“Well, Wendy, what did you expect?” I throw the phone onto the sofa.

My own words echo in my head bitterly. Of course, he didn’t answer my call or text messages.

Of course, he doesn’t want a fricking thing to do with me. And shouldn’t.

He said it was a game. That’s exactly what it was. A game to him.

All of this.

Thank God I didn’t drive over to his house. I’d considered it.

But why? Because I want a repeat of what happened almost a week ago?

Duh. I'd wanted it bad. That's why every day without an answer from him just gets more excruciating, more disappointing, more infuriating.

“I expected better,” I say. “And I guess I was an idiot.”

Then I shake my stupid head. I’m nuts. I’m not only talking to myself, I’m answering myself.

I pivot, stomping into the tiny kitchen of my apartment. My lonely, one-bedroom apartment.

The place where I’ll spend the rest of my life alone. My hideous life.

I just wish I'd expected this.

Hunter Forsythe is so far out of my league I can’t even buy tickets to the stadium. I know that. Have always known it since the day we met.

I must be hungry, though. Haven’t eaten since my lunch break hours ago.

That must be it. I always get jittery when I’m hungry. Hangry, they say, and it's become one of my favorite words over the years.

Jittery, yes. Psycho, no. It’s only three.

I tell myself it's Friday. Hunter's a busy man. He might've taken a nap or had his phone turned off. Maybe something came up with Ben.

Only, Hunter doesn’t seem like a nap kind of guy.

He sure didn’t get much sleep the night of Rochelle's wedding. Neither did I. Maybe that’s it. I’m just tired. Drained.

“Or psycho, after all,” I tell myself.

My phone dings loudly. I nearly trip myself turning and run to the living room, diving onto the couch to grab it.

I see his name and smile, even though it's hardly cause for good news until I read the words.

Sorry I haven't been able to get in touch the past few days. A lot going on with Landmark and my friend, Sloan.

Just took Ben out for a snack and then grocery shopping. Just got home. How’d it go with the new bride this week?

Happiness, forgiveness, bursts inside me so big and bright I’m nearly floating. I start typing furiously. No problem. I said I’d call or tex—

I stop, delete everything, and set the phone down. Hold up. I need to think this through.

Really think this through.

I'm jumping to instantly reply to a man who made me wait days for anything.

Thankfully I’d only called once and sent him a single text. It was pure nerve-hell just doing that, but I’d controlled myself. I need to do it again. Think about what I'm expecting.

Because a few minutes ago, I’d nearly gone as ballistic as Rochelle. Maybe worse.

But he did leave me hanging, and I can't let that go so easily.

Ugh. What do I text? Technically, he'd fulfilled his end of the bargain with flying colors. The wedding is done and over. He'd been my date and my first...everything.

My heart leaps as my phone dings again. I’m almost afraid to look at it, but I'm too excited not to.

Then disappointment hits. It’s not from Hunter. It’s from Josh. I open the message.

Hey Wendy, it's Josh. Could I get Hunter’s number? I need to let him know I still have his hundred bucks. That whole thing with Ricardo...believe it or not, it wasn't me.

The sitter called, and we had to get home early. Allie was running a temp. I never got a chance to convince anyone to swallow a fish.

I smile. That makes me feel slightly better about the pure insanity Rochelle will never live down.

I also feel bad for Allie, their youngest daughter. Only three.

I contemplate whether or not I should give out Hunter’s number for a moment. Then, finally, I copy and paste it into my reply before I type back.

There you go. I think he's usually around in the evenings. Hope Allie's feeling better. I'm amazed it wasn't you because Ricardo swallowed three fish. Marco’s brother. Crazy.

After I hit send, I open Hunter’s message and type.

Hey. Hope everything is good with Ben. Good to hear you got him fed. He has a hollow leg.

I pause before sending the next message. So...I hope it’s okay that I gave Josh your number. He still has your money and asked if he could return it. They had to leave early because one of their girls was sick. Amazingly, he never got a chance to convince anyone to swallow a fish. It just happened on its own.

A new message from Josh pops in as soon as I send Hunter’s.

No shit? That’s classic! Allie’s better now. Just a cold.

I grin at the first half of Josh’s response. Poor little girl. Give her a hug from me! And yes, it was classic! And disgusting!

A message from Hunter pops in.

