TACIA SIGHED, SLAPPED down a giant ladle, spattering grease on the stove, and glared at Posey. “We have to discuss your birthday. It’s only a few weeks away.”

“I have to get changed, Mom. The parade starts in an hour.”

Mother did not seem happy. Father, either, for that matter. Max was hiding in the office and had only grunted as she’d stuck her head in to say hello.

“Dinner, I was thinking. At home, since you and your brother never come by anymore.”

“Ma, I was at your house Tuesday—”

“So us three, the boys, Gretchen. I’ll make your favorite. Brathering mit Bratkartoffeln.”

“Oh, goody.” Posey tried not to wince. Somewhere along the line, Stacia had gotten the idea that Posey loved this dish, which consisted of an entire herring, deep-fried then pickled. It had been her traditional birthday dish for at least fifteen years, and Posey just didn’t have the heart to tell her mother at this late date that she actually hated it.

“I refuse to go to some ridiculous ethnic restaurant,” Stacia announced. The irony of her words didn’t strike her, even as Otto came into the kitchen, dressed in lederhosen and green Bavarian hat. Guten Tag served breakfast on Founders’ Day Weekend—eggs, fish, sausage and potatoes.

“Hey, Otto! You coming on the float today?” Posey asked.

“As luck would have it, my wife had her gallbladder out on Tuesday, so I have to swing home and take care of her,” Otto said, giving her the thumbs-up behind her mother’s back.

“You don’t want to go, do you? Of course you don’t. I don’t know what she was thinking.” Stacia huffed again, an indignant bulldog and queen of the non sequiturs.

“Sorry, Mom. Go where?”

“Inferno! As if I’d set foot in that place! Ever! Kitty McGrew went there last week, though why, I have no idea, we were supposed to be friends, but at any rate— Oh, you know Kitty’s daughter? Ellen? Married. To a banker. That could’ve been you, honey. I honestly don’t know how you manage to stay single. Are you a lesbian? Our son is gay, we can take it.” Otto grinned, waved to Posey and slipped out the back door.

“Mom, I’m aware that Henry is gay, as I am his sister. And no, I’m not a lesbian.” A brief and deeply satisfying flashback to just how straight she was made her knees wobble most pleasantly. But Liam hadn’t called yesterday, either, or shown up at the sidewalk stroll. Which was fine. Sort of. “You were ranting about Inferno, Mom. Was there a point?”

“Right. Well, your cousin thought you might like to go there. For your birthday. And I said you’d rather die.”

“I wouldn’t. I’d rather eat at Inferno than die, Mom. Just for the record.” Even in light of yesterday’s conversation.

Stacia set a potato pancake in front of Posey (a little over-salted, but hey. Posey wasn’t about to reject it). “I set her straight on that. It’s one thing that you had to do business with that man—and I understand it was a lot of money for you, honey, so I forgive you—but eat there? Please. Poor Gretchen, she’s so good-hearted, she just can’t imagine anyone being snide or insulting like that Dante Bellini’s been to us. Kitschy institution. I’ll give him kitschy institution. Gretchen’s just too sweet for her own good.”

One had to wonder on which planet Stacia lived. “Dinner at home sounds great, Ma,” Posey said.

“Good. Oh, you know what? I should invite Liam and that pretty daughter of his! Don’t you think he and Gretchen would make the most wonderful couple?”

Posey swallowed her bite of congealing pancake without fully chewing it. “Um…I don’t, actually.”

“Well, you’re nuts. They’d make beautiful children. Max! Get out here! Your daughter wants to see you!”

“Then she can come in here! Posey! Are your legs broken?”

“No, Dad, I’m coming.” She went into the office, where her father was scowling at the computer.

“Do you know how to upload something?” Max asked. “I wish to God computers had never been invented!”

“Sure, I can help.”

“Thanks.” He gave her a grudging smile, then patted his knee. “You’re not too big to sit on your old man’s lap, are you?” he said.

“I’m almost thirty-four, Dad,” she said.

