“No, no, I won’t,” Jack said. “She’s...she’s just great.”

“You make a very nice couple,” Mom said, and her voice was oddly wistful. “Maybe we can go dress shopping together this time.”

Okay, time to cut bait. Even if they were Dr. and Dr. Dysfunctional, her parents were good people. They loved her in their weird way, and Em’s stomach was twisting at lying to them (or twisting because of the kale salad).

Em would come clean on Monday. Sunday, even. The very second she got out of this place.

“When will you come home? We need to make plans for the wedding,” Mom said.

“Um...soon. We’re gonna take that walk right now. Bye!” Emmaline forced a smile and rather awkwardly groped for Jack’s hand, got his wrist and practically dragged him from the dining room.

“Slow down, Seabiscuit,” he said. “What’s the matter?”

“I have to get out of here or I’m going to tell the truth.”

“If you want to tell, do it,” he said. “It’s fine either way. You want to leave? We can go home. Whatever you want.”

“You’re not helping.”

He smiled. “Before we go anywhere, let’s stop by my room first. I have contraband.”

“Tell me you brought wine.”

“Of course I brought wine. I’m a winemaker.”

“Angels bless you, Jack Holland. Though you might’ve mentioned this yesterday.”

He grinned, and she felt it down to her toes.

Fifteen minutes later, they were down on the beach. It was cold enough for a blanket, which Jack had thoughtfully provided. Two, in fact. One for the sand, one that he wrapped around her shoulders, as her dress wasn’t doing much for her warmth.

Very romantic indeed.

She would have to be careful, she thought, taking a grateful sip of the wine. It was a well-known fact that Jack was like this with everyone, and half the women of Manningsport would eat a live puppy for a night with this guy. She couldn’t read into anything.

Not even that kiss. That had been a way for him to get out of a bad moment. That was all. He’d even apologized for it.

The waves lapped at the shore, gentle at the moment. There was no wind, and the moon was rising, making the sand look like snow.

“How old were you when your parents adopted Angela?” he asked.

“Fourteen,” she said. The wine was good, mellow and smooth and whatever other adjectives winemakers liked to use. “I went to live in Manningsport, and Mom and Dad didn’t like the empty nest, so they went to Ethiopia and adopted Angela.”

“Was that weird?”

“It was...surprising.”

“You and she seem really close.”

“Well, she’s great, as you probably saw. Beautiful, smart, talented. She did some modeling in college and donated it all to the orphanage that took care of her. She’s about as nice as they come. It’s hard not to like her.”

“You’re nice, too, you know.”

She snorted.

“I take it back,” Jack said. “Do your folks still live out here?”

“They moved to Palo Alto to be closer to Angela. She’s doing research at Stanford.”

“Research in what?”

“Something about the evolution of stars in the ancient universe,” Em said.

“Cool.”

“You know, you could always ask her out, Jack. I’m sure she’d say yes.” Imagine their babies. Beautiful to the thousandth power.

“I don’t want to ask her out. I’m a science geek, that’s all. You jealous?”

“Yes. Aflame with jealousy.” She took another sip of wine. “Seriously, you could ask her out.”

“I’m here with you.”

The words sounded amazing. The urge to lay spread out like a starfish and pull Jack onto her... Wow. Very strong.

He nudged her with his shoulder. “So how do you like my wine?”

“Nice. So grapey.”

He gave a beleaguered sigh. “Troglodyte.”

“I take it I’ve just been insulted with that big word.”

“It’s our best pinot noir in ten years, Emmaline. Don’t chug it like it’s Pepsi. Take a second to smell it.” She obeyed. “Blackberry, currant, clove and leather,” he said.

“Oh, yeah. Leather. Mmm-hmm. Getting leather, sure.” She sniffed again. “I’m really more of a beer person.”

“That’s it. We’re done. Give me back your engagement ring and tell your dad not to worry about the dowry.” He smiled.

He should really stop doing that. Every time he did, she became a little more of the Bitter Betrayeds’ cliché—get dumped, make Jack Holland be your date for a dreaded event, fall half in love with him, return home never to go out with him again.

“What year did you graduate high school?” he asked.

“I was a year ahead of Faith.”

“Really?” He turned to look at her. God, he was just beautiful. The salt air had made his hair curl a little, as if he needed something extra to make him more appealing. “Why’d you move?”

He’d kissed her today. Largely to distract himself from a panic attack, but he’d kissed her, and it had been a soft, gentle, amazing kiss that made her throb with...with something she hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

Tenderness.

And lust, yes. No sense in pretending otherwise. It had taken all her self-control not to climb right onto his lap and take a bite, he was so delicious.

“None of my business. Sorry,” Jack said.

Oh, right, he’d asked a question. “I was bullied.”

This was usually when the response was, “Really? You? You’re so tough/badass/scary, Em,” and Em would either agree or change the subject. Not that she brought it up much.

“Must’ve been pretty bad if you had to move to get away from it,” he said, looking out at the ocean.

“Yeah.”

“Kids can be such little shits.”

“I won’t disagree.”

“Why’d they bully you?”

“I stuttered.”

He looked at her again, then put his arm around her. He was warm and solid, and, for a second, she felt the prick of tears in her eyes. Don’t get carried away here, a little voice warned her.

“Also, Kevin went to boarding school in Connecticut. And he was... We were very close.”

Kevin’s kindness had been an antidote to the casual, razor-sharp cruelty of her meaner classmates. And even worse, the kids who didn’t instigate but just stood by, pretending not to hear, unwilling to take a chance on a nobody like Emmaline.

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. How was that for a T-shirt?

“It must’ve been tough, not being able to speak your mind,” Jack said.

“Yep. It was.” She cleared her throat, took another sip of wine. “I had this imaginary friend. Horatio.”

“Horatio?”

“My parents read a lot of Shakespeare. Sue me.”

“So what was Horatio like?”

She slipped off her sandals and dug her feet into the cool sand. “Well, he was very loyal, of course. I’d psychically tell him everything I couldn’t get out, and he thought I was very smart and funny.”