IAM WAS A LITTLE torn. Nicole had canceled her afternoon with the Tates, claiming too much homework, and while he didn’t mind the fact that he wouldn’t have to see his in-laws today, he’d been planning on seeing Cordelia while Nic was out. He could cancel—Cordelia wouldn’t mind—but since Nicole was indeed in her room surrounded by books, maybe he’d go anyway. Nic was always telling him to get a life, after all. And it wasn’t like they were doing anything together right now.

And he did want to see Cordelia.

He hadn’t expected her to be so…fun. Or sweet. She was unpredictable; one minute she’d be cheerfully insulting him, the next, looking at him with those big soft eyes. She baked cookies the other day, which was just so not her that he could tell it was a big deal.

“How are they?” she’d asked.

He chewed assessingly. “Not the worst I’ve ever had.”

Her eyes narrowed, and before Liam saw her move, she’d snatched the cookie from his hand and tossed it in the trash. “No more for you, ingrate.”

Liam looked at his now-empty hand. “Really?” He grinned. “Who’s gonna stop me?”

“I am. You want another cookie, you have to come through me.”

They’d ended up doing it on the kitchen table.

And that was another thing. Liam hadn’t expected the sex to be so, well…mind-blowing. Here he was, a good month into seeing someone—granted, no strings attached—and was feeling a little bit like a randy teenager, walking around with a goofy smile on his face.

The only problem was that he suspected Cordelia might be getting a little…attached.

He walked down the hall and knocked on his daughter’s door. “Nic, how much longer are you gonna be?”

“Dad, this paper is killing me! Can you, like, stop interrupting?” She glared at him from her desk. Audrey Hepburn posters had replaced Edward the Vampire, he was happy to see, and the clock from Sweetie Sue’s glowed above her bed.

“Well, I just wondered if you wanted to do something later.”

“No. This will take the rest of the day. I may as well just chain myself here and, like, work until I pass out, and you can just throw some raw meat in here. This teacher is insane! She thinks we have nothing better to do than study!”

An excellent teacher, clearly. “Okay, well, I thought I might run out for a couple hours,” he said.

“Do it. Leave me alone, or I’m going to fail everything.”

“You okay here by yourself?”

“Dad!” The three syllables of doom, followed by a huffy sigh. “I’m not six years old, you know.”

“Just asking. If you wanted me to stay, I would.”

“I don’t.” She must’ve realized she sounded like a twit, because she gave him an apologetic glance. “Sorry. It’s just this is a hard class.”

He smiled. “But you’re smart. You’ll do great.”

“Thanks,” she grumbled, then looked up at him hopefully. “So, Daddy, any thoughts on the prom?”

“Plenty. You’re too young.”

“I’m sixteen years old, Dad.”

“You’re fifteen years and eleven months old,” he corrected.

“Grandma and Grandpa don’t think I’m too young,” she countered. “They said they’d buy my dress, too.”

“Not helping your case,” he said.

Her face fell. “Fine. You’re the boss.” She turned back to her computer. “I’ll just slave away at this and, like, never have any fun, ever, because my father won’t let me be normal and have a boyfriend, not that Tanner even is my boyfriend, because he hasn’t even kissed me yet.”

The threats must be working. Liam’s opinion of Tanner went up a thousand points. Nicole sat back down at her desk and started tapping away on the razor-thin laptop the Tates had just bought her. She really was a good kid, and she did work hard.

“What’s the paper on?” he asked.

“The themes of patriarchal suppression in The Crucible. Ironic, isn’t it?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. His child was now officially smarter than he was, and he didn’t like it. “Not funny.”

“Oh, it was funny, Dad. Get out of here. I have to call Tanner and tell him you’re gone so he can, like, bring over the drugs and the gang members.”

“Even less funny. No visitors. I’m telling Mrs. Antonelli you’re alone.”

“Okay,” she said. “Where are you going?”

“Thought I might take my bike out.”

Nicole nodded, unaware of the monumental impact of this statement. “Wear your helmet,” she said, turning back to the screen.

“I’ll call you.”

“I’m so sure.” She made huffing noise, then turned back to her computer. “I love you, Dad,” she added.

There it was, that shocking wave of love. She was the best kid in the world. It was a gorgeous Sunday afternoon, and she was doing her work, toughing it out. She’d been through hell, watching her mom die, and yet here she was, pulling in decent grades, playing lacrosse, on the debate team (her calling, he thought). And even though she was mad at him, she still told her father she loved him.

“You can go to the prom,” he said.

There was a beat of silence, then her shriek split the air. “What?” She leaped up. “Daddy! Are you kidding? Don’t answer that! Oh, Dad, thank you!” She threw her arms around him and kissed his face repeatedly.