Damn. And here I was looking forward to paying out another two hundred bucks. Oh well. Hope their daughter is feeling better. What are you doing?

I curl my legs beneath me and snuggle into the couch.

I’m sure you were. Allie, that’s their three-year-old daughter, had a cold. I just got home. You?

I hit send and hold my breath while watching the screen. Waiting for his response.

So focused, I jump when my phone rings. And smile at his name lit bright on the screen. I swipe the answer button. I flinch inwardly, thinking I should've waited for at least one more ring.

“You never said how your wedding cake appointment went,” his voice growls into my ear.

I grin. “Oh, fine. The wedding’s not until February.”

“Valentine’s Day?”

“Nearly,” I say, closing my eyes at how hard my heart is thudding.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing. You?”

“Just calling to see if you want to come over for supper. Ben and I picked up some steaks.”

I can barely speak through the excitement bubbling up. But I force myself to regain my wits.

“That depends,” I say, trying to sound cold. “I know you had a lot going on, but...five days, Hunter? That's how long you waited to say anything?”

He pauses. “Had to think through some shit, if I'm being honest. Not you, Sugar, but Ben. And the company. The Christmas party's coming up soon and I need to make an appearance there for morale. I'm sorry, I know I should've texted. Won't happen again.”

Satisfied, I take a breath and nod.

“Then yum. Steaks. What time?”

“Whenever. You can come over now, if you'd like.”

I can think this whole thing through later. “All right. Anything I can bring?”

“Just your own beautiful self.”

Predictably, he leaves me at a loss for words, and the call screen blinks ENDED before I can say anything back.

Bastard. Gorgeous, way-too-good-for-life bastard.

I shoot off the couch. There’s very little food in my apartment, so I grab my purse and coat and head for the door. I have to bring something.

At the store, I grab some fresh spinach, strawberries, walnuts, and a lemon to make a salad. Something quick, easy, refreshing, and made to go with everything.

I park in the driveway and as I walk up, I notice a cat huddled in the corner of the front porch. A plump, shivering silver-blue cat with big gold eyes. On the top step, I kneel down. “Here, kitty, kitty.”

The cat barrels into my arms and snuggles his head into my chin.

“Oh, poor baby, you’re so cold!”

Ben opens the door. “Hey, Wendy.”

I stand up. “Hey, Ben. Do you own a cat?” I hadn’t seen one the other time I was here, but had seen cat food in the cupboards. “Found this guy in the corner of the porch.”

He frowns. “Yeah, that’s Jingles! What the...” Petting the cat’s head, he asks, “What are you doing outside, boy?”

Hunter appears in the doorway behind him with a sexy look that instantly weakens my knees.

God. And I do mean instantly. Even before he flashes me that smirk.

“Jingles was outside, Dad,” Ben says, taking the cat from my arms.

Hunter frowns and cocks his head as he takes the grocery bag from me. “He was? Odd. He never goes outside.”

“I know!” Ben carries the cat inside. “Jesus. He’s shivering. How long was he out there?”

“We’ve had Jingles for years.” Hunter closes the door as we step inside and looks at me. “The only time he's ever outside is when we take him to the vet. Very unusual.”

“Maybe he ran out earlier, when you went shopping or came home?” I suggest.

“Not likely. He's a skittish boy, afraid of strangers and loud noises. We went out through the garage like usual and came back in that way. He usually waits at the door, but he never tries to go out there.” Hunter then asks Ben, “Did you see him before we went shopping?”

“No.” Ben scratches the back of his neck, deep in thought. “So weird. I don’t remember seeing him last night, either, come to think of it.” He looks at Hunter. “Man, I hope he wasn’t outside all night.”

I sense how concerned they both are and step forward to rub the cat’s head. “I’m sure he’s fine, but he might be hungry.”

Then Ben sets him down.

“I’ll go feed him.” Ben takes off down the hallway, and the cat follows like he already knows there's food coming.

“What’s this?” Hunter holds up my bag.

My lips tingle at the way he’s looking at me, and my heart flutters. “Just a salad. I know you said not to bring anything, but...”

He leans closer. “But we'll eat light for dinner. And then we’ll have some alone time, later. Good thinking, Sugar.”

Trying my best to hide my glee, I just lift a brow and grin, then follow Ben down the hall.