“Fine. Stab in me in the heart, why don’t you,” he grumbled, so Posey sat, gave his cheek a smooch, and got to work. “What do you want to upload?”

“A picture of Gretchen,” he said. “Seems like we should make more fuss over her, since she’s a celebrity and all.”

“Ah.” Posey could imagine whose idea that was. She clicked through the folder to find the photo Max wanted. “So, how are renovation plans coming along?”

“Oh…she has a lot of ideas, your cousin.”

“I hope you’ll only change what you want, Dad,” Posey said. “I mean, you’re still adjusting to the new addition.” A few years ago, there’d been a small fire at the Osterhagen home (candles left untended during some geriatric amour, which Henry and Posey still could not mention without wheezing hilarity). The result was that her parents ended up renovating, which caused great upheaval. They still went to the wall where the cellar door used to be, still seemed stymied as to where it went, six years after the fact. So an entirely new restaurant…it just didn’t seem like them.

“That’s the one she wanted,” Max said, pointing, so Posey uploaded the photo to Guten Tag’s home page, and there she was, Gretchen and her impressive Teutonic cleavage.

“Hi, Mutti. Hi, Papa!” Speak of the devil.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Max said. “Posey’s just helping me with the website.”

“Oh. Hi, Posey, you look so cute today!” Gretchen flashed her blinding teeth. “Like you’re about eleven years old, sitting there on Papa’s lap. Adorable!”

“Why, thank you, Gretchen.”

Gret smiled, then gave Posey a searching look. “Hey, how’s the search for your birth parents going?”

Max bolted up from the chair, dumping Posey onto the floor, and there was a huge crash from the kitchen. A nanosecond later, Stacia loomed in the doorway, tragic confusion written all over her face. “What’s this? You’re looking for your birth parents?”

“No,” Posey said, hauling herself off the floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gret.”

“The book on how to find your birth parents? It was on the shelf in the kitchen.”

“Oh, right,” Posey said. “That book belongs to James. I keep meaning to give it back to him.”

Gretchen looked wide-eyed at Max and Stacia, then at Posey, as if desperate to keep a terrible secret. “Oh. Right. Um…Mutti, I must’ve been mistaken. I’m sure it was James’s book. Of course it is.”

“It is, Mom.” Posey glared at her cousin. “I’m not looking for anyone.”

“If you want that information,” Stacia began, her voice stentorian, “we wouldn’t resent you. It’s completely understandable.”

“I’m not looking, Mom.”

“You must want to know your roots. It would be fine. We know you love us,” Max said, sounding as if he was reciting from a pamphlet on When Your Adopted Child Wants Answers. “I’m not looking. James left his book at Irreplaceable a while ago, I brought it home and just forgot about it.”

“I’m so sorry I brought it up. Posey, really. So sorry.” Gretchen gave Posey a little wink, and Posey thought, for one deeply satisfying moment, how fun it would be to see her cousin fending off a couple dozen angry raccoons. Ever since the night at the casino, Gretchen had been more and more hostile—and clever. Nothing could be held against her, but it was malicious just the same.

“Well,” Stacia said, still staring suspiciously at Posey, “it’s time to get dressed for the parade. Come on, girls. Posey, where’s that poor Brianna? Is she coming?”

“I’m here, Mrs. O,” poor Brianna replied, rolling her eyes at Posey.

“Good. Your costumes are in the back. Gretchen, darling, wait till you see yours! It just came in yesterday!”

“I HATE YOU. I’M calling Big Brothers tomorrow and having you fired.”

“Shush,” Posey said. “At least no one can see your face. I’m the evil serving wench. Would you rather be dressed like me, young lady?”

“No. I’d kill myself if I was dressed like you.”

Brie had a point. Posey’s costume wasn’t really a costume—it was just her waitressing outfit from the restaurant, the same one she’d worn when waiting tables at Guten Tag when she was seventeen. Ruffled white blouse (well, once-white, now yellowing). Green dwarf-embroidered vest that ended just below the bustline, ruffled skirt, green tights, painted clogs.

“It’ll be fun, Brianna,” she said. “You asked to come, remember? Beats sitting at home.”

