’M DEFINITELY IN love,” Posey said one night. Jon and Henry had invited her to dinner (well, Jon had, and Henry was present). Posey was lounging on the camel-backed Victorian sofa she’d found for Jon several years ago, which he’d had re-covered in a luscious gold-and-blue hydrangea print, and the boys’ cute little Colonial was redolent with the smell of lime and cilantro. “I’m pretty sure he is, too.”

After three weeks, she and Liam had settled into a pattern. They’d see each other a couple of times a week—the nights that Nicole spent either at friends’ houses or with her grandparents. They were dating, no matter what he did or didn’t call it. He took her out to dinner one night in Portsmouth. One Sunday afternoon they rented a boat and motored slowly through the estuary, looking for herons and osprey. One time, he’d spent the entire night, when Gret was visiting a friend and Nicole was with her grandparents. They’d fooled around, eaten, fooled around again and then watched movies till she fell asleep, her head on his lap in the great room, Meatball and Jellybean snuggled against her belly, Shilo sprawled on her lower half. If that wasn’t heaven, waking up to Liam Murphy stroking her hair and Iron Man 2 on the telly, what was?

And if Liam wasn’t quite in love, he was close. He certainly seemed happy; that was one of the best things about their times together, the teasing insults and smiling kisses. He even seemed less tense regarding Nicole. One night, she brought him up to the belfry, and they’d sat there, holding hands and sipping wine next to the jammed, rusted gears and big iron bell as the peepers chorused from the swamp behind her house. How could that not be love?

“Sorry, pet. It’s not love until you go public,” Jon pronounced. “You need romantic intention stated out in the open. Like if he was here, spending time with the most important men in your life, it would mean something. Right, Henry?”

“What?” Henry said, glancing up from a book—Traumatic Amputations in Nonsterile Settings.

“Meeting each other’s families, going public with love. Remember? We held hands when Max and Stacia came down for Parents’ Weekend. We were walking across the quad, Posey, all these families everywhere, and your brother took my hand. That’s when I knew it was real.”

“Knew what was real?” Henry asked, frowning.

“Never mind,” Jon sighed. “Posey, has Liam kissed you in front of other people yet?”

She pretended to think about it. “No. But we ran into each other at the bakery yesterday, and we talked.”

“About what?”

“Um…the baseball game,” she admitted. “He had five hits in one night. Stubby’s won, seventeen to six.”

“Who were they playing?”

“Curl Up and Dye.”

“Well, that explains it. But seriously, who gets on base five times in one game?”

“Well, not me, that’s for sure,” Posey said.

“Anyway, back to the public displays. Does he call you sweetheart or kiss you or lick your neck?” Jon asked.

“No. There was no licking.” Not then, anyway. She smiled.

“Then I’m not sure we can say he’s in love. Not yet. Or he is, but he’s not brave enough to show it.”

“Who are we talking about?” Henry asked.

Jonathan huffed. “Posey, do you see what I have to put up with? I work all day, I come home, I expect my partner to listen to me, but no, I could be standing here on fire and he still wouldn’t notice.”

“Henry, say something nice to your honey,” Posey commanded.

“Jon, you’re the best,” Henry said.

“More, please,” Jon said haughtily.

“You’re a great dresser, our house is a showplace, the food you cook is fit for the gods. You’re so understanding and compassionate, and I thank God every day that we found each other,” Henry murmured, his eyes drifting back to his book.

“Wow,” Posey said, closing her mouth. “I never knew you had it in you, bro.”

“I wrote it down for him,” Jonathan explained with an affectionate cuff to Henry’s head. “So how’s Gretch the Wretch acting these days?” He refilled Posey’s wine glass. “Is she wild with jealousy that you’re bagging the hottest guy in town, present company excluded?”

“Jon, this is my sister,” Henry said. “Please, let’s not talk about her sex life.”

“What do you think we’ve been talking about for the past half hour?” Jonathan said. “Go back to the ripping and tearing.” He turned to Posey. “Is she?”

Posey took a sip of her wine, which, while indubitably much, much more expensive than her own swill, didn’t seem to taste much different. “She’s not, actually. She’s been pretty busy.”

Gretchen’s lack of interest was indeed kind of odd, especially after the way she’d acted that first day, tarting Posey up while channeling a Victoria’s Secret super-model. But since then, she’d been very nonchalant. Posey was often asleep when Gret came home, so their interaction was limited (mercifully). Maybe it was as simple as that.

“She’s a wolf,” Henry said, eyes back on his book. “Beware, Posey.”