Once we're in the kitchen, while Ben gets a can of cat food out of the cupboard, I take off my coat. Hunter stands behind me, and his hand on my back makes my breath stall.

“So, what room do you put your Christmas tree in?” I ask, trying to get my focus on something but him so I don't burst into flames.

Hunter smiles as he takes my coat. He knows what I’m doing. Just like he probably knows I got the inspiration from seeing the green wreath on the grocery bag he set on the counter.

“They usually put it up in the front room!” Ben says from around the corner. I hear him spooning cat food out of a can and into a dish I've seen with Jingles' name on it.

“They?” I look at Hunter, who's carrying my coat down the hallway, stepping out of the kitchen so I can see everyone. “Who’s they?”

“The company Dad hires.” Ben sits down on the floor beside the cat, who's smacking away at his food. “They use a different tree every year. It was all white last year. Not the tree, but the lights and everything else they’d hung on it. Almost everywhere else in the house, too.” He frowns. “I think that was last year...wasn't it? I dunno. It was gone by the time we got back home. Maybe it was all gold last year?”

“The all-white one was last year,” Hunter says from the laundry room. “The year before was the gold.”

I’m stunned. He hires a company to decorate his house for Christmas?

Oh, of course he does. That’s how far out of his league I am. Something else Ben said triggers more questions. “Back home? From where?”

“Australia,” Ben answers like it’s no big deal. “Brisbane and Sydney.”

I’m more than stunned. Flabbergasted, really. “You...go to Australia for Christmas?”

“Last year,” he says. “The year before it was Tokyo.”

The only question I can think of is, “Why?”

“Because that’s where Ben wanted to go,” Hunter says, stepping up beside me, subtly rubbing the small of my back. “That’s one of his Christmas presents. Experience. I take him wherever he wants to go over Christmas break.” He winks at Ben. “Except Disney. Six years in a row damn near wore me out when he was a kid.”

Ben laughs, then looks at Hunter with a bit of apprehension. “Uncle Sloan asked where we're going this year.”

I stiffen slightly, recognizing the name of that long-haired weirdo I’d met in the kitchen just a few weeks ago. “Uncle Sloan?”

“Ben just calls him that,” Hunter says. His expression is serious too as he looks at Ben. “And what'd you tell him? Where'll it be?”

“I told him I hadn’t thought about it yet, actually,” Ben says.

“Whoa.” I hold up a hand. “You guys just decide on the spur of a moment and then go?”

Talk about out of my league. I have to plan a weekend trip months in advance.

“That’s part of the fun,” Hunter says, although he’s not smiling.

Ben stands up and leans against the other side of the island from us. “I have thought about it a little, though, Dad.”

“Oh, and what are you thinking?” Hunter asks.

“Well, this year, with a job and all, it might be kinda hard to get away. Thanksgiving was really busy at the bakery. I bet Christmas will be, too.”

Ben looks at me, so I nod, even though I want to say his job at the bakery is nothing compared to a trip anywhere in the world. I mean, I love Midnight Morning, but if I had a chance to go to Venice? Shanghai? Cairo?

I'd drop everything so fast my parents would have to draft Rochelle to do some real work.

“And, well...for me to leave so soon after being hired wouldn’t be right. I think I just want to work during my break instead.”

For the second time tonight, I'm stunned. Surprised at the real, honest excitement in his eyes.

I knew he liked the job, but seriously? A trip to anywhere verses the bakery?

“That’s a very mature attitude, Ben,” Hunter says, flashing him a sincere smile. “I’m proud of you. If you'd like to take a rain check, then that's what we'll do. We'll go on a trip whenever it works into your schedule.”

“You mean it?” Ben asks. “Uh, Uncle Sloan said you might be disappointed.”

Hunter cocks his head again, studying him carefully. “He said that?”

Ben’s face turns red. “Maybe he was joking. He had a couple beers the last time I saw him and was hamming it up like usual.”

“Why would I be mad, Ben? It’s your present. Not Sloan’s.” Hunter slaps the counter with one hand. “It’s settled. We’ll stay home this Christmas and relax. You'll work your hours, and we'll enjoy your time off in the evenings.”

“Awesome! Thanks, Dad.” Ben slaps the counter too. “So when will they put up the tree?”