“No, it doesn’t! I’m a goose, Posey! I’m dressed like a goose! You left the goose part out!”

“Sue me,” Posey said. “Here, have a marzipan. They’re not bad. Just suck on them long enough to soften the shell. The parade starts in ten minutes, so get in the spirit of things, kid.”

“Hate you,” Brianna grumbled, but she took a candy.

When Posey and Henry were three and nine, the Osterhagens decided to do a float for the Founders’ Day parade. They’d chosen to depict Hansel and Gretel, Henry and Posey holding hands and waving, Henry dropping bread crumbs from time to time. It had been a big hit. From then on, the elder Osterhagens had run with the Brothers Grimm theme. After all, as Jon pointed out, it beat the other thing Germany was rather famous for: the Nazi party. The back room of Guten Tag was full of aging animal costumes—mice, horses, a wolf or two, and, yes, geese. Those roped into duty tossed bulletlike marzipan to the crowd, who had the tendency to flinch and shield themselves.

Getting out of float duty was akin to high treason, though just about every staff member came up with some dire emergency to dodge their duty. Henry always managed to be on call and was forgiven, as he was a brilliant surgeon. Only Jon and Posey really enjoyed it…and now Gretchen. In the past few years, Irreplaceable cosponsored the float; Posey had found an enormous sleigh from a decrepit Santa’s Village in Lake George. The sleigh was mounted on a trailer and pulled by a stately old Farmall tractor driven by Mac. And this year, on the side of the float was something Posey had never seen, a banner that read The Goose Girl by the Brothers Grimm and featuring the Barefoot Fraulein Herself, Gretchen Heidelberg! Brought to you by your friends at Guten Tag and Irreplaceable Artifacts.

There were other floats, as well—the library had one shaped like an open book, the 4-H kids usually had one with a goat or a calf, and the marina always pulled some gorgeous sailboat. Rick Balin would sit on the deck, waving in boozy noblesse oblige, some unfortunate young woman shivering in a bikini next to him. Then there were the school bands, the Little League teams and a handful of veterans. But Guten Tag’s float was something of an icon and always came last.

“Oh, man! This is so fun? Right? Thanks for inviting me, Mrs. Osterhagen!” Elise, also dressed as a goose, waddled up to Mac and honked at him. He swallowed and ignored her.

“If I see someone I know, I’m throwing myself in front of the nursery school float, and all those kids will have to watch me die,” Brianna said.

“When you close your beak, no one will see your face. And please. I’ve been doing this since I was three years old. I have no sympathy for you. None. You asked to come, and here you are.”

“Oh, Brie, you look so cute!” Jon leaped lightly onto the float. “Wherefore is my true princess?” he cried.

“He’s hiding in an O.R. somewhere,” Posey said.

“I wish I was in the O.R. I’d break a leg to get out of this,” Brianna muttered.

“You’re late, Jon,” Stacia called.

“I had to get my hair perfect. And didn’t I? Am I not the very picture of a proper Prussian prince?” He glanced at Posey and lowered his voice. “Speaking of gorgeous men, heard from you-know-who?”

“Nope,” Posey murmured. “But it’s fine. I think we have plans for tomorrow.” Still, it would’ve been nice if he’d called. Dang it! She was just not the type to sit around mooning near the phone, yet that was exactly what she’d done last night. Loser.

Jon gave her a knowing look, then mercifully changed the subject. “Where did that banner come from?” he asked.

“Gretchen had it done herself!” Stacia said from the front, where she sat in her role as the queen. “Wasn’t that so sweet of her? Now everyone will know a celebrity chef is working at Guten Tag!”

“Just in case they dodged that fact somehow,” Jon said, winking at Posey and Brianna.

“So, what do we have to do, exactly?” Brie asked.

“Just wave and throw marzipan,” Posey said. “Try not to hit anyone, though. It hurts.”

“Could you be quiet, please?” Gretchen said. “We need to get into character.”

“Is she for real?” Brianna muttered.

“I don’t know the story,” Jon said. “All I was told is that I need to look handsome, so here I am, handsome.”

