My mother dabbed the corners of her mouth with her linen napkin. “Yes, it was all very scandalous. Your grandmother and grandfather threatened to disown him for marrying beneath him, but your father told them to go to hell. Which is exactly what you should tell your father.” She sent my father a warning look before turning back to me. “I just want you to settle down with someone you can’t live without. But sooner rather than later would be fabulous. I want grandchildren while I’m still young enough to enjoy them. And if Charlie makes you happy, then I’m rooting for her.”

My father opened his mouth to speak, but then thought better of it and took a bite of rice pilaf instead. I seized the moment to bring up another subject that had been weighing on my mind. I gripped the edge of the linen-covered table with both hands.

“I’ve been seeing a psychiatrist to … discuss some things that happened while I was in the service. I’ve been diagnosed with PTSD.”

My mother laid her hand over mine. “Is this about the nightmares?”

I shot her a look. “You knew?”

“I’m your mother. Of course I knew.”

In response to my obvious confusion, she explained, “It was the month you stayed in your old room before the guesthouse renovations were finished. Did you think I couldn’t hear you pacing the halls every night? I didn’t want to push you, but hoped you’d find some help when you were ready.”

“Well, I did, and actually … I’ve been looking into starting a nonprofit to help people like me. Vets, who, for whatever reason, don’t want to go to the VA for treatment. Who don’t want to be medicated and sent home to wonder if that’s their only option. There are a couple in other states, and I’ve been talking to some people about what I need to do to start one here.”

My father reached for his wine. “I think that’s an excellent idea. Voters will love it. It would also set you up well to become a member of the Armed Services Committee. Southern Cross will make the first donation.”

I forced a smile to mask my disappointment. I’d wanted my father to understand that this was a personal mission, not something to be exploited for political gain. But lately it felt like he scrutinized everything for that purpose. I suppose that was what years in politics did to you. Always had you looking for an angle. The thought made me lose my appetite. I pushed away my plate.

“Now about this girl—” my father started.

“Why don’t you save your opinion until you actually meet her, Dad?” I fought to keep my tone even, but I wasn’t sure my temper would hold if he said something negative about Charlie.

Before he could respond, my mother jumped in with some amusing anecdote about the neighbor’s escape artist of a dog, and my father’s attention was successfully diverted.

I looked down at my watch. It would be hours before Con or Delilah would drop Charlie off at home. She’d promised that there would be no more walking alone at night, but only after I’d buried my inner caveman and at least gave the appearance of letting go of my issue with Con Leahy. Knowing that Con was nailing Charlie’s other boss helped me become guardedly confident that he wasn’t going to steal my girl. To Charlie’s point, if she wanted to be with Con, she would be already. It hadn’t been an outright declaration that she wanted a relationship with me, but for now, I’d take what I could get from her.

The remainder of the evening’s conversation was filled with my father grandly reminiscing about his days in Washington. I stayed silent, drank another glass of wine, and started to wonder if the only reason he wanted me to run for office was so he’d have a chance to move back into the circles that he’d slowly faded out of over the years. I hated to attribute a motive like that to him, but couldn’t help but consider it. If I officially threw my hat in the ring this fall and decided to campaign, it would be because it was my decision. Not my father’s.

Harriet’s artistic eccentricities easily made her one of the most fascinating women I’d ever met. Her big heart and open-armed welcome made it impossible not to fall in love with her instantly. She was the grandmother I’d never been allowed to have, and she’d filled the hole in my life previously occupied by Juanita. My mother had pretended her own parents were dead until she’d found herself homeless, and my father’s address had become the federal penitentiary. My paternal grandparents had both passed away before I was born, so grandmotherly figures were few and far between in my life.

Harriet had emerged from her studio shortly after Con had dropped me off, and she’d uncorked a bottle of champagne. When I asked why we were celebrating, she’d simply said, “Because we can.”

I followed her into the garden oasis, more than ready to fill my glass. I told myself it was because I had a full day off tomorrow, but part of me wanted to get just drunk enough to not miss seeing Simon today. Yesterday we’d grabbed dinner at a little hole in the wall gumbo place, and he’d been charming as hell. Playing with my fingers, feeding me bites of his food, and basically ensuring that I’d need a change of panties after dinner. If it had been the type of restaurant to have tablecloths, I would have considered crawling under it. But it wasn’t. And that sneaky bastard knew exactly what he was doing. He gave me a chaste peck on the cheek when he dropped me off at Voodoo; I was ready to maul him in front of God and everyone. When I’d asked him if he’d have time for dinner on Friday during my two-hour break between shifts, he’d said he was busy. No other explanation. Just busy.

After the newspaper incident, I didn’t think he was going to any kind of event with Vanessa, but I could feel my claws coming out at the thought of all the other things he could be doing. I was off kilter all night. Trying to give change to someone who paid with a credit card. Double booking an appointment and having to call one guy back to reschedule. It was like the Simon Duchesne effect had sucked forty IQ points straight out of my brain. Sneaky. Bastard.

All through my Friday shifts at the Dirty Dog and Voodoo, I’d stared at my cheap cell phone and willed it to ring. I checked the balance of my minutes four times. Yep. Had plenty now that I wasn’t calling the clinic every five minutes for an update on Huck. No word from Simon. I wanted to text him, but of course, my piece of shit phone was barely capable, and I hadn’t been willing to pay the extra fee for that particular feature. So now I was guzzling Harriet’s second bottle of good champagne like it was Boone’s Farm and ranting about how men were sneaky and manipulative—getting you all wound up and not putting out until you spilled all your deepest, darkest secrets.