“There will be a million rules and regulations,” he said, laughing. “Maybe a tracking device.”

“I don’t care! Oh, Daddy, you’re the greatest!”

“Tanner and I will be having a long, long talk,” he added.

“Of course you will,” she said, disentangling herself from him. “Daddy, thank you.”

“Okay. You’re welcome.” There was a lump in his throat. “I’ll call you in a little while, okay? And I’m buying your dress. Not Grandma and Grandpa.”

Liam’s mood was mixed as he walked toward the garage. On the one hand, it had felt great to give Nicole what she wanted. On the other, he was letting her go to a prom with a teenage boy, which felt more dangerous than if he’d fed her a lump of glowing uranium.

But if Emma had been alive, she probably wouldn’t have objected to Nicole going to the prom. Emma had been queen of high school, after all. They’d gone to their prom, of course—Emma had been in a silky ivory dress with a low back, her skin so smooth under his hand as they danced. The rest of his prom memories were foggy, but he knew he’d had fun. Especially after the prom…the exact type of fun he didn’t want his child to have.

Time for a subject change. A pretty big deal lay immediately ahead of him. The motorcycle.

He unlocked the garage and stepped inside, the smell of oil and metal as familiar as the smell of Nicole’s hair. There was the Triumph, the same make and model as the one he’d wrecked.

The last time he’d ridden a motorcycle, he’d almost ended up dead. A concussion and bruising so bad he’d hurt for a month. But if he didn’t get on a bike now, he probably never would. It was a beautiful spring day, he had a…friend waiting for him. He grabbed an extra helmet and strapped it on the back.

He wheeled the bike outside, locked the garage once more, and straddled the bike. So far, so good. Helmet on, check. He took a deep breath; the choking panic was still at bay—for now. But his heart was thumping, and his knees buzzed with adrenaline. He turned the key, and the engine purred to life.

And then, just like that, Liam flexed his wrist, and he was gliding down the street, free. No fear, no wave of dread, just him doing what he’d been doing for more than twenty years. It was like meeting an old friend after a long, long time apart. Strange, how easy it was, like he’d never stopped, never crashed.

Cordelia was lugging something to her truck when he pulled up. She shielded her eyes and walked over to him, frowning. Her face was a little pale. “Hey, Liam. I…I kind of forgot we had plans.” Then she tipped her head and smiled, and it was like someone turned a light on inside her. “Are you on a motorcycle, Liam Declan Murphy?”

“Seems like it,” he said, grinning. “In the mood for a ride?”

“Sure,” she said. She ran into the house, then emerged again, shrugging into the leather jacket he’d let her keep.

“How’ve you been?” he asked.

“Just dandy.” She pulled on the helmet, then slid on behind him and said nothing more, just wrapped her arms around his waist, and off they went. He drove on the back roads, the full-blown beauty of spring around them, the trees so green it seemed that they were underwater. They passed tumbled stone walls and lawns full of flowering trees, a pond so blue it almost hurt his eyes. The air was soft and sweet, the sun warm, the purr of the Triumph low and tight.

After about half an hour, Liam pulled over by an old cemetery. He turned off the bike and took off his helmet. Cordelia did the same, running a hand through her short hair, looking away.

“What do you think?” he asked, grinning at the world in general. “You love motorcycles now?”

“Yep,” she said, and her voice was a little funny. Still a little pale, too.

Oh, boy. He took a deep breath. “You okay?”

She nodded.

“Are you pregnant?”

“No! No,” she said. “Um…I’m not pregnant. No. I just got some news, that’s all.” And then her face got kind of scrunchy, and she looked away and swallowed.

“Come over here,” he said, leading her to the edge of the cemetery. Whatever it was, he felt an abrupt sense of protection—almost like the urge to beat up whoever had made her cry. Because, yes, there were tears in her eyes, and he felt it like a punch in the lung.

There was a granite bench under a tree; the leaves were so bright green they glowed. The breeze rustled overhead, and a blue jay streaked in front of them.

She wiped her eyes and pressed her lips together.

“Tell me,” he ordered.

She took a shaky breath. “My birth mother wrote to me.”

Was that good? Bad? “That’s big news,” he said.

She nodded, two more tears sliding down her cheeks. “Yeah.” She sighed and leaned back, looking up at the sky. “It’s just…” Her voice dropped to a whisper, same way Nicole’s did when she was teary. “It’s old news, too.” She swallowed. “I guess my birth mother sent me a letter when I was in high school, but my parents never told me. Gretchen did. Today. She read the letter back then. I’m definitely the last to know here…?.” She bit her lip again. “And I’m kind of stunned, I guess.” Her voice broke. “I never thought she wanted to meet me, and all this time, maybe she did.”