“I concur,” Jon said. “By the way, please chaperone the prom with me, Posey. Himself here won’t do it.”

“It’s true, I won’t,” Henry murmured.

“Oh, Jon, no. Sorry, bud. It’s just not my thing.”

“Not her thing,” Henry echoed, eyes still on his book. “She had a very bad time at her prom.”

“So, tell me about it!” Jon asked. “Pig’s blood as you were crowned?”

“I wish,” Posey said, rolling her eyes. “My date dumped me for someone else. Not unheard of.”

“Some guy made fun of how skinny she was,” Henry supplied, still reading. “She probably only weighed about ninety pounds back then. He called her a bag of bones, said she was built like a ten-year-old boy—”

“Hey. Savant. We don’t need a trip down Memory Lane, okay?” she said, taking a healthy slug of wine. Brothers with perfect memories were so annoying.

“—and the mean girls made fun of her. She hid in the bathroom first, then walked, in the pouring rain, mind you, to a 7-11, whereupon she called her heroic older brother, who took her out for pancakes and covered to their parents.” He turned a page and continued reading. “Oh, look at this. A shark bit this guy’s arm half off, and the medic had to stitch up the artery right on the beach or the surfer would have bled out. Now that would’ve been a great day. I am never that lucky.”

Jon looked suitably horrified. “I don’t know which of those stories is worse,” he said. “Your prom or the shark bite.”

“The shark bite is worse, Jon,” Posey said.

Jon shook his head briskly. “Well, how about this? Come with me, and I’ll be a perfect date, and we can expunge the writing from the tomb or whatever. You’ll have a great time. Please. Please, Posey, please! It’ll be fun, I promise. Don’t make me go alone and fend off passes from the Latin teacher. She wants to convert me, whether to being straight or a Lutheran, I’m not sure.”

“Nah. Sorry.” She took a sip of wine.

“I signed you up already.”

“Unsign me.”

“I’ll cook for you. For a week.” He put on his best puppy-dog face.

Posey mulled it over. Now that she was with Liam, the prom of long ago didn’t seem so awful (overlooking the fact that he was sort of the cause of it). Jon was right. She could put those memories behind her. And have her brother-in-law cook for her. “Two weeks.”

“Done.”

“Can you make that chicken thingie? With the ham in it?”

Jon smiled. “It’s called chicken cordon bleu, pet, and of course I can! Latin Teacher, tu es non getting some from this gay man. Who’s ready for dinner? And Henry, please pretend you noticed the centerpiece, okay?” He pointed to a lush arrangement of deep red peonies, curly twigs and ivy set in a gleaming silver bowl.

“It’s nice,” Henry said.

“Nice? Nice? I want a divorce. Sit, sit.”

But Jon’s words about Liam had made Posey squirm a little later that evening as she sat on the couch with Shilo and Jellybean, watching television. Jon was her best friend, after all, and a guy, and her brother-in-law, so he had the triple crown of truth going for him. Liam, while undeniably enjoying Posey’s company, seemed careful to…well, to keep a little distance. She had yet to be invited to his house, for example. And he only saw her when Nicole was otherwise occupied.

Except for the jacket. He wanted her to keep his jacket. Granted, the fact that she had it right next to her at this very moment made her a tremendous loser, but please. The coat was battered and leather and dead sexy and smelled like Liam, and if she couldn’t have him right here at this very moment, she did have the Official Bad Boy Jacket of Hotness. Not bad. Plus, a marathon of The Pickers was on.

As Posey was practically drooling in envy as the show’s hosts visited an old amusement park, the back door opened. She hit Mute and was just about to call out hello, when Gretchen spoke. “Okay, be quiet,” she said (not quietly). “My housemate’s probably asleep.”

Housemate, right. Way too uncool to say cousin, as in I’m staying with my cousin because I have a gambling problem and blew through all my money. There was a rumble of a male voice, then Gretchen’s sultry giggle.

Well, this was fun! No wonder Gret had been pleasant lately. She was getting a little some-some herself. Posey would just tiptoe upstairs. Unfortunately, they were in the kitchen, where the stairway was. Maybe she’d just stay put after all and let them creep upstairs.

Another giggle. “Come on in the living room,” Gretchen said.

So much for hiding. “Gret? Is that you?” she called.

“Oh, Posey! I figured you’d be asleep by now.”

Gretchen’s head appeared in the doorway. Her hair was tousled, and she was flushed. “Um…I have a guy with me,” she whispered.

“Hi, guy,” Posey called, grinning. Shilo’s tail thumped.

The guy appeared.