“I haven’t called them yet,” Hunter says. “Planning to tomorrow.”

“Do you put up a Christmas tree, Wendy?” Ben asks.

I start unloading the bag of groceries I’d bought. “Yes. Just a small one...I can only have an artificial one at my apartment due to fire hazards, and there's not much space. It's pretty tiny, actually.”

“I already decorated the shop, of course – you saw – but there’s not much room there, either. Not for a real big ol' Christmas tree.”

“I love how everything looks at Midnight Morning,” Ben says.

A sudden rush of memories makes me smile. “When I was little, my dad and I would go to the tree lot over near the capitol and pick out the biggest tree.” I fold up the empty plastic bag. “Well, one that would fit in our house, anyway, and tie it to the top of the car. We'd bring it home and decorate it right after Thanksgiving.” I laugh. “With ugly decorations my sister and I made in school. Yarn snowflakes, clay reindeer that looked more like bears, Santa cookies hard enough to break your teeth...”

They're both looking at me so seriously, my cheeks burn. “Some of the other decorations were nice.”

“Yeah, we did those in school too. Do you still do that?” Ben asks. “Make your own stuff for the tree?”

“No. No time, I guess. After I went to college, my parents bought an artificial one. Pre-lit. My mom likes that. And she likes not having the mess of a real one.” I shrug. “But that’s all part of Christmas. The mess.”

“Is that tree lot still here? In Saint Paul?” Hunter asks.

I shrug and blink, unsure what he's getting at. “I assume so.”

He takes the plastic bag from my hand. “Then let’s go.”

“Go?”

“Let’s go get a Christmas tree.” He turns to Ben. “How’s that sound?”

“Awesome!” Ben answers, jumping up so fast he makes Jingles bolt across the floor.

The next thing I know, we’re in Hunter’s SUV, heading to the tree lot.

It doesn't take long to find the biggest, most perfect Norway Spruce in all of Minnesota. Then we hit the mall and buy a cart full of decorations. I’m in my glory.

I love decorating for Christmas almost as much as I love baking cakes. It’s sort of the same thing, making something plain look spectacular.

The main difference is, today, I have help. Hunter and Ben prove to be phenomenal tree-makers. I needed their brawn when it came to hauling that thing inside, and the bags of decorations.

We take time out to eat the steaks Hunter grills, but by nine o’clock that night, their formal living room not only looks less formal, it's magazine perfect for a down-home, Norman Rockwell type Christmas.

“Damn, Sugar. I'd say you’re in the wrong business,” Hunter says as we stand back, admiring our handiwork. “But I’ve seen your cakes, so I’ll say you're multi-talented instead.”

I laugh. “So are you. That took some serious work to get the tree into the stand.”

He’d had to saw off several branches and chisel the stump to fit, even though we’d bought the biggest stand available.

“Wow. Looks even better than when you hire that company, Dad.”

Ben stands on my other side, and even his profile shows his awe. A part of me rejoices at having shared this with him. With both of them.

“Even Jingles likes it!” Ben says, pointing and chuckling.

The big cat is curled up in one of the red velvet chairs near the fireplace. I’d picked out several Christmas pillows and put them in the chair, along with a red and green plaid throw I’d draped over the back.

“Too bad our names aren’t on the stockings,” Ben says, turning his gaze to the fireplace. He holds up a hand. “Wait, I’ll be right back.”

He shoots out of the room. A second later, Hunter grabs my waist and spins me around to face him.

The kiss happens so fast, I barely have time to react. At first.

Then I'm gone, melting into him, looping my arms around his neck to take it all in. Every glorious, tongue-dancing, heart-pounding second.

Damn, he’s good. And an incredible kisser all the way around.

Even the way he ends kisses, with a few small pecks that literally makes me melt inside.

“I didn’t call you over here to work all afternoon and evening, you know,” he says, taking a step back.

Aware that Ben could arrive back at any moment, I slide my arms off his neck and then pull down the hem of my t-shirt. “This wasn’t work. It was fun. I love decorating.”

“It shows. You’re good at it, Sugar.” He nods toward the sofa. “Want a glass of wine? We can sit and enjoy your craftsmanship.”

I laugh. “I more than met my quota for the month last weekend. But I’ll make us some hot apple cider.” We’d picked up a jug while shopping because they said they’d never had apple cider for Christmas and I’d said I couldn’t put up a tree without it.