Not knowing what else to do, Liam put his arm around her, and she leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder, her goofy hair soft against his jaw.

Then she wriggled out of his grasp and walked off a ways, into the cemetery. “Sorry,” she called over her shoulder. “I’m not the weepy type most of the time.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he said. “It’s a lot to take in.”

He followed her, figuring she’d want to talk—women usually did. She didn’t say a word, however, and Liam wasn’t quite sure what to do, other than wish for that useful manual. “So, do you think you’ll try to find her? Your birth mother?” he asked eventually.

She glanced at him. “I don’t know. I don’t know if her information is still current, or—heck, I haven’t even seen the letter. My mom might have thrown it away.” She stopped in front of a small marble headstone, its words erased by time. “I just feel so bad—she must think I blew her off, you know? If she sent that, what, fifteen years ago?”

“Do you want to meet her?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.” She knelt down and brushed off some lichen. “Every once in a while, I run into someone who’s scrawny and has hair like mine, and I wonder, is that my relative? It’d be nice to see where I came from.”

“Sure,” he said. Of course, maybe it wouldn’t be. Maybe her birth family was a mess, like his was. Maybe her mom had been a drug addict, and her father was in prison. You never knew.

“When I was a kid,” Cordelia said, “people would constantly ask my parents if I was adopted. They’d never ask about Henry, because it’s pretty obvious, but it seemed like someone was always asking about me.”

“Well, people are idiots.”

She shrugged. “I understood. I mean, I’m white, but I don’t look anything like Max and Stacia, God knows. They’re these big, strapping farmhand people, and I look like Anne Frank. It never bothered Henry—he’s not bothered by much. But it always bothered me.”

“Audrey Hepburn, I was thinking,” he said.

“What?”

“Not Anne Frank. Audrey.”

She paused, gave him a feeble grin. Still, it was something. “You get a sticker for that. Even if it’s wildly untrue.” She sighed. “It’s just…see, when Henry was about five, my mom got pregnant. But they lost the baby, and it was a girl.”

When Emma had been pregnant, she’d had a little bleeding. Turned out to be no cause for alarm, but that night in the E.R. was one of the worst in Liam’s life. Funny how precious something became when you thought you’d lose it. He could only imagine how wrecked the Osterhagens had been.

“So you felt like that’s why they adopted you?” Liam asked.

She gave a small shrug, her eyes still on the grave. “That is why they adopted me. And I’m glad they did…I just always felt a little bit like the consolation prize. And then there was Gretchen, constantly reminding them of the baby they lost, since she looks so much like my mom.”

“Come on. Your folks are crazy about you.”

Another ghost of a smile crossed her face. “Yep. That’s true, too. But the other thought is still there.” She moved on down the row of graves. “So now…you know, learning that my birth mother reached out…I don’t know. There are all kinds of adoptions. The birth mother can stay in touch, all sorts of visitation arrangements. But mine didn’t want that, and I totally understood. I pictured all these scenarios over the years…she was really young, or a drug addict, or maybe she was…raped. But now I find out that maybe she did want to see me…” Her voice broke again.

Cautiously, because she looked like a loaded spring, Liam went up behind her and slipped his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest.

“Don’t be nice to me,” she whispered, though she didn’t move away. “I might cry if you are.”

“And here I thought a hug would help,” he said, holding her a little closer. “I really need a user’s manual where you’re concerned. Want me to pull your hair? Would that be better?”

She gave a shaky laugh. “Sorry I’m so…unfun today.”

He turned her around. “Cordelia,” he said firmly. “Don’t be a dope.”

“Such a sweet-talker, you.”

“You just told me not to be nice.” He tipped her chin up, glad to see she wasn’t crying anymore. “What do you want to do? Want me to take you home? Take you to your parents’ house so you guys can talk?”

She pursed her lips, thinking, and even though he was trying to be princely, a bolt of lust shot through him. That mouth was really something, and sure enough, he found he was kissing her, gently, her soft, full lips such a surprise coming from that wiry little package.

“I don’t want to go home just yet,” she said, blushing. Her arms were still around him.

“You want to talk some more? I have a teenage girl. I know all about feelings and crying and mushy stuff.”

She laughed, and that warm thing in his chest squeezed. “Nah. I have to think about this a little more, but I’m done talking.”

“Come on, then,” Liam said. “Cemeteries don’t generally cheer people up. Back on the bike, woman. I know just the place.”

