The drive to Clarington took only thirty minutes, but riding with Roland in a silent car made it seem like an eternity.

"I got your father a bottle of Haut-Brion. Do you think he'd like that?" Roland's focus didn't stray from the traffic forming in front of us.

"Yes, it’s his favorite."

He'd asked me a week ago what he should get my father. Did he remember that the Haut-Brion had been my idea?

The overhead moonlight highlighted Roland's features: the tall bridge of his nose, his clean shaven, strong jawline. He knew me more than anyone else on this planet, and we shared so much history, so many years together. Our parents were great friends, our families interconnected like puzzle pieces that formed a single, solid, happy picture.

But that was no reason for our relationship to be like this—routine, boring, predictable. I refused to live in an endless cycle of unhappiness.

Stepping into my parents’ foyer, the scent of Grandma's sweet apple pie hit my nostrils as my heels clip-clopped against the imported black Italian marble floors. I heard the commotion in the kitchen and my sister's loud laughter echoing through the corridor, followed by my father's voice, most likely the guilty culprit making her giggle like a little schoolgirl.

"Honey, I'm home," I announced. "Where’s the birthday boy?"

My father was sitting at the kitchen table, and I rushed to him and hugged him full on. I pulled at his Santa-like beard and planted one long kiss on his cheek until his belly shook with laughter.

"How's my old man?" I reached for his hand and jiggled it between both of mine.

"Still alive and healthy at the tender age of twenty-one." He winked.

Nana waited patiently in line behind him, needing and wanting some affection. She enveloped me in one of her infamous, tight hugs. At 5' 2”, including her gray full bouffant, she had the strength of a bear. She gripped me to her chest, almost constricting my lungs of air. "My beautiful Angie. So pretty. Always prettier, every time I see you."

"Whatever, Nana." I laughed. "I just saw you last week."

"And look at you, Roland." She pulled back and snickered. "You look just like your daddy. We'll have to fix that." She walked up to him and tiptoed where the top of her bouffant hair met his chin.

Roland fidgeted while Nana undid his tie and tugged the side of his button-down shirt, untucking it. "See? Much better already."

Nana made him nervous, and it amused the heck out of the rest of our family. Well, everyone except my mother.

My mother approached, disdain on her serious face. "Agnes, please don't torment my future son-in-law."

Roland and my mother touched cheeks in their typical formal greeting. I held my tongue. Marriage between us was inevitable; it was the next step in our relationship. But I wanted to be elated when he popped the question, and until I was sure there were no more empty promises, I knew that I wouldn't be.

Tene was making her infamous dip at our marble kitchen counter underneath the dangling pots and pans from the hanging rack.

"Hey, I need to talk to you later." I raised an eyebrow and threw her a glassy stare.

She let out a short laugh. She had led me right into Cade's restaurant this morning, and she was going to get an earful from me.

When the doorbell rang, my mother flattened her unstained apron. "Roland, your parents are here."

Roland walked out of the kitchen, followed by my mother, who turned around and clicked her tongue.

"Angelica." Her tone said that I should come along.

Tene crossed her eyes and touched her nose with her tongue, making me laugh. I pointed my finger in her direction and squinted. "We're not done here, sissy."

"Oh, boy, I'm in trouble,” Tene said, amused, “and you know how I love to get in trouble."

In the foyer, Kathleen Spencer stood tall, with her hair neatly pulled back in a sleek blonde ponytail. Not one hair on her head was out of place. She clutched her Louis Vuitton purse tight to her side as her floor-length white linen skirt laid at her ankles.

"Liz, lovely like always." She touched cheeks with my mother like the Europeans they weren't and approached me and my father. "Leo, dapper as always." After giving my father a slight hug, her arms wrapped fully around me, in an embrace to rival my grandmother’s. "My sweet Angelica. How did my boy get so lucky?" She cupped my face, and her easy grin surfaced.

One of the things I loved about Roland was his mother. She always welcomed me with a motherly love that I sometimes lacked from my own mother.

"Roland." Her voice softened with such reverence for her golden boy. "Son, what happened to your tie?" Her hands flew to his neckline as she redid the tie that my grandmother had messed with. My father chuckled when Kathleen began to tuck in Roland's shirt.

"Mother, please." He backed away, stuffing his own shirt in his pants. Sometimes Tene would joke that she believed Roland's mother still nursed him. She asked me if he fell asleep at my breast, making suckling noises.

When I caught the humor on my father's face, I had to turn away or else I would’ve busted out laughing.

James Spencer stood tall behind his wife, peering down at his smartphone, most likely taking care of business. Also in the world of finance, James, along with his brother, owned one of the largest accounting firms in Rosendell.

"James." My mother's tone was low and authoritative, which forced James' head up from his phone.

He tucked his cell into his back pocket. "Liz, thanks for having us over."

"Of course," she said, taking his hand in a friendly greeting. "Quick, let's sit in the family room, while I get dinner served."

I assisted my father over to the love seat, taking his cane and resting it against the end of the couch. I leaned over and whispered, "I've got a surprise for you."

"I know what it is." His sly smile broadened.

Of course, he did. It wasn't a surprise if I gave it to him every year. "I'll be back. I've got to prepare the surprise." I gave him one last hand squeeze before escaping to the kitchen.

I walked in on Tene washing the dishes, singing some Ed Sheeran song and shaking her hips like she had last night. Surprising her, I approached and pinched the innermost part of her arm, the part that hurt.

"Hey!" She turned and flicked water in my direction.

"Why didn't you tell me the bartender was the owner of Allswell?"

A devious grin encompassed her face, making me pinch her again.

"Stop it!" She flicked more water in my direction. "Why does it matter, Angie?"

"It doesn't." I didn't bother to tell her that he propositioned me. She'd probably go over there and congratulate him. Possibly give him a trophy.

She raised her eyebrows. "If it doesn't matter, then why are you asking about him?"

I turned away as a flush touched my cheeks.

"Angelica,” she said, hedging, “do you have a little crush on the bad boy?"

"I want to know what you told him last night at the bar."

She giggled, and I narrowed my eyes, meaning business.

"Tene, I'm serious." I placed my hand on my hip. "Come on!"

"That is between Cade and me."

My mother popped in her head, breaking up our conversation. "Christene, the appetizers."

"Oops, gotta go, sis." She winked and picked up the tray of vegetables and dip and sashayed out of the kitchen.

I wrinkled my nose, walked to the counter, and opened the tub of frosting I’d made at home. I had a sinking feeling that I'd never find out what they had talked about, and I'd be curious till the day I die.