The float was just about to enter the official parade route, which wound for a mile and a half through town before ending at Memorial Bridge Park for the ceremonies. People from other floats milled around, kids dressed in their band uniforms scampered and warmed up, the Pedersen boys got ready to fire off the cannon that would mark the start of the parade.

Gretchen turned around from her seat on the front of the sleigh, where she sat with Max and Stacia. “The story is, Jon, that I’m the true princess, and Posey—”

“The evil serving wench,” Posey supplied.

“Not quite, and I was getting to that,” Gretchen said coolly. “Posey, my jealous maid, and I are on the way to the neighboring kingdom so I can marry the prince. But she steals my clothes and tries to pass herself off as me. In the meantime, I tend the castle geese, but the king—that’s Papa, of course—the king can tell that I’m the true princess, and I’m reinstated and marry you, Jon.”

“You lucky thing,” Posey murmured.

“What happens to the maid?” Brie asked.

“Oh, I’m put into a barrel lined with nails and dragged through town until I’m dead,” Posey said. “Fun, huh? Gotta make sure I read those fairy tales to my kids someday.”

“Why isn’t Posey the true princess?” Brie asked, her voice loud and defensive, and Posey felt a rush of love. Tough-girl act aside, Brianna was a sweetheart.

“It’s really not my thing,” she said. “I’d rather be the evil wench. More character.”

“So Lady Boobs-a-Plenty got the job,” Brianna said.

It was true. Gretchen’s generous cleavage spilled out in levels not seen in New Hampshire since prostitution was outlawed. The true princess costume was low, tight and white, complete with sparkles, a staff and crown—Glinda the Good Witch, Vegas-style—and since Posey wasn’t the dress-up type, she didn’t really mind. Not much.

Max turned around and smiled. “Well, you’re still my princess, honey.”

“Aw. Thanks, Dad.”

“Can we stop the chatter? Places, everyone!” Gretchen commanded. Elise waddled obediently to the back of the float.

“This is so awesome, right?” she said to Brianna. “Don’t you, like, love being a goose?”

“If I had a gun—” Brianna began, but Posey snapped her beak closed.

“Okay, people, let’s make this a great show!” Gretchen said, her voice loud, her smile ferocious. “Brianna, if that’s your name, and Elise, would you mind honking once in a while? Not too loud. And in five, four, three…” She counted down on her fingers, going silent for two and one, as if the cameras were about to start broadcasting. The float rolled into motion. “Hello there!” Gretchen called. “So nice to see you! Happy Founders’ Day! Thank you!”

“Can I whip this candy at the back of her head?” Brianna asked, her voice muffled.

“No,” Posey said as Jon snorted. “Just toss it—gently—at the crowd.”

Posey loved the parade, roles aside. She knew plenty of people, of course, and Gretchen’s small fame had a couple of tweenie girls run out to the sleigh for an autograph, which Gretchen demurely gave. Brianna proved to have unerring aim, winging her classmates with the hard lumps of marzipan under the cover of goose. There were Kate and James, Kate blowing her nose loudly. Brie whipped about fifteen pieces of marzipan at James, and he gave her a peace sign in return. Kids yelled out to Jon, who responded by singing phrases of Gilbert and Sullivan. Elise was having a marvelous time, laughing and honking and occasionally leaning off the float for a glimpse of Mac’s solid back. They passed a group of familiar faces—Vivian and her geriatric peeps. “Hi, Vivian!” Posey called, laughing as Viv covered her mouth in horror. “Laugh all you want.” Vivian pulled out her phone, held it up, and Posey knew her picture would be on Facebook in seconds.

Unfortunately, a bank of solid gray clouds rolled in, dropping the temperature by a good five degrees. In her short-sleeved dirndl, which was thin with age, Posey was freezing. She looked enviously at the well-padded Gretchen, sitting snugly between her well-padded parents, and shivered.

The parade turned onto Miner Street, and people clapped and pointed at the Barefoot Fraulein, who was eating it up. “Thank you so much! It’s so nice to see everyone! Happy Founders’ Day!”