Twenty minutes later, they pulled up at their destination, and when Posey saw where they were, she gave him a big smile, the first he’d seen from her that day. “Jimbo’s Batting Cages, huh?”

“That’s right,” he said, slinging his arm around her shoulders. “Time you learned to put some wood on ball.”

“That sounds vaguely dirty,” she murmured.

“We can only hope,” and he gave her a kiss and was somewhat amazed at how great it felt to cheer her up.

WELL, LIAM HADN’T managed to teach her to hit, Posey thought, but it had been very fun (and yes, vaguely dirty) to have him stand behind her, his arms enveloping her as he tried to get her to swing at the right time, her bottom pressed most comfortably against his groin. Yep. Dirty. Who knew batting practice could be so much fun? As an improvement on her swing, it was worthless. As foreplay, much better. And he’d made her laugh, and that was really something, given how churned up she’d been feeling.

“Okay, try it yourself a few times. I have to call my kid,” Liam said, stepping out of the batting cage. Seemed a lot lonelier in here without him. The next ball came. She swung. Missed. “You are the worst hitter I’ve ever seen,” he added, smiling.

“We all have our talents, lunkhead,” she said. Another pitch from the machine. Another miss.

“Hey, honey, it’s your father,” Liam said into the phone. So sweet. He gave Nicole the paternal interrogation—Posey was standing just feet away, it wasn’t like she was eavesdropping. But it was…warming, Liam asking Nicole how was her paper going, had she checked in with Mrs. Antonelli, did she eat the leftover chicken and not just M&Ms. Posey’s chest swelled. Liam was a good father, that was clear, and there was little more appealing than a man who was a loving dad.

Liam glanced at her a couple of times as he talked. “Mind if I grab dinner while I’m out?” he said into the phone. He had yet to mention her—Posey tried not to notice, but, yeah, her name had not come up, she was pretty sure. Not that it mattered, not really. “Okay, baby,” Liam said finally. “See you later. Love you.” He put his phone back in his pocket and looked at Posey once more. “Here it comes…you can do it…swing!”

Posey swung. Missed. “Okay, enough humiliation. What’s the plan, Big Papi?”

“How about some dinner?” he asked.

“That would be fantastic,” she said. “I’m so hungry, I’m about to gnaw off your arm.”

They found a nice little place on the water, ordered some fried clams and scallops, a beer for him, a white zinfandel for her. “No whiskey sours?” Liam asked. “Because you were a lot of fun that night.”

“Well, same to you on pain meds, you big baby.”

He grinned. She smiled back. Goofy in love, that’s what she was. Dang. Or huzzah. She wasn’t quite sure.

They talked about ordinary things—she told him about the one-sided romance between her coworkers, he told her about Nicole wanting to go to the prom.

At the word prom, Posey felt that old twist of…betrayal. The complete and utter dashing of expectations. But it was clear Liam had no knowledge of the impact of Posey’s own prom, and it was better to keep it that way. “So, will you let Nicole go?” she asked.

“I said yes today.” He took a long pull on his beer, clearly not convinced that his decision was a good one.

“Well,” Posey said briskly, looking out the window, “proms can be very formative.”

“Exactly what I’m hoping to avoid. Some idiot boy breaking her heart.” The irony of his statement was lost on him; he gave her a half smile and a shrug. “Anyway. Enough about my kid. How are you doing? Feeling a little better?”

Her heart softened. “Yes. A lot better, actually.”

“Good.” Liam smiled fully, making her knees tingle. So he’d said a crummy thing back in the olden days. He was clearly a great guy now.

The waiter approached, slipping the check on the table. “I’ll take this whenever you’re ready,” he said, gliding away.

“Let me get it,” Posey said, grabbing the check. “You were a prince today. You deserve payment.”

“Yes, I was a prince, and no, I’m paying.” He reached over and took an end of the check.

Posey didn’t let go. “Don’t make me wrestle you, Liam,” she warned. “We both know who would win, and you don’t want to be embarrassed in front of all these nice people.”

“No, no, let’s wrestle,” he said, and with that he leaned over and kissed her, a soft, full kiss, his fingers sliding through her short hair, and Posey felt herself melting against him, against his mouth, toward his heat.

Then he pulled back and tugged the check out of her unresisting fingers. “Sucker,” he said, grinning.

“Jerk.” She straightened up and slid him a glance, still a little flustered from that kiss. “Thanks for dinner, biker boy.”

“My pleasure.” He stuffed a couple of bills into the leather check holder and continued looking at her. His eyes were smoky. Maybe they’d have time to zip back to the church, have a tumble, before he had to get back to—

Oh, bieber. Oh, no.

