Honey regretted her decision to join Nash and his family about three seconds after she got into his vehicle. Family dinners weren’t her thing, so why in hell had she agreed to come? Lack of sleep? Temporary insanity? She didn’t mind doing something out of her comfort zone as long as the end game got her closer to the reason she’d come to Crystal Lake in the first place. But dinner with the Bookers? Nowhere near the end game. Reluctantly she stayed silent, even though she wished she had the balls to tell him to turn around and take her back to the bar.

Eventually, they pulled up in front of a large all-brick family home boasting a wraparound porch and an elegance that belonged to another era. The trim was classic gingerbread, painted crisp white with shutters to match, which looked sharp against the deep red-orange brick. The additional walkout from the upper level was lit with white lights, and they cast a warm glow that twinkled in the early evening gloom. A detached garage could be seen in the backyard, and a swing hung from the large oak tree to the right. Mature shrubs were trimmed expertly, and the flower boxes under the windows sported pine arrangements that were perfect for the season. She hid a grimace. The place looked like a damn Norman Rockwell painting.

She glanced up the tree-lined street. It looked the same, each driveway leading to an elegant family home where pride was king. This area of Crystal Lake was a throwback to old Americana and the kind of place anybody would love to live.

She used to dream of living in a place like this. But that dream was long gone, replaced with an awareness that homes like these hid secrets and not everything was as it seemed. She much preferred to know the score from the get-go. And living in a run-down trailer park like the one she’d grown up in did just that. Sunset Park held no grand illusions. It was a place where dreams went to die. A place most folks didn’t escape.

Honey shook the unwanted memories from her mind and glanced up at the house, noting the twinkling lights from the front windows, and the large Christmas tree in the front room. In her experience, family get-togethers usually turned into drunken, drug-infused messes that left everyone wishing they were somewhere else. The last Thanksgiving she’d spent with her mother was still fresh in her mind. The utter failure of it all, bitter in her mouth.

Even after all this time.

For one hard second, panic gripped her, and she dug her fingers into her palms. What the hell was she thinking coming here with Nash? She should have stayed at her place, curled up on the crappy sofa she’d found abandoned on the sidewalk outside the Coach House, eating her burnt Kraft dinner.

“You ready?” Nash grabbed the wine and stepped outside. Childishly, she wanted to tell him to go ahead and she’d walk back to the Coach House on her own. But she knew Nash. He was as pigheaded as she was, and he wouldn’t let her. And right now? She didn’t have the energy to fight.

Honey slid from the Jeep and followed him through the gate and white picket fence (of course the house had a white picket fence). Nash opened the front door and waited for her to step inside.

They stood in a large, wide foyer, a classic design that fit the house. The narrow windows on either side of the double front door were stained glass, and the floors were worn oak and polished to gleam. A clean lemon scent tickled the edge of her nostrils, fighting with the overwhelming scents of the holidays. There was a wide staircase that led to the upper level, and on her right stood a formal living room, to her left, a dining room already set for dinner. She heard a lot of chatter coming from the back of the house and a truckload of heavenly smells wafted in the air.

Turkey. Ham. Cinnamon. Fresh pine.

“Let me take your jacket.” Nash took her coat and hung it up on a rack by the stairs. Her gaze lingered on the markings carved into the trim near the entrance to the front room. There were three distinct colors, black, blue, and red. And the etchings started near the bottom and ended at different heights.

“My mom is a sucker for this kind of stuff.” Nash followed her gaze, and she watched him trace the markings, her eyes taking every inch of him in. He was one hell of a looker. No doubt about that. Tall. Broad. Rock-hard abs. His hair was thick with a slight wave, his handsome face sported a strong square chin, slightly crooked nose, and intense dark eyes. To top it off his smile was killer. She’d lost count of the women who’d fallen under his spell with just one look. He was the kind of man who broke hearts. The kind of man only a fool would tangle with, and Honey was no fool. A) She didn’t believe in love or relationships. And B) Even if she did, there was no point. In a few months, she’d be gone. Hopefully on her way to Florida and Simone.

All that being said, she was still a woman and could appreciate a fine-looking man.

Honey had never seen Nash dressed like this. He was always in jeans and a T-shirt. This right here was a good look on him. The dark slacks, formal shirt, and…she blinked…a Batman tie? How had she missed that in her apartment? His dark hair waved around his collar, and the stubble on his chin and jaw gave him an edge he didn’t need. He was already dangerous.

He glanced up quickly, and she cleared her throat, eyes on the markings. “Who’s the blue one?”

“That would be me.” He pointed to the black. “This is my brother Cam. I’ve only got an inch on him. And this…” He pointed to the red, which was at least a foot lower than the other two. “This is my sister, Melody.” He chuckled. “She’s always been height challenged.”

“I didn’t realize there were so many of you.” She was coming to the realization there was probably a lot she didn’t know about Nash. But then, they didn’t have the type of relationship where they shared things. Hell, she wasn’t even sure he liked her all that much. Nash Booker was her boss and her landlord, and that was about it.