“I’ll help you warm it up.”

The glint in his eyes says that’s not all he’ll warm up.

Inwardly, I’m giggling with delight. Outwardly, I pretend I don’t catch his gist. “If you insist.”

In the kitchen, I put Hunter to work slicing up an orange while I pour the cider in a kettle and dress it up. Soon, it's simmering away with cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves.

“Thought you just had to heat up the apple cider?” he asks. “Smells a lot more complicated, Sugar. I like it.” He inhales hard enough for me to hear.

“Plain old apple cider is too boring.” I grin but keep my distance, knowing Ben could walk into the kitchen any time.

I’m not ready for Ben to know what's happening between Hunter and me. And I doubt Hunter is either.

There’s a balance we have to maintain, especially while I'm also Ben’s boss.

“Got your orange cut.”

“Great. Put all but three half-slices in the kettle.” I walk around the island to get the can of whipped cream out of the fridge. “It all needs to simmer for a couple more minutes.”

“Hey, where are you guys?” Ben shouts from down the hall.

“Kitchen, son,” Hunter answers. “Making apple cider.”

“Coming!”

I take cups out of the cupboard and set them on the counter.

“I haven’t seen him this excited in a long time,” Hunter whispers. “It’s nice for once. And it’s also thanks to you. Ever since the accident, it’s like he’s come around again. Back to being the kid I always knew.”

“Kids get bored easily,” I say.

“Not this time. Nothing boring about you, Sugar.” The smile and the brow he wags leave me in stitches. “Do you ever just relax and admire your hard work?

I wish.

I shake my head at him. “I like to stay busy. Probably because my parents never let us get bored. I can't remember not working at the bakery.”

A thoughtful gaze settles over his face. I nod toward the pot he’s stirring. “That should be done by now. Ladle it into these cups.”

He carries the pot over, and as he fills the cups, I top them with whipped cream and sprinkle on nutmeg, then add a cinnamon stick to each cup, twisting an orange slice and hooking it on the edge of each mug last.

“Shit, you did it again. Looks too good to drink,” he growls.

“You won’t think that once you taste it,” I answer, certain we'll all like it. Who doesn’t like spiced apple cider?

He picks up a cup and takes a good, long sip. Then he makes a mock face like he's about to fall over. “Fuck, that's good.”

My cheeks incinerate, thinking of when I’d heard him say that before. Last time, his face was between my legs, and it was a miracle I could hear, much less remember, anything at all.

“Really delicious, Wendy. Might have to figure out how to spike this stuff for the company Christmas party.”

Smiling, I pick up the other two cups. “Let’s go see how Ben weighs in.”

Naturally, the kid loves it, but he has a surprise of his own in the other room.

Ben shows us the stockings he’d printed names on with a permanent marker.

Hunter. Ben. Wendy.

I'm speechless for the umpteenth time I've been in this house. I don’t know what to say, but can’t let things go this far.

“Jingles might have something to say about that last one,” I finally say, pointing. “That’s his stocking.”

“A stocking for a cat?” Ben looks up, adorably wiping his whipped cream mustache off with his sleeve.

“There'd better be! I had a dog growing up. His name was Bear, and he had his own stocking, too. My mother still has it.”

“That’s cool,” Ben says. “Maybe it's not a bad idea.”

“We’ll have to buy one more stocking.” Hunter holds his cup up to Ben. “Still plenty of time before Christmas.”

They clink glasses.

My stomach sinks. Oh, no.

I should really put a stop to this while I still can, but...a part of me doesn’t want to.

A shameful, secret part of me loves the idea of anyone spending this kind of attention and effort on me. And when it's a man who already has my heart under lock and key, and a boy who might be the sweetest kid I've ever known.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.

“Well, son, if I recall correctly, you and Tommy have a big day tomorrow going to the car show with his old man,” Hunter says. “And work. Early.”

“And I have to be at the bakery early,” I say.

Ben shuffles his feet and looks at me. Then he hits me with a question I couldn't prepare for in a hundred years.

“Yeah, Dad, you're right but...Wendy? You, um, you want to see my bedroom really quick? You haven’t seen that floor of the house yet. It’s cool. There's something I want to show you.”

