Big Al, one of my dad’s best friends, thanked me for pouring him another beer. I asked him if he needed anything else, and he said he was fine, which meant I had no excuses left to avoid going back to where Zach and Ryan were sitting at my bar.

Why had Ryan not told me about Zach’s dad? There were so many thoughts racing through my head that I felt dizzy. If Ryan said anything about my son, Sam, shit would hit the figurative fan. It wouldn’t take long for Zach to find out how old Sam was, and from there, he would do the very simple math which would point to one very, very simple answer: Zach was the father.

Just act normal. Ryan won’t say anything. Just. Act. Normal.

I returned to the middle of the bar and wiped my workspace down with a damp rag while avoiding looking up at Zach, who I knew was watching me. I couldn’t meet those beautiful hazel eyes of his without being overrun with panic and nerves.

I was not the same girl he remembered from all those years ago. Too much had changed in five years for me to be. I was a mother now. I wasn’t a wild girl with a thirst for adventure and a toned body from hard work. I was a little squishy, a little tender, and a whole lot of intimidated by how hot Zach still looked.

Somehow, he seemed more attractive than he did that night in the hotel room.

“So how long have you been working here?” Zach asked, forcing me to stop wiping down the same spot behind the bar.

I put the cloth down and willed myself to meet his gaze. It took me a second to find my voice, and I could feel my brother analyzing everything I did. “About four years, give or take.”

Zach’s eyebrows lifted, and his eyes widened a little bit in surprise. “That long, hey?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I needed a change of pace. Dad told me there would always be a position here for me if I wanted it, and now, I’m priming to take over ownership of the place. I like it well enough. Good people, fast paced, close to home.”

“Fair,” Zach said, although his lips were turned down in a slight frown that suggested he didn’t believe me when I said I liked it here. “No wonder I never ran into you again.”

“Yeah.”

Ryan looked back and forth between us and opened his mouth to speak, but he slapped it closed again when my best friend and one of the waitresses in the pub slid in behind the bar and nudged me with her hip.

“Hey there,” Rosie said cheerfully. “One of my tables needs four Tom Collins. Can you whip those up for me?”

“Sure thing,” I said, happy for something to do that wasn’t talking to Zach.

Rosie crossed her arms under her chest and turned to my brother. “Hi, Ryan,” she said, her voice changing in pitch to a sweeter note. “How have you been?”

“Good, Rosie. How about you?” Ryan leaned forward to rest on his elbow but missed the bar. He recovered by raking his fingers through his hair and grinned sheepishly at Rosie, who was very obviously suppressing a giggle.

Ryan and my best friend had been at this whole flirting thing for months now. It was becoming more than a little tiresome.

Rosie Westmore was the first person in Houston to reach out and make me feel welcome after I moved back. By the time I started working, my pregnancy was impossible to hide, and Rosie took to me like a firefly to darkness. She was the kind of girl who was easy to open up to, too, so she knew all my secrets about Zach. She was charming in nature and in appearance.

She was short, just over five feet, with black curly hair cut in a bob level with her chin. I’d never seen her in jeans as she opted for floral printed dresses or skirts on a daily basis and wore leggings in the colder months with baggy sweaters and bulky scarves. Her skin was bronzed from spending time in the sun, and she glowed even in the dim light of Hart’s Pub.

Rosie batted her long dark lashes at my brother and smiled. “I’m wonderful. The sun is shining. I’m with my friends. What more could a girl ask for?”

Rosie was also an eternal optimist. She saw the bright side of everything.

Ryan smiled and nodded toward Zach. “This is my old friend, Zach, from high school. He’s just moved back to town. Zach, this is Rosie.”

Zach tipped his head politely in her direction. “Nice to meet you.”

Rosie’s big brown eyes swept over to Zach, who was scratching absently at the stubble forming on his strong jaw. “Zach, aren’t you—”

“Rosie,” I cut her off, worried she might say something that would embarrass me or reveal my secret about my son. I quickly splashed a couple of drops of grenadine on ice and topped it up with Coca-Cola. “Here.” I handed her the drink. “You can keep it under the bar for your shift.”

