The hotel restaurant feels more than a little… cramped.

Thirty Warrens are clustered all around, scattered among eight or nine tables throughout the dining room. It’s a pretty epic game of music chairs as my various extended aunts and uncles and cousins constantly mingle from seat-to-seat as the wait staff attempts to dip around them for drink refills.

Everyone except Dylan McCoy, that is.

He planted himself right next to me and hasn’t moved since.

“Your mother tells me you’re still working at that hair place,” he says.

I nod. Oh, you didn’t need my mother to tell you that, Dylan. You only like every damn picture I post.

“I am,” I answer, keeping half of my attention on my salad.

“I don’t know how you do it,” he says, chuckling.

“How I do what?”

“Work a job like that.”

My brow twitches. “I enjoy it. That’s how.”

“Maybe, but…” Dylan scooches toward the edge of his chair to get closer to me. “Won’t you get bored of it someday? A woman like you deserves… something better than that, don’t you agree?”

I set my fork down, lest I accidentally stab him with it. “A woman like what, exactly?” I ask.

Dylan begins to answer but a hostess appears between our shoulders.

“Mr. McCoy?” she asks, leaning down to talk over the noise.

“Yes?” he says.

“You have a call in the lobby,” she says, smiling. “She said she’s your mother. Something urgent.”

Thank God.

Dylan nods. “I’ll be right there,” he says.

She bows slightly and rushes back to her post toward the entrance to the dining room.

“Excuse me,” he says, still way too close to me. “You know mothers.”

I glance across the table at my own, who has been sneaking little peeks at us the whole night with that smug twinkle in her eyes.

“Yes, I do,” I say.

My mother’s polite grin never wavers but I can practically feel the daggers firing out of her eye sockets.

Trudy nudges my right elbow. “Hey, now that the stalking dead is gone, I have something to run by you.”

I lean toward her with a smile. “Go on…”

“Maggie and I scored the last few tickets to the Criminal Records show tomorrow night,” she whispers. “Wanna play hooky with us? We’ve got one more.”

“Uh…” I quickly make sure Mom can’t hear. “Yass.”

Trudy laughs. “Awesome. We’re meeting up in my room after dinner and sharing a cab over.”

“I will be there with heels on.”

She winks and leans back over as Aunt Leigh tells her to stop slouching.

I straighten up as well, which unfortunately means making eye contact with Mom.

“He’s right, you know,” she says.

“Who’s right about what?”

“Dylan.”

I reach for my wineglass. “Oh.”

“I don’t like you working at that place, either,” she says. “It’s in a horrible neighborhood. And that car of yours barely runs. You could get stranded in the middle of the night. What then?”

I shrug. “Then, I’ll ride my bike. Or call a cab.”

She visibly shudders. Yes, Mother. A cab. Or, God forbid, the bus. Like a commoner.

“I don’t see why you won’t give Dylan a chance, honey,” she says. “He’s a good man. He’ll take care of you.”

One of these days, I tell myself.

One of these days, I’ll have the courage to say what I’m really thinking whenever my mother starts in like this; just like she does every year at this damn stupid reunion.

Stop treating me like a child.

Stop trying to control my life.

Just stop.

I feign a smile and rely on my usual lie. “I have a boyfriend, Mom,” I say. “Remember?”

She doesn’t even try to hide her disappointment. “Yes, Pen. You have a new boyfriend every time I see you. Let me ask you something. How many of these boyfriends have stuck around long enough to attend a second family reunion? And how many has Dylan been to over the years?”

I frown.

You know, if I actually gave two shits about this then I’d have to admit she has a point. I can only imagine what kind of train wreck my love life must look like from the outside. It’s not so bad on the inside, though. My life is nice and quiet — just how I like it.

I’m not the type of girl who sits around pining for a man to appear and sweep her off her feet. I don’t need—

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

I turn in my chair and freeze.

Holy… suit.

Hayden Botsford stands behind me wearing a black suit and tie, a stark contrast to the casual look I met him in before. His dark hair is washed and simply styled back behind his ears. His chin stubble has vanished, leaving nothing but a freshly-shaved face with sharp cheekbones and deep dimples.

I gulp.

“No, you’re—” My voice cracks. “You’re not interrupting anything at all.”

He smiles and my toes quiver. Good God, how many dimples does this man have?!

My breath catches as he leans down and plants a soft kiss on my brow. I lock in place, unable to move an inch. Feeling his lips on me for the second time…

If it happens a third time, I just might turn into a puddle and die.

“Hayden!” My father gives him a welcoming grin from across the table. “Hello, young man. It’s good to see you again.”

Hayden dips his head in respect. “You, too, Mr. Warren.” He gestures around the table. “My apologies. I don’t mean to intrude on your family dinner. I just saw Penelope across the room and…” He chuckles and gazes at me again. “What can I say? She’s like a magnet.”

My chest flutters. Is he serious? Or is he just acting like before?

