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QUINN POURS TWO GLASSES of wine, offering me one.

I decline, so she downs both and pours another, just for one this time.

“Bad day?” I ask. I wasn’t on the schedule today, so there’s no telling what drama went down at the salon.

“Hardly,” she scoffs, then hiccups. “I’m the best stylist this side of the Atlantic.”

And she’s officially drunk.

“Have you eaten today?” I push a bowl of snack mix at her.

She pushes it back. “Do grapes count?”

“Yes.”

“In liquid form?”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

“Then nope.”

I take the bottle away and pour it down the sink, only hardly anything comes out. “Holy crap, Quinn, this bottle is almost empty!”

“Not to worry, I drank it on the way over.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“I Ubered a golf cart, okay?” Quinn rolls her eyes and weaves to the back porch. “Clients can drink, but stylists can’t.”

I follow, sitting down across from her. She props her long legs on the ottoman, wriggling her bare toes. “Want to share what’s really bothering you?” I never had a sister, but with Quinn, it’s easy to assume the role of the elder, wiser sister... even if she’s two years older.

“Tate Prescott.”

“The producer?” He and Donovan were thick as thieves in L.A. Although I never got the sense Tate was an alphahole like Donovan. Or a womanizer. In fact, he was always really kind to me. I think it was because we were both from North Carolina and hated everyone’s attempt at BBQ.

Or rather, what they tried to pass off as BBQ.

“You know him?” Her eyes round.

“He was good friends with Haz—Hasselhoff. David Hasselhoff.”

She snorts. “I bet. He loved watching reruns of Knight Rider.”

“Anyway, I used to do some acting, so yeah, I knew him. He was nice, I guess.”

Her silver eyes narrow. “He hit on you, didn’t he?”

“No! I mean, I was seeing someone at the time—This was way before I met your brother.” Oh, dear God, please make this stop!

I swear I’ll be good.

Find a church.

Have Hazel dedicated.

Whatever it takes to make it stop.

“I believe you. Besides, if he did date you, you’d be on my side.” She snorts. “Nice. Ha!”

“While I love to bash old boyfriends, I have no idea where this is coming from.”

Quinn leans forward, her hair swinging forward. She holds up a finger. It’s not the middle one. “First, he’s not my old boyfriend. He’s a current asshole. Two, I heard from one of my clients that he’s coming back home to make a movie.”

“Tate’s from here?”

She nods, slumping back in her seat. “Best friends with Barron.”

“You didn’t get along?”

“We got along fine until we didn’t.” She lifts a shoulder. “He’s one of those big-talker types, you know?”

I nod. “Met a lot of those in L.A while I lived there. I like to joke that I lived there two years too long.”

Quinn stares at me blankly.

“I lived there for two years, Quinn.”

“Oh...oh! Wait.” She tilts her head to one side. “If you were in L.A., how did you meet my brother?”

Why can’t I keep my mouth shut? With the way I’m going, I might as well have had all the wine. “He traveled out there to uh, uh... Hmmm. Knight never told me exactly why he was there. Maybe it was a secret—”

“That bastard. He went out there to visit Tate and kept it a secret.”

I don’t bother to correct her, because that makes more sense than anything I can come up with.

“How dare he?” I agree.

She frowns, then give me an apologetic look. “But if he hadn’t, then I wouldn’t have you for a sister-in-law or the sweetest baby niece in the world right now.”

“Nope.” I try to smile, hoping Hazel wakes up from her nap so I have an excuse to leave and gather my thoughts. “So he’s coming down here?”

“That’s not what I’m really upset about, Campbelicious.”

I arch a brow.

“There’s no label on any jar for that,” she points out. “Anyway, Momma said she wants to have a memorial service for Laird.”

“And that’s...?”

“Good and bad.” She fixes sad eyes on me. “It’s kind of final. Like she’s giving up hope, but not really, but yes she is. Ophelia refuses to come.”

“Has anyone told Knight?” I haven’t been able to talk to him in a week. He’d warned me ahead of time for those off days. He said that sometimes they would have to travel, and communications would be reserved for emergencies only.

“Momma sent word to his commander. He’s on his way home now.”

My heart leaps in my chest. “What? When? How?” Gripping the sides of my chair, I whip my head around, fully expecting Knight to jump out from behind some furniture.

Calm down.

“He should be here by this weekend. Laird’s service is on Sunday.”

“That’s in two days!” I jump to my feet, but then sit down again as the weight of it all hits me. “I only have two days.”

Quinn smiles at me, mistaking my worry for something sweeter. “If you need alone time, Hazel-boo can stay with me and Momma.”

“Oh God.” I bend at the waist, putting my head between my legs, then looking up at her. “Knight is on his way.”

“Yes.” Her eyes dance. “Sorry I didn’t start with that instead of stupid Tate... He’s also coming to the service.”

“It’s okay.” But it’s not.

Knight promised he would clear everything up once he got home. When everyone learns I’ve deceived them...

I don’t know if I want to be around for that.