Henley bellows as she opens the door, stopping my response. “Please tell me Beckett’s making his special hot chocolate.”

“He is,” Mom confirms.

“For myself,” I add for the fun of it.

When she reaches the kitchen, Henley hits me with a glare, not a hint of patience for my early-morning jokes. “You don’t even like hot chocolate.”

“People change.” I shrug and she eyes me suspiciously, popping a hip as her expression morphs, her brows arching mischievously.

“Some people do. But have you changed, dear brother?” The intensity of her gaze makes me uncomfortable, and I’m forced to look away.

“I’ll make your damn hot chocolate, Hen.” I grab the mug from Mom’s hand, and Henley laughs as I turn around.

I swear she mumbles something about that not being what she meant, but I choose to ignore her.

I’m not in denial over the fact that Henley and Lily talk, but if Henley knew certain details about what happened between us—namely that we kissed—I have no doubt she would have confronted me about it long before now. Like me, she’s fishing.

Maybe it would benefit us both if we were honest with one another.

But that’s not going to happen.

The morning rolls by with me putting together the rocking chair I bought Mom for Christmas, while Henley watches, oblivious to my thoughts. With each turn of the clock, I grow more anxious, until I’m certain that Lily’s not coming.

I’d love to ask why, only that would be more painful than shooting myself in the foot with the ammunition it would give my sister. If there’s even a spark to that fire, I am not adding any fuel.

Mom calls us for lunch just after twelve, and the dull ache in my chest is enough to convince me I have to see Lily again.

With a smile, I sit through Mom’s lovingly prepared meal, going through the motions, keeping up appearances. But when she tells us our dessert will be another thirty minutes, I bite back a groan.

As I wait, I tap my hands on the table, working hard not to stare through the open kitchen doorway, recalling Mom’s saying from when we were kids. “A watched pot never boils.”

Why the hell not?

It’s not like my gaze is somehow stopping the flame from heating the water.

Henley laughs from across the table, and my eyes snap to hers, automatically thinking she’s laughing at me. And I’m right.

“What?”