There was Inferno. The restaurant really was gorgeous, an old brick-and-stone building. The window boxes overflowed with trailing ivy and deep purple viburnum, and the paned windows gleamed. The staff wore all black. Max and Stacia studiously ignored the restaurant, waving to the folks on the other side of the street.

And there was Dante, just coming out of Inferno now, his trademark white suit a stark contrast to the black-clad staff. The sight of him caused a pang of anxiety in her stomach—that or the four pieces of marzipan she’d eaten. Again, the similarities between Dante and Liam leaped out at her. Two good-looking guys, neither of them interested in a real relationship. But she was on a float, and to compensate for the cold shoulder from her parents, she waved at the Inferno staff.

Dante folded his arms and shook his head. “Those geese look like they’re on their last legs,” he said, loud enough to be easily heard on the float. “I bet we’ll be seeing them on Guten Tag’s menu any day now.” He grinned, and his staff guffawed with mean laughter.

Posey’s head whipped around to look at her parents. Stacia’s mouth hung open, and Max’s face went white, then red. Gretchen stared ahead, her face red as well.

Posey looked back at Dante. They were almost past the restaurant now, and getting closer to Guten Tag. “You know, Dante,” she found herself calling, a sweet smile on her face, “you might be able to get some decent spaghetti at Inferno. But you can never seem to have any fun.” She let that sit a beat, then yelled as loudly as she could, “Zicke zacke, zicke zacke!”

“Hoi, hoi, hoi!” the crowd called back. After all, most of Bellsford had been to Guten Tag—once, at least—and if they hadn’t had a gourmet meal, they’d had fun. They’d had a night to remember. They’d been treated like family.

“Zicke zacke, zicke zacke!” Jon yelled this time, and again, the crowd chorused back.

Posey stood on a sleigh runner so she could squeeze her mother’s hand. “You guys okay?”

“Thank you, dear,” Stacia said.

“Good job, baby,” Max echoed. Gretchen had pasted a smile on her face and was waving robotically. Her face was scarlet.

Posey turned back to look at Dante. Even from half a block, she could see his look of contempt. “Love what you’re wearing,” he called, pointing to his chest.

Posey looked down at her own.

Oh, no. Her blouse was torn. A lot. The aging fabric had caught on the sleigh, apparently, and had split right down to the vest, the edges flopping out on either side. She grabbed the edges and pulled them closed, but the fabric tore right off in her hands. “Dang it!”

“Wardrobe malfunction,” Brianna murmured. “Hey, at least you wore a bra.”

Yeah. A graying, elderly bra with a safety pin. Posey had been forced to dig it out of the back of her drawer this morning, as Gretchen had forgotten to put their laundry in the dryer.

“Jon! Help me,” Posey hissed, turning away from the crowd. Brie stood on her other side, shielding her. Elise, too, waddled close around.

“We should go to Victoria’s Secret, right?” she said, cocking her head as she gazed at Posey’s chest.

“Oh, boy,” Jon said. “My kingdom for a sewing kit. Does anyone have a cape? No? Crap. Okay, just stand here, and um…don’t move a muscle. Only about a mile to go, right?”

Gretchen and the Osterhagens had resumed their royal duties and called out to their friends and acquaintances, unaware of Posey’s distress. No one was wearing anything that could be used to cover her up.

“Hey. Cordelia.”

Posey looked up, and there was Liam loping out from the sidewalk. He shrugged out of his leather jacket and handed it up to Jon.

A warm, buttery sensation rolled through Posey’s legs. He was saving her. Unfortunately, that also meant he’d seen her rattiest bra, which was less than optimum, but still. “Thanks,” Posey said faintly.

“You’re a prince, Liam,” Jon said, handing over the coat with a pointed look. “A true prince.”

“Liam! Come join us at the beer garden after the parade, dear,” Stacia commanded from her perch up front. “Bring that beautiful child of yours.”

“Will do,” Liam said. He winked at Posey, then headed back to Nicole.