God. She cursed her weak moment. She didn’t belong here. So why the hell had she accepted his invitation? More importantly, why the hell had he asked her?

“Melody lives out of state, but she flew in last night.”

“And your brother?” She was curious. He’d never mentioned a brother before.

Nash shrugged, his tone a bit cooler. “Cam’s all over the place. Never know where he’s gonna land or when he’ll show his face.”

Honey waited a moment. “Sounds a lot like you.”

His face darkened. “Trust me, Cam is nothing like me.”

Huh. There was something there. An undercurrent of discord. It made Honey wonder, but she didn’t get to wonder for long. Just then, a little boy ran around the corner. “Uncle Nash!” The kid didn’t stop, and Nash scooped him up into a bear hug before he crashed into his legs.

“Tink. Let me look at you, buddy.”

Nash set the kid down and ruffled the top of his head. It was a head filled with thick, dark curls that bounced all over the place—a testament to the little boy’s excitement. Honey pegged him at about four years of age, which wasn’t saying much since she didn’t know jack about kids.

The little guy looked up at his uncle, and Honey hid a smile. They were dressed almost exactly the same, right down to the miniature Batman tie.

“I wore it. See?” Tink yanked on the tie and held it up with a smile. He shoved at the wide-rimmed glasses on his face and wiped at his nose. The kid was cute as hell, and the adoration he felt for his uncle was plain to see. “Hattie got her snot on it, but that’s okay, right?”

Nash chuckled. “We’ll get that cleaned up.”

The little boy noticed Honey and frowned, cocking his head to the side as he studied her. “Are you Uncle Nash’s girlfriend?”

“What?” Eyes wide, Honey smoothed the plain black sweater she’d worn over equally plain black tights tucked into her boots and shook her head. “No. I…” She cleared her throat. “I work for your uncle.”

“Oh.” He grinned. “You’re pretty.”

She laughed. Seemed as if the kid was a charmer. Again, not unlike his uncle. “Thanks.”

“I’m Tink.”

“That’s an interesting name.”

The little boy shrugged. “My real name is Theodore, but everyone calls me Tink.” His eyes got bigger. “Derek at school called me Tinker Bell, and everyone laughed.”

Nash ruffled his curls again. “Sorry about that, bud.”

“It’s okay. He won’t do it again. I punched him in the nose, and then Mrs. Elliot called Mom, so I got into a lot of trouble.”

“Geez, Tink. You can’t go around hitting kids at school.”

“I didn’t do it at school. We were on the bus.”

Honey hid another smile. Hard to argue with that kind of logic.

“Is everyone in the kitchen?”

Tink nodded and grabbed Nash’s hand. “Even Uncle Cam is here.”

“Is he, now.” Nash scooped up the boy.

“Uh-huh. Mommy says we’re not supposed to talk about the thing.”

Nash scowled. “How in hell do you know about the thing?”

“Uncle Nash, you said a bad word.”

“How do you know about the thing?” he asked again.

“I don’t know about the thing. I heard Mommy on the phone talking about not talking about the thing. But she never said what the thing was.” Tink yanked on Nash’s chin. “You won’t tell Mommy, right? ’Cause then she’ll get mad. And when she gets mad, Hattie starts to wail like a stuck pig.”

“A stuck pig?” Nash made a face. “No kidding.”

“Uh-huh.” Tink nodded, his expression serious. “It’s so loud, it hurts.”

“Well, we better not upset your mom.”

“Nope. And we can’t talk about the thing.” The kid paused, his expression hopeful. “Can you tell me what the thing is?”

“What do you think?” Nash replied with a chuckle.

“I knew it.” Tink pouted.

Honey couldn’t help but think that maybe Thanksgiving would prove more interesting than watching Netflix on her old laptop after all.

Nash and Tink headed down the hall, and Honey grabbed the wine he’d left on the Queen Anne table near the front door. She paused in front of the mirror. She’d applied some gloss and mascara, but that was about it. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, the thick ends swinging around her shoulders. Her wardrobe wasn’t exactly fashion forward, but the simple black turtleneck she’d pulled on did the trick. Thank God. She studied her reflection for a moment and pulled at the edge of the three-quarter-length sleeves. Her tattoos were covered, and she looked respectable.

Not at all the image she was used to. A wry smile lit her face. Her friends back in Louisiana would get a kick out of this. She actually looked respectable.

Honey headed after Nash. She passed a library and an office, and then paused at the entrance to a large country kitchen that would have made Martha Stewart envious. A massive table took up the entire right side. It looked as if it were made from barn beams, and there were rustic benches for chairs. The large centerpiece, a cornucopia filled to the brim, set off the table beautifully, the dishes a deep blue stoneware. An island that matched the size of the table boasted an overhead rack filled with copper pots and pans, and several trendy stools were currently occupied. The white cupboards were crisp, the white granite shot through with gray, and the black stainless-steel appliances were perfect. The flooring was the same old worn oak plank as the entrance, and it was about the only thing that was original. Lisa Booker loved her kitchen. No way around that.

