Chapter 1
By the time Nora and I reached Magnolia House, I had learned seventeen facts about my temporary girlfriend.
She hated raisins in desserts because, according to her, they were “grapes that had given up.”
She had broken her wrist at nine falling out of a magnolia tree.
Her grandmother called her Nori, a nickname nobody else was allowed to use.
She drank champagne only when she was nervous.
And when she was very nervous, she talked too fast and forgot to breathe between sentences.
At that moment, she was doing both.
“My aunt Cynthia will ask what your intentions are.”
“We’ve been dating three months.”
“She won’t care.”
“Should I tell her marriage, three children, and a golden retriever?”
Nora stopped walking.
“Absolutely not.”
“Two children?”
“Evan.”
“No children?”
She stared at me.
I smiled.
It had become surprisingly easy to make her forget she was nervous.
For approximately three seconds at a time.
Magnolia House sat on a shaded Charleston street behind wrought-iron gates and ancient oak trees draped in Spanish moss. The restored nineteenth-century mansion had been converted into a private event venue decades ago, though it still looked more like somebody’s impossible family home than a business.
White columns framed the entrance. Ivy climbed one side of the brick wall. Through the open doors came the faint sound of a piano and the low murmur of conversation.
Nora stopped at the bottom of the steps.
I nearly walked past her.
When I turned, she was staring toward the entrance.
“You can still leave,” she said.
I looked at her.
“You already paid me.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Her eyes dropped to my jacket pocket.
The thousand dollars was still there.
I had intended to give it back eventually.
For some reason, I hadn’t yet.
“This is ridiculous,” she whispered. “You don’t know these people. You don’t owe me anything.”
“No.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
That was a better question than she probably realized.
I could have told her I was bored.
I could have said I enjoyed a strange challenge.
Both would have been partly true.
But standing beneath those old magnolia trees, watching Nora struggle to walk toward a family lunch she had probably attended a hundred times before, I recognized something I hadn’t expected.
Fear.
Not the kind I dealt with in boardrooms or warehouses.
Not fear of money or consequences or losing control.
This was the quieter kind.
Fear of disappointing the people you loved.
I knew that one better than I wanted to admit.
“Because,” I said, “you look like you could use someone on your side.”
Nora blinked.
Then she