“You’re always taking care of me.” Rosie beamed, sealing her bright pink lips over her straw to suck the concoction back. It was her drink of choice, and I often poured her one to keep behind the bar. It gave her an excuse to linger a little longer, and we could chat. Tonight, it helped keep her mouth shut.

I finished making the Tom Collins and loaded the four drinks onto a tray, which Rosie carried with ease to the ordering table, leaving the three of us alone once more.

I leaned on my elbows, and Zach smiled devilishly at me. Holy Hell. I’d forgotten what a masterpiece he was. I cleared my head and smiled back. “So how long are you staying?”

“Permanently, actually,” he said.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Doesn’t feel right to just leave my mom on her own now, you know? She married my dad when she was nineteen. They were married for fifty-two years. She needs me to be here.” He picked at the corner of the foam coaster beneath his beer glass and then added quickly, “And I want to be here for her.”

My heart skipped. Zachary Flynn was going to be staying in Houston for good?

Don’t be a fool, I thought, suddenly angry with myself for feeling hopeful. My chance to be with Zach was long gone—if it could ever have even been considered a “chance.” First off, I was with someone else. Someone who had been in Sam’s life for a few years already, and my son saw him as a father figure. Secondly, I’d lied to Zach. Well, not exactly lied, but I’d withheld the truth for five years that he had a son. I couldn’t be forgiven for that. I’d sabotaged any chance of there being something between us a long, long time ago.

But it would be nice to have him around again, if only just to dream about.

Zach slid off his stool as the music livened up and other couples started taking to the raised platform at the back of the room. I’d convinced my father to put a dance floor in, and when he did the renovations, he took my advice to heart. It was up a flight of three wooden stairs and contained behind a railing to keep drunk fools from falling off and breaking their necks. A single disco ball spun above, casting lazy flickers of colorful light down on the hardwood.

Zach nodded toward the dance floor. “For old time’s sake?”

“Oh.” I shook my head. “No, I’m working.”

Ryan got off his stool and hurried around the bar. “Go on, sis. I’ll cover for you for a few songs. No harm in a dance or two, right?”

“Um.” I looked from him to Zach, who was now holding his hand out expectantly. I bit my bottom lip and looked to the dance floor, where three other couples were twirling around in colorful dresses. Was there any harm in just one dance? Probably not. “Okay.” I moved around the bar to take Zach’s hand.

He pulled me through the throng of tables and hurried up the steps to the dance floor. By the time we reached the top and he turned back to me, he was wearing a smile as big as the one he had worn the night we had sex. His eyes were bright, and his laugh was light as he spun me into him and rested his hand lightly on my hip.

“It’s good to see you, Jo. Really.”

I smiled with my lips pursed. “You too. Sorry if I was a bit rude at first. You just caught me by surprise is all. I am happy to see you.”

“No harm done,” he said. “I can handle it. Besides, it was harder on my ego when I woke up in that shitty hotel and you were gone.”

I looked at our feet as he pulled me closer to him. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. We were just being stupid kids. It was fun while it lasted, right?”

“Right.” I nodded. Fun while it lasted. Then I had our child, and my whole life changed.

Suddenly, his fingers were under my chin, and he was lifting my face to force me to look at him. “You’re doing good, right, Jo? You’re happy?”

Why did he have to look at me like that? Why did he have to ask me a question I knew I couldn’t give him a straight answer to? I slapped on the same smile I’d been convincing everyone with over the past five years and nodded. “I’m happy.”

“Good,” Zach said before twirling me away from him. He shimmied back to me, and I couldn’t help myself as laughter bubbled out of me. It felt so good to laugh with him.

He took my hand and my waist and guided me through the rest of the dance, dipping and spinning me just like he had on that one night.

I could let myself go for one more song. One more song, three more minutes, and then I would go back behind the bar and carry on with my life. I’d pour beers, wipe the bar, stock the shelves, and smile when men hit on me. I’d work and earn my tips so that I could go home to my son and kiss him goodnight.

And I’d go home to Brett, my boyfriend.

I tried to convince myself that I was looking forward to seeing him when I got home. But all I was filled with was a hollow feeling that I hadn’t felt in years—since I left Zach behind in that hotel room.