George and Louise Tate were standing at the maître d’s desk.

Staring at the two of them.

“Liam?” she whispered. “Um…the Tates are here.”

His smile vanished. “Oh, crap,” he muttered.

“I’m so sorry,” Posey said, biting her lip. Dang it! Right when they were out in public—public, you know, with kissing and everything, meeting all of Jon’s criteria—there were his dead wife’s parents, frozen in dismay.

“No, no. It’s… Well, let’s go say hi.”

They stood up and approached the Tates.

“Hi,” Liam said, offering his hand to George. George didn’t take it, and Posey had to force herself not to cringe. “Uh, George, Louise, this is Cordelia Osterhagen.”

Louise Tate stared at her like she was a severed head on their doorstep. Posey swallowed. Her cheeks were on fire, her hair was, doubtlessly, a mess… “Hi, Mrs. Tate, Mr. Tate,” she said, a little too brightly. “I remember you from church, way back when.” She paused, lowering her voice. “I was so sorry to hear about Emma. We were friendly in high school, and she was—”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Tate interrupted stiffly. “Liam, who’s with Nicole?”

“She’s at home, working on a paper,” he said.

“Alone?” Mr. Tate asked.

“Yes. She’s almost sixteen, George.” Liam’s hands were jammed in his pockets. The Tates said nothing. “Well, have a nice dinner,” Liam said. “Talk to you soon.”

“It was nice to see you again,” Posey added, then kicked herself. It wasn’t nice, certainly not for them.

“Tell Nicole we’d like to see her twice this week, since we didn’t get to visit today,” Mrs. Tate said, ignoring Posey. Her tone was ice-cold.

The sky was red and purple outside, and the lights of the Piscataqua River Bridge glittered in the reflection of the water. “I’m really, really sorry about that,” Posey said quietly as they walked to the parking lot.

“Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s fine.” His voice was normal, but of course, it wasn’t fine. He was tense as they drove home, the ride not nearly as pleasant as it had been earlier. His back was stiff and straight, his movements overly cautious.

When they pulled into her driveway, Liam walked her to the door, despite her protestation that he didn’t have to. From inside, Shilo began barking in joy, his baying voice bouncing off the forty-foot ceilings.

“Okay, well, thanks, Liam. For today. You were really great,” Posey said. She took a deep breath. “Sorry about the Tates and the kissing and stuff.”

He shrugged. “I kissed you. And don’t worry about it. But I should get back to Nicole.”

“Sure, sure. Okay.”

They stood there another minute, the silence growing awkward. Then Liam reached out and pinched her chin. “Good luck with the family stuff,” he said. “And you know, you can call me. If you want.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean it.”

“Thanks even more, then, biker boy.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Now, shoo. Go home to your kid.”

Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight for a long minute, and it was so unexpected that Posey felt her eyes prickle with tears. She kissed his cheek again. “You’re a good guy, Liam Murphy,” she whispered. Then, a little embarrassed at the proclamation, she pulled back. “Go on, git,” she said. “And thanks.”

Inside, with Shilo licking her face and wagging so hard he knocked over an end table, Posey found that she was still smiling. Even with the Tates ending their night on an off note, Liam had really come through.

NOPE. THAT HAD NOT been cool. The joy of riding his Triumph was gone as Liam made his way from Cordelia’s back into town. The Tates hadn’t wanted him with Emma, but they sure didn’t want him with someone else. Not now, anyway. And of course, they’d busted him at the very moment he’d been picturing Cordelia naked and underneath him. Bad enough that he’d deflowered, then stolen, their precious daughter. Now he was—in their minds, anyway—cheating on her.

Liam pulled into the garage, figuring the walk home might cool him off a little, give him time to figure out how to make this okay. The thing was, being out with Cordelia had been pretty fantastic. She’d been upset, he’d made her feel better, they’d had fun. It had been a long time since he’d felt so…well, so good. You’re a good guy, Liam Murphy, Cordelia had said.

It wasn’t something he’d heard a lot in his life.

Enter the Tates, almost on cue to remind him just how not-good he really was. Not only was Nicole left alone— Liam, the negligent father, was out with another woman. The warmth from being with Cordelia evaporated as he walked through the quiet streets of Bellsford. He hadn’t heard the end of this, he was quite sure.

He opened the door of the apartment building and ran up the five flights of stairs. Heard the sound of the Ramones and smelled popcorn. Nicole must’ve finished that paper. Good girl.

Then Liam opened the door, walked into his apartment, and found Tanner Talcott and Nicole sitting on the couch, entwined around each other, kissing like a meteor was about to hit the planet and end life as they knew it.