“Nonsense!” my father says. “You’re more than welcome. Pull up a chair, Hayden.”

“Trey…” My mother shifts her hidden ire toward him instead. “We only reserved thirty chairs.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “Mary Lou, it’s a Botsford Plaza. There’s always room at the table for a Botsford!” He gestures to the empty chair beside me. “Sit down, please, Hayden. I insist.”

Hayden grins and instantly pulls the chair out. “Well, if you insist, sir,” he says.

As he sits down, his hand gently touches my shoulder and glides down my arm toward my wrist in my lap. He does it so casually; like he’s touched me this way a hundred times before tonight. Just a daily habit of warmth and comfort. I try to maintain composure as my heart slams into my ribs.

“So, Penelope tells us you’re a ballplayer,” my father says.

Hayden nods. “Yes, sir. Going on ten years now.”

“That’s interesting.” My mother glowers. “I thought you said you worked here at the hotel?” she asks.

I stiffen but Hayden laughs it off.

“Not quite but I like to help out whenever I can,” he says. “I’m home on medical leave right now, nursing a little knee injury, but I’ll be back on the field soon enough.”

“Nothing too serious, I hope,” my father says, glancing at me. “You’re not riding him too hard, are you?”

I choke on my own spit. “Dad—!”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” he says, waving a hand. “You’re always on your feet, going on hikes and riding your bike. She’s not dragging you around with her, is she? I can’t imagine keeping up with her — especially injured.”

Hayden laughs, his hand still grazing mine beneath the table. “She’s quite the challenge, I won’t lie. But no, sir. If anything, I wouldn’t have gotten through this time without her. She…” He looks at me again, his gaze soft and warm. “Penny takes care of me.”

Here lies Penelope.

She’s one with the puddles now.

My father knocks twice on the table. “Good to hear!”

A hostess appears over his shoulder with the check. As he turns to talk to her, Hayden leans in to whisper in my ear.

“How am I doing?” he asks.

I chuckle, barely breathing. “I don’t know. I think you could turn up the charm just a tad.”

He eyes my father. “Well, maybe this will make up for it…”

“Twenty-percent off?” my father says, his brow pinching. “What’s this about?”

The hostess smiles. “Courtesy of Mr. Botsford, sir,” she says before walking away.

I stare at Hayden. He winks at me.

Drip drip drip.

My father gapes as if Hayden just asked him to dance at the prom. “You didn’t have to do that, Hayden!” he says.

Hayden waves a hand. “Why even bother having a friends and family discount if we don’t use it?” he asks.

“Thank you very much, young man. I appreciate it.”

“It’s my pleasure, sir.”

His thumb slides along the back of my hand again, triggering a trail of butterflies to dance up to my shoulder blades. Even my mother’s expression softens a bit, though I don’t think she’s quite as smitten as my father is yet.

A throat clears over our shoulders and I turn to find Dylan lingering behind us.

“Oh, I’m sorry, bro,” Hayden says. “Am I in your seat?”

I bite my lip to keep from grinning.

“Yes, you are,” Dylan says, his hands obviously rolled in tight fists within his pockets.

My mother tilts her head up in concern. “Is everything all right with your mother, dear?” she asks Dylan.

“She’s fine,” he answers. “Strangely, she had hung up by the time I reached the front desk but when I called her back, she said she had never called me at all…”

Hayden smirks. “Wow. That is strange.”

He flashes me another sly wink and I will my smile to stay down.

“Well, I won’t crash your party any longer.” Hayden rises from his chair. “I just wanted to stop in, say hello again, and…” I shudder beneath the weight of his eyes, “bid Penelope a good night.”

“You can crash our party anytime,” my father says, raising his glass. “You’re always welcome, Hayden.”

“Yes,” my mother smiles and… I think she might actually mean it. “Do stop by again before the weekend is over.”

“We’re hitting the casinos tomorrow! Wish us luck!”

Hayden laughs and gives the table a bow. “Good luck. And enjoy the rest of your dinner. Try the tiramisu. It’s amazing.”

He steps to the side, allowing for Dylan to slink back into his chair, and places a smooth hand on my shoulder. Blooms of warmth echo throughout my body again as he leans down and extends his other hand toward me. My arm moves on its own, gladly allowing his fingers to slip around mine.

To my surprise, he tilts the back of my hand upward and brings it to his lips. If weren’t already frozen in shock, my jaw would easily drop into my lap.

“Goodnight, Penelope,” he says before kissing the back of my hand.

I tremble with delight. "Goodnight, Hayden."

He releases my hand, casually slipping a folded piece of paper into my palm.

I drop my hand into my lap as he straightens up and walks away. Trudy waves him goodbye and blinks at me with envious eyes while Dylan settles even deeper into his silent, unnerving glare.

I keep it cool, waiting until Dylan inevitably forces my father into some boring stock market conversation again before looking down into my lap and unfolding the note.

Roof. ASAP. 4742.

I casually look around but Hayden's long gone.