Nash stood next to his mother, Tink still in his arms. Honey had met Lisa a few times, and her impression of the woman was that of one who loved life and her family even more. A man leaned over the counter, listening in on the conversation. His head was full of thick silver hair and his face was lined with age, but he was undoubtedly Nash’s father. He turned to chat with a woman scrubbing something in the sink. She was an attractive blonde and wore an elegant navy dress that fell to just above the knee, with billowy sleeves. She turned slightly, and Honey noticed pearls clung to her neck and matching studs gleamed from her ears. She looked about thirty. Propped up on the counter beside her was a toddler wearing head-to-toe pink.

“Well, who is this?” A deep voice slid from behind her, and Honey damn near jumped out of her boots. She turned around and gazed up into the eyes of maybe the handsomest man she’d ever seen. His features resembled Nash’s—this had to be the mysterious Cam—but where Nash was more rugged in looks, this guy was too damn pretty. A slow, lazy smile curved his generous mouth, and his eyes, a shade of silver gray she’d never seen before, took in every inch of her.

He was beautiful. Hollywood beautiful. Thick lashes framed those unusual eyes, and his mouth was full. On another man, it might appear almost feminine, but a square jaw gave him the right edge, while high cheekbones and a perfect nose made the package complete. Judging from his expression…he damn well knew it.

“Do you have a name?” he asked, that slow grin of his widening. Dressed similarly to Nash, the two men were matching bookends. Except for the tie, of course. No Batman hanging from this guy’s neck.

“I do,” she replied, warming to him instantly.

His grin deepened even more, and his eyes looked her over with a wicked glint. Trouble definitely ran in the Booker family genes. Along with looks and charisma, and probably a boatload of other stuff she couldn’t think about right now.

“You going to share or make me guess?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

He leaned against the doorjamb. “Oh?”

“Her name is Honey, and she’s not on the menu, Cam.”

“Too bad,” Cam said with a wink. “I was just thinking about skipping straight to dessert.”

Honey chuckled. “Do those cheesy lines actually work?”

“What do you think?”

“Boys.” The slim blonde now stood a few feet away, the baby resting on her hip. “Let’s back up and give the lady some room.” She smiled. “I’m Melody, and these two Neanderthals are my brothers.” She glanced at Nash, her eyes sparkling. “I didn’t know you were dating anyone.”

“Nash doesn’t date,” Honey replied dryly.

Cam chuckled. “She’s got your number down.”

Nash ignored his brother. “Honey isn’t from Crystal Lake, and she was alone today, so I invited her for dinner. Nothing more.”

Ouch. He didn’t have to sound like it was a repulsive idea.

Nash looked pointedly at his sister. “Trust me, we’re not dating.”

“Not that I’d ever go there, but we’d never work out.” Honey felt the need to say something. No way was Nash gonna have the last word and make her look like an idiot.

“See?” Nash shrugged. “Honey and I are just friends.”

“I also have a brain in my head,” she retorted.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His eyes narrowed dangerously.

“I don’t think Jade Daniels is auditioning for Jeopardy anytime soon, do you?” A strange sort of exhilaration coursed through Honey. Her heart thumped against her chest, and she felt her cheeks heat up. “Besides,” she continued, eyes flashing. “You couldn’t handle me, Booker.”

Melody laughed and punched her brother in the arm. “Too bad. I like her.”

Nash glared at his sister. “I give up. Let’s talk about something else.”

“But we can’t talk about the thing,” Tink said.

Cam slowly looked away from Honey and rested his gaze on his nephew. Gone was the teasing spark from his eyes. Melody shifted, her discomfort easy to see. “What thing would that be, little man?”

Oblivious to the tension, Tink shrugged. “Your thing. Mommy said we couldn’t talk about it.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Because it was a bad thing.”

“Did she, now.” Cam shot a look to his sister.

In less than five seconds, the mood had gone from teasing and light to dark and moody.

Lisa Booker breezed over and gave Honey a hug. “Let’s not bother Honey with any of that. I’m glad you’re here. No one should be alone on Thanksgiving.” Lisa’s voice was a tad too high and her smile overly bright. She looked at Honey and held up the wine bottles. “Red or white, dear?”

If Honey had any manners at all, she’d make up some sort of excuse and go home, because she was pretty damn sure Nash wouldn’t give a crap anymore. But the thing about growing up in Sunset Park Trailer home? Her manners were a little rough around the edges and sometimes nonexistent. The devil nipped at her toes, and a slow smile spread across her face. This felt like familiar territory. The tension. The unsaid dark things. Hell, she might even enjoy it considering it wasn’t her pathetic excuse of a family stirring up trouble.

“White,” she replied. Honey accepted the glass and settled in for the fireworks.