Liam’s jacket was heavy and still warm. It smelled like him, and it felt better than any clothing had ever felt in the history of the world.

“Well, if you weren’t in love with him already, I’ll bet the farm you are today. I know I am,” Jon whispered, waving to some students who were calling his name.

“He totally saved your ass,” Brie said, sounding mildly surprised. “And your boobs.”

THREE HOURS AND five speeches later, Founders’ Day was officially over. Guten Tag’s beer garden was full, Otto had returned from his wife’s bedside and was playing polkas on his accordion, and Posey had yet to take off Liam’s jacket. Given her druthers, she would never take off Liam’s jacket. If possible, she would be buried in Liam’s jacket.

Not that Liam would notice. He was too busy glaring at Tanner Talcott, who was sitting at the next table with Nicole, talking about his English class while Nicole listened and glowed. Officially, Liam was sitting at Posey’s table, though he’d barely seemed to notice her since arriving. She, however, couldn’t stop her brain from chattering away. Hey, Liam, thank you for your jacket. By the way, I actually have several very attractive bras, which I’d be happy to show you later. Also, thank you for the sex, which was sock-knocking, even though I am totally playing it cool. Oh, and are we on for tomorrow? Remember you asked me if I was free on Sunday? I still am, and tomorrow is Sunday, but I haven’t heard from you since you left my bed the other morning.

James and Kate arrived, and a round of hellos was exchanged. “We loved the float, didn’t we?” Kate announced, plunking herself down next to Posey. “It was the best float in the whole parade. James, tell Posey how much we loved their float.”

“So, so much,” James said, cocking an eyebrow.

“You know, I just sat down and right away, I have to pee,” Kate announced, hauling her bulk out of the chair. “James? Want to come?”

“I’m good, Mom,” he said, closing his eyes.

“Hey, I have your book,” Posey said as Kate lumbered away. “You left it at Irreplaceable a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, the birth-parents thing? Cool.”

“Liam! Liam, sweetheart, over here!” From the other corner of the beer garden, Stacia waved imperiously.

“Excuse me a second,” he said, his first words since arriving. He stood up, said something to Nicole, glared at Tanner, then made his way across the rooftop garden. A rather stunning brunette stopped him, putting her hand on his thigh and smiling up at him, and Posey had to drag her eyes off the little tableau.

Wednesday night seemed like aeons ago.

She glanced at Brianna and James, both of whom were watching Tanner and Nicole.

“The golden couple,” Brianna muttered.

“Totally,” James agreed. “Too perfect for the rest of us.”

“You guys are great, too,” Posey chided.

“Yeah. Dare to be different, right, James?” The two teenagers rolled their eyes at the dopey adult. Hey. It had been worth a shot.

Gretchen’s laugh cut across the crowd, and Posey looked up. Liam had made it to the Osterhagens, and Gret was fluttering her fingers over her boobage, just in case Liam hadn’t noticed it jutting out like the prow of a ship. He smiled, Max said something, and they all laughed.

“I have my DS downstairs in my backpack,” James said to Brianna. “Want to play ‘Dragon Master’?”

“Sure,” Brianna said. “Is that okay, Posey?”

“Oh, yeah. You two have fun. I’ll tell your mom where you are, James.”

“Don’t feel you have to,” he said, grinning.

The two left, and Posey offered a quick thanks that James had become Brie’s friend. Brianna, she knew, was lonely. Her family situation, cheap clothes and the fifty extra pounds she was packing didn’t make high school easy. James seemed happy enough, despite Kate’s constant attempts at symbiosis. And hey. Kate was doing a great job. James was gentle, wry and kind. Not your average teenage boy, and God bless him for it.

Well. Posey looked around. Here she was, alone at a table for eight. At least there was a giant plate of potato dumplings in front of her. But just as she felt the initial squirmings of awkwardness, Henry and Jon came over. “How are we?” Jon asked, setting a beer in front of her.

“We’re fine,” she said. “How was the hospital, Henry?”

