“So this dance was a ploy of some sort, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Becket’s answer is accompanied by the telltale sparkle of amusement in his dark eyes. Which means he’s full of it.

“Becket,” I warn.

“Blue,” he parrots back with a wide grin. “Just let me work my magic.”

With a laughing roll of my eyes, I let him spin me out and back before he dips me with flair.

It’s his—well, really our—go-to dance at events like this.

Pulling me closer and smiling down sweetly, he presses a kiss to my forehead, and as we sway, he murmurs, “You still keep that handkerchief in your purse, don’t you?”

Drawing back in surprise, I stare up at him. “How do you know about—” I shake my head. “Never mind. You’re Becket Jones. You always meddle.”

His eyebrows rise expectantly. “You mean I help people?”

With a little laugh, I shake my head. “You set it up so he’d find my handkerchief.” Suddenly, a thought stops me. “Wait. How would he find it inside my purse?”

He just gives me a look.

“No.” My eyes narrow. “He wouldn’t.”

“No, he wouldn’t.” I relax instantly. “But I bet Wells would.”

My eyes widen with alarm. “Becket, he can’t—”

He dips his head, our gazes lock, and from others’ perspectives, we probably appear like two lovers, engaged in an intimate conversation.

Not squabbling like we actually are.

“Blue.” The way he murmurs my name gains my attention because his tone is softer, gentled. “When the past knocks on your door, it’s because there’s unfinished business.”

“But you’re—”

“Helping it along so you can finish it.” He levels me a look. “Because you and I both know he’s the one man who still has a hold on your heart.”

* * *

“Thanks for a wonderful night. Even if I did have to wear this getup, it was worth it.” Wells and Becket shake hands like old friends.

“Saw you chatting up that one blonde in the red dress.” Becket grins and wiggles his eyebrows at Wells.

“And that’s my cue.” I offer my goodbyes with a tired smile before addressing Becket. “I’ll wait for you in the lobby.” Turning, I take one step in the direction of the exit of the ballroom. Only about a third of the original crowd remains, either dancing or chatting at the numerous round tables.

“Wait.” Becket’s voice stops me. “I’m thinking of doing the after party.”

Slowly spinning on my heel, I narrow my eyes at my friend. “The after party?” I repeat slowly.

Becket hates after parties of any kind. Heck, he’s repeatedly preached to me about how much he abhors them.

“Yeah, an after party. So”—he nods to Knox and Wells beside him—“these two gentlemen would be honored to see you home, I’m sure.”

“Of course, we would,” Wells instantly agrees. “Oh, wait!”

“Let me guess,” I suggest in a bored tone, “you forgot that you suddenly have an affinity for after parties too?”

Wells doesn’t answer me. Instead, he addresses Becket. “Mind if I tag along?”

“Not at all.”

“Well, let’s head out then.”

I stand here stunned because my best friend just gave me the heave-ho.

“Bye, gorgeous.” He drops a quick kiss to my cheek. “Call you later.” And the two of them are gone in a flash.

Leaving me with Knox. Again.

With a weary sigh, I open my purse and withdraw my cell phone. “Look, don’t feel obligated. I can get a cab or a ride with Lyft.”

As I scroll through my phone for the app, Knox’s softly spoken words drift over me.

“I’d be honored to take you home.”

My eyes lift to his, and all I witness in the depths is sincerity.

He tips his head toward the entrance of the ballroom, only a few feet away, and I now notice the first few notes of a song I once loved. Knox’s expression turns almost bashful.

“One last dance?” He holds out an upturned palm.

Indecision wars within me until something gives way. I’m not certain whether it’s my weakness for the old Elton John song, “I Guess That’s Why They Call It the Blues” and the way the musicians aren’t butchering it like most tend to do, or if it’s the fact that I actually want to dance with Knox. To simply pretend we don’t have a past and tons of baggage between us.

Sliding my phone back inside my purse, I snap it closed. When I slip my hand into his, his features soften, eyes crinkling at the corners with a small smile forming on his lips.

After leading me to the dance floor, he pulls me in close, and it’s like that moment when you’re on the verge of solving a new puzzle and you have maybe half a dozen pieces left. The picture is there—evident—but still incomplete. But you know where those pieces need to go, and things slip into place with ease.

That’s what I feel when I dance with Knox—when his hand falls to rest at my hip, the way he grasps my other hand in his, the way we fit together so perfectly.

I don’t think anything of it when he dips his head just so, and his jaw brushes lightly against my cheek. The short yet soft strands of his beard take part in a tantalizing dance across my skin.

“Remember when you found out Elton John was coming to Mobile, and you just about went crazy trying to save up the money for tickets to see him in concert?”

My eyes fall closed at the memory, but also at the way Knox’s husky voice sounds melodic and intimate.

A smile plays upon my lips. “And you surprised me by scoring front row tickets.” My eyes open, and I lean back slightly to peer up at him in question. “How did you manage that, by the way?”

His eyes are alit with what appears to be humor and possibly affection. “A guy’s gotta have some secrets, doesn’t he?”

As though someone’s just tossed ice cold water on me, his words wake me from a daze.

Secrets. Boy, he’s not kidding.

I draw to a stop, pulling from his embrace, and fix a polite smile on my face.

“Thank you for the dance, but I’m calling it a night.”

Desperate to put distance between us, I walk as fast as I possibly can without breaking an ankle in these heels. And the irony is not lost on me.

Yet again, I find myself walking away from Knox Montgomery.