Oh, God, no.

It hits me so hard, my ears are ringing. I stand there, falling in on myself, hoping this kid doesn’t have a crush on me.

My heart goes out to him. He’d not just been bored. He’s been lonely. Against my better judgment, and praying it's just a misunderstanding, I say, “Sure. Let's make it quick.”

“I’ll take your cups.” Hunter does just that.

In the foyer, he heads down the hallway while Ben and I walk up the elaborately curved staircase.

“Dad’s room is on the second floor. The rooms on the third floor are all mine.”

“Wow, that's cool. Plenty of space,” I say. It’s all I can think to say.

I’m drowning here.

I don’t want to hurt his feelings.

He’s at a fragile stage right now. A fragile, fragile age.

He points out things as we climb. The house is gorgeous from bottom to top, and I make comments about how nice the finishes are, everything from the ornate Minnesota landscape paintings on the wall to the handcrafted woodwork lining the base of every wall.

Ben gives me a quick tour. His music room, movie room, and others that he gestures to as we walk past.

As soon as I step into his bedroom, which is large and nicely decorated with massive furniture and an entertainment system most boys his age would kill for, he closes the door.

I panic, trying to hold it in, my instincts telling me to escape.

“I want to ask you something, Wendy.” He’s shuffling his feet again, looking around as if he's scared out of his mind.

So am I.

“All right,” I say, trying my very best to stay calm. “What’s up?”

“Do you think...maybe...I could work at the bakery every day after school?” He jumps up, pacing toward me. “I don't know if you need the help and I know it's a crimp in my homework schedule, but...damn it. I just want to learn, Wendy. As much as I possibly can. I talked to a teacher about a work-study credit thing, and if you guys have the hours, I think I'd like to try.”

A bit of the heaviness leaves my chest in one sense, but it grows heavier than a rock in another. “The bakery closes in the evenings, Ben. Some days as early as three. That's barely time for an hour of work by the time you get out of school...”

“I know, but you stay later, and so does your mom sometimes! I could wash dishes for you after hours or help you with the prep work for the next day. I just really, really like working there. I’ve missed it this past week with everything being so crazy. Missed it a lot.”

“Ben, I –”

“You wouldn’t even have to pay me. I'll do it for free. The high school credit, if it works out. I want to learn. And in a few more years, I think I want to take a shot applying at a restaurant. If I'm good enough, maybe I'll even go to school for it, like you did.”

I shake my head, trying not to tear up. “Oh, Ben. It isn't that.”

“Please? Could we just try it? If it doesn’t work, I won’t be mad. I swear.” He moves to his bed and plops down. “It’s just, well, it sounds stupid, but it’s boring here. I feel bad because I know Dad retired to take care of me, so I don’t come home to an empty house, but...he can't help me with everything. Some stuff, I need to figure out myself. I'm old enough to know it.”

I want to sit down next to him, put my arm around him, but know I need to keep my distance, so I lean back against the dresser. “Have you talked to your Dad about this?”

He shakes his head.

I use that as my out. “I can’t even consider it an option until you do. It's not my place. You understand, right?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, could you –”

“Ben, I can't. This has to be you.”

“Please, Wendy. He’s...he's different since he met you. I’ve barely been allowed to go anywhere on my own, but he’ll listen to you. You can make him understand. He won't have to worry I'm growing up too fast if it's coming from you.”

I feel bad for him, but I shake my head. “No, Ben, I won’t talk to him for you. I wish I could, honey. You have to do it, and if he says it’s okay, then here's what I'll do: I’ll talk to my dad about your hours. I bet we can figure something out. And my mom, who's the toughest one of the two.”

That makes him grin because he knows it's true.

“Fair?”

“Yeah, fair.” He sighs real heavy and stands up. “Thanks, Wendy. I’ll talk to Dad tomorrow. Can't be worse than the game, right?”

“No.” Smiling, I shake my head, and then reach out and ruffle his hair. “You'll do fine.”

I put my hand on the dresser to push away from it and leave, but I rattle something off the top that hits the ground with a thud. Real smooth.

“Oops, sorry!” Pivoting, I pause when I realize what I'm holding.

It's pictures in heavy metal frames. Wedding pictures.

“I’ll get those,” Ben says. “They’re of my mom and dad.”