“Oh, it was fantastic,” her brother answered. “Total BKA. Gorgeous.” At her look of confusion, he added, “Below the knee amputation. It was a crushing, right, so it was a mess, and not to blow my own horn, I did an amazing job. Want to see? I took pictures.” He fumbled in his pocket and withdrew his iPhone.

Posey duly admired the photos—she was used to it, after all—while Jon shielded his eyes.

“So, how was the float this year?” Henry asked.

Posey and Jon exchanged a look. Posey went first. “It was… Well, it was…”

“Sort of a Chagall nightmare theme,” came a voice. It was Liam. He set a glass of soda down in front of his daughter, then made his way around to Posey’s table and sat next to her. Their knees bumped under the table, and Posey felt her cheeks burn.

“A Chagall nightmare,” she said. “Aren’t we cultured.”

“I lived in L.A. I’m incredibly cool,” he said, his eyes dropping to her mouth, and her toes curled in her silly shoes.

“Oh, dear. Mom’s gesturing,” Jon said. “Come, Henry. We’re needed.”

“I just sat down,” he protested.

“Come! Be a good son. See you two later.” Jon leaned down to kiss Posey’s cheek. “Don’t eat dumplings in front of him. That detachable jaw of yours is scary,” he whispered and then pulled his partner away.

Liam stared at his kid, and Posey tried not to stare at him. But it was hard. He was undeniably the best-looking guy on earth, and she couldn’t really blame the women who cut glances his way, or waved or called hello.

“Thanks again for your jacket,” she said after a minute or two had passed. “I’ll give it back to you tomorrow.”

“Sure,” he said, nodding at someone.

Posey realized abruptly that her regular clothes were downstairs, and she could change right then and there…indeed, she should’ve changed already, but clearly part of her wanted to hang on to the jacket, because apparently she was still the dopey teenager she’d been fifteen years ago.

“Dad? Can Tanner and I take a walk around the block?” Nicole asked.

“No,” Liam answered.

“Daddy, it’s broad daylight, and downtown is mobbed. Totally safe. Right, Posey?”

“True enough,” she said, earning a smile from the girl. Tanner wisely stayed silent.

Liam cut his eyes to Posey’s. She smiled. He didn’t. A little chilly, those eyes. Then he looked back at his daughter. “Fifteen minutes. And bear in mind that I can see halfway around the block from here, and yes, I will be watching. Got it, son?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Murphy. Fifteen minutes.” Tanner practically knocked his chair over, he got up so fast.

“I’ll be watching,” Liam repeated.

“Thanks, Daddy!” Nicole fairly skipped away, and Liam took a slow, deep breath.

“Good boy,” Posey said.

He grunted, then stood up to peer over the wall of the beer garden. “Great,” he said after a minute. “They’re holding hands.”

“How sweet,” Posey couldn’t resist saying.

He gave her a murderous look, then sighed. “By the way,” he said in a low voice, “I’d rather not have Nicole know we’re…hanging out.”

Hanging out. Horrible term, meaning absolutely nothing. “Of course not,” she said, looking away.

“So, what else happens this weekend?” Liam asked.

“There are tugboat races tomorrow,” Posey said. “Sunday.” As in Sunday. As in You free on Sunday?

“Cool.” Another few beats passed. Men. As perceptive as cement walls.

“Your mother’s definitely trying to fix me up with Greta,” he said, and Posey felt a nearly painful burst of love. He got Gretchen’s name wrong! So sweet!

“Well, Mom thinks the entire world should be married,” Posey said. Then, aware that her statement sounded leading, she added hastily, “But not everyone’s meant for…you know.”

There was another silence. “I think I’ll go wait for Nicole,” Liam said, standing. He looked down at her, almost as if seeing her for the first time today. “See you tomorrow? I could pick you up around noon.”

Posey couldn’t suppress a smile. “Sounds good.”

He leaned down, and for a second, she thought he might kiss her, right here in public, but he just stuck a few bills under a plate for the busboy. “You looked cute on the float today,” he said, and it was so unexpected that she was actually speechless. Then he smiled and left, and Posey sat there for a few long, delicious minutes, the glow in her chest nearly painful.