Posey’s smile dropped like lead. “Oh. Uh…Dante. Hi.”

Clearly, he felt as awkward as she felt now. He gave her a stiff nod. “Posey. Nice to see you. I…I wasn’t aware you two lived together.” No. Dante had never been to her house, something that had bothered her when they were involved.

“It’s temporary,” Gretchen said hastily. “We’re a very close family.”

“Oh. How nice.”

A couple of things were clear to Posey—one, Gretchen had no idea that Dante had had a thing with her. And two, somehow or another, Gretchen had forgiven Dante that nasty comment from the parade.

“Dante, could you pour us a glass of wine?” Gretchen asked, putting her hand on Dante’s chest. “There’s a gorgeous cabernet on the counter.”

“Sure. Uh, Posey, one for you, too?”

“No, thanks.”

“Very well,” he said, retreating to the kitchen.

Gretchen sat in the easy chair, crossing her long legs. “Posey, I know this looks bad,” she said, her voice low. “But we ran into each other at the farmer’s market two weeks ago, and the truth is, I told him off. He called to apologize, and we ended up meeting for a drink. I know it seems like I’m sleeping with the enemy, but I really, really like him.”

“Okay, but Gretchen, I should—”

“Please don’t tell Max and Stacia.” She tucked a strand of long blond hair behind her ear. “I just…I just don’t have a lot of good things in my life these days. And even if it’s early, it feels…special. I really fell for him, Posey. I bet you feel the same way about Liam.” She gave Posey a smile—a genuinely excited, sweet smile, and Posey’s heart sank slowly to her stomach.

“Um, sure, Gret. I mean, you’re an adult. And the whole restaurant rivalry thing is silly.”

“Exactly! Oh, Posey, I knew I could count on you. Thank you. And listen. I haven’t said a word about you and Liam, because I know Mutti would go nuts planning the wedding and all that. So this is kind of fun, right? We each have a secret beau. Secret for now, anyway.”

Posey’s toes curled in discomfort. Of all the times for Gretchen to want to be friends…

“We’ll get out of here. I thought for some reason you’d be at Liam’s tonight, and he wanted to see where I lived… Anyway. We’ll go to his place. It’s gorgeous, by the way. House on the water in Midnight Cove.”

Posey tried not to cringe. Granted, if she could erase the Dante chapter from her life, she would. But not telling Gretchen…that didn’t seem right. Then again, maybe some things should be left to wither and die. Especially things that meant nothing.

“Dante, babe, never mind about that wine,” Gretchen called, rising gracefully. “Let’s head over to your house, shall we?”

“Good idea,” he said, returning to the great room.

“Just let me run upstairs and grab some things,” Gretchen said. She shot Posey a grateful smile, smoothed her skirt and swished out of the room.

Alone with Dante. How fun. Posey unmuted the TV to cover any conversation and looked over at the King of Slick. “Ironic, you two together,” she whispered.

He eyed her warily. “She doesn’t know about…our thing.”

“So I gathered.”

“I’d like to keep it that way.”

“I bet you would.”

“Are you going to tell her?” he whispered. “Because I’d really prefer that you didn’t.”

Posey’s jaw clenched. “Well, Dante, you smug bastard,” she whispered back. “I don’t really care what you prefer. She’s my cousin. So I’ll sleep on this, and if I feel I should tell her, I will.” Shilo put his massive head on Posey’s lap and groaned in adoration.

“I don’t see how that would serve anyone,” he said. “You and I were hardly in a serious relationship. It really doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.”

Oh, that stung. “You know nothing about women,” Posey whispered. “And you’re a jerk, too.”

“Posey,” Dante said, his voice low. “Look. Maybe you’re right. But this thing with Gretchen is… Well…it could be serious. If you tell her now, that would be the end of it.”

From upstairs came the sound of running water. Posey disentangled herself from Shilo and stood up and folded her arms. “Listen up, Dante. If I tell or don’t tell, it has nothing to do with you and your feelings and your whatever. You don’t matter at all. She matters. So if I think she should know, I’ll say something. If I don’t, I won’t. But I don’t give a rat’s ass about what you think. Clear?”

“So clear.”

“I’m all set!” Gretchen breezed back into the room, hair perfect, a different outfit now. She held a small satchel in her hand.

“Oh, Louis Vuitton!” Dante said. “Very nice!”

Posey snorted. They might be perfect together.

“See you tomorrow, Posey,” Gretchen said, beaming at her, and for just a second, Posey could see what it might be like to have Gretchen as a friend, to have a cousin who truly was as close as a sister.