Mom. That one word just confirms it.

I’d already picked up two. In one, there's a woman, a very pretty woman, that I can tell is Ben’s mother.

He has her not-quite-Hunter-blue eyes.

The other picture is a far-off wedding day shot of her and a man, dressed in fine attire and standing under a tree. Hunter, at least fifteen years younger.

I look closer. A shiver tickles my spine.

Wait. That’s not Hunter. The man looks like him. A lot. So much they're almost identical twins.

But those aren’t his eyes. They aren’t blue enough. Bold enough. They're the wrong freaking shade, even if it's off by a shade only a woman who's seen how those eyes flash when he comes could know.

I'm trembling. What the hell is going on here?

Ben looks at me in awkward silence, holding his hand out. I hand him the pictures. “She’s very pretty. You have her eyes.”

He nods. “She died in a fire when I was two, so I don’t remember her. It's too bad. It’s just been me and Dad since then.”

My desire to escape is greater now than before.

Dad? I wonder...

“Well, I have to go. Gotta get up early. Have a good night!” It's a miracle my voice doesn't crack from what I've just seen.

“Thanks, Wendy. Thanks for a great day, and I’ll text you, tell you what Dad says tomorrow.”

I force myself not to race for the door. “Sounds good. It was a great day. 'Night, Ben.”

Once I’m in the hall, I do bolt. Not a full-fledged run, but my fastest speed walk.

As I scurry down the hall, and then down flights of steps, my mind twists, turns, and jumbles. So do my insides.

What's Hunter Forsythe playing at? By the time I hit the front foyer, I’m pissed because the possibilities are endless. And the answers, nowhere to be found.

Hearing Hunter in the kitchen, I move and don’t even wait for him to turn around before I ask sharply, “What the hell are you doing?”

He holds up a cup, a stunned look in his eye. “Loading the dishwasher.” A frown fills his face. “What happened? What did Ben say?”

“It’s not what Ben said, Hunter. More like what I saw.”

He sets the cup down and stands up straight. His eyes demand answers.

“What'd you see?”

“A wedding picture.” I march toward the laundry room to get my coat.

He steps in front of me, nodding. “Me and Juno, Ben’s mother. That's it, isn't it? She died when he was only two.”

No. Hell no, I'm not having it, whatever weird lies he's about to drop. I shake my head and dodge around him, so disappointed it hurts. Why won't he tell me? Do I even want to know?

He grabs my arm. “Wendy, what's –”

“That’s not you,” I hiss. “In that wedding picture. That’s not you.”

His face falls and he lets go of my arm, staring very seriously. “It's me. I don't know what you're –”

“Don’t lie to me, Hunter! God.” I shake my head. “What are you doing? I know your eyes, and the ones in that picture aren't yours.”

He shakes his head.

I don’t know what to say besides, “You’re lying. I can tell.”

I’m not sure where the thought comes from, but it hits like a lightning bolt. “Holy crap. You have a twin brother, don't you? He’s the man in the picture.”

Hunter makes his move like a panther. Grabbing my arm, he drags me through the kitchen and into the hall, before I even realize what's happening.

I try to dig my heels in, which doesn’t help much, besides making a few loud squeals on the floor.

Sure he’s going to get the picture, I hiss, “Leave Ben out of this!”

Whatever this is.

“Damn right, we’ll leave Ben out of this.” He marches me into his office and shuts the door. Then when we're face to face, those eyes are all fire. “Tell me one thing: how the hell do you know about Cory?”

Cory. A name I've heard him say once before, before he caught himself.

“Who's –” I wrench my arm from his hold. I’d seen the tattoo, too.

The name Cory, on his chest, over his heart, last night, a date in the early 2000s stamped into it. For some weird reason, I assumed it must have been his wife with a weird spelling.

“You do have a brother. A twin brother. Is he Ben’s real father, or...or...” My anger hits a new level. I can't even speak. I'm confused, shocked, and thoroughly disgusted. “Or did you have an affair with Ben’s mother? Is that what you're keeping from him? Is that why you keep him on such a short leash?”

“Short leash? I don’t keep Ben on any kind of leash at all, woman.”

“Yes, you do.” Flustered, because this is crazy. Flipping crazy. “You can’t buy what Ben needs, but that’s not the issue right now.”

Done. So done. I level a glare on him. “Just answer my question. Are you Ben’s real father or not?”

He runs both hands through his hair and then heaves out a slow, painful sigh. “Yes. And no.”

I do a double take, my mouth open but silent. “What...what the hell kind of answer is that?”

“I’m not Ben’s biological father, Wendy. I adopted him. It's official, legal, papers from the state, everything. After his real parents died, I took him in. There was nobody better.”

The pain on his face is real. Very real.

But I still need more before I let him off the hook. “Who are his real parents then?”

“My brother, Cory, and his wife...Juno.”

My temple won't stop throbbing. I grab both sides of my head for a second, and then drop my arms, smacking both hips. This doesn't make sense.

“Why? Why the secrecy? Why are you pretending – what? – to be your own brother?” My mind is twisted in knots. “Who are you? Or are you actually Cory and Hunter’s dead...and he was Ben’s real father?”

He shakes his head. “No, you don’t know how many times I’ve wished that. Cory's dead. So is Juno. They're Ben’s parents. And I killed them.”

I freeze. “You what?!”

He walks over and stares out the window, into the wintry darkness. The cheerful Christmas lights strung along all the big houses nearby suddenly make everything look haunted, rather than festive.

“Cory and I started Landmark together. He got our first big contract. A few years later, we were doing well. Very well. He met Juno. They got married fast. Life couldn’t have been better.” He turns around and shakes his head. “Then there was that fucking fire at their house. A gas leak, supposedly. The basement blew up. Everything burned.”

There's this hard, painful softness in his voice, matching his icy blue eyes. I step closer. “Jesus. I'm sorry. How did Ben survive?”

He swallows. “Sloan. He arrived just after the fire started. Said he'd come by to drop off a letter, to fix shit with Cory. They'd been at each other's throats ever since I brought him into the company. Different visions. Different teams. Different attitudes. Ben was upstairs in his playpen. He grabbed him, carried him outside right in the nick of time, but Cory and Juno were trapped. There was nothing he could do.”

My heart is breaking for him. The pain on his face is so real. I take his hand, pull him to the sofa, and make him sit.

There's also something I can't stop thinking about. “You mentioned your friend? Sloan?”

He looks up, a darkness in his eyes. “I know what you're thinking. Don't, Wendy. The police did a full investigation, and so did I. Besides...he'd never do something so horrible. He saved my life, and Ben's.”

“Your life?” I stiffen. “I'm not sure I –”

“We were in the Marines together. Afghanistan. I was a Corporal, and he was the last man who didn't get blown to pieces when our unit hit an improvised bomb and ran smack into an ambush. Shrapnel hit my knee. I was bleeding out bad, couldn't think, could barely see the bastards closing in. Taliban. Sloan, he...”

Hunter pauses, gathering his thoughts. I run my fingers up his arms, wishing I hadn't dredged all this up. But I couldn't just forget what I saw in Ben's room.

“Sloan saved me. He got us evacuated in one piece, and several other good men, too. That's why I brought him into Landmark. That's why I cut him so much slack. Cory didn't like it, insisted he was fucking off as our security chief, giving some foreign agents a backdoor to snoop through our files.” He shakes his head. “I never found any proof. And it didn't seem likely, not with a company as new as ours was at the time. Still, I got those two together. Made them talk it out. Sloan was on his way to bury the hatchet when the universe kicked us square in the balls.”

“I'm sorry.”

So, so sorry. I didn't think it was possible for his wounded beast schtick to break my heart even more, but it happens.

“I never planned on not telling Ben.” He’s staring into the room, not really looking at anything. “I kept thinking I’d tell him when he was old enough to understand. Thing is, he never seems old enough, and now...now he’ll hate my guts if he finds out.”

I hate to add to his burdens, but I have to. “I'm sure you'll find a way. Sooner or later. He deserves the truth. You're a good dad, Hunter. And a good man.”

His eyes snap open and narrow. “You think I don’t know that?”

I’m glad to see he’s no longer in a stupor, but have to wonder why I’m still here.

Digging myself in deeper and deeper, apparently.

“I know you know it, and now I know why things are like this.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I sit down next to him. “The reason you’ve kept Ben so close, I mean. So well protected. There are people who might know the truth, and you don’t dare let him out of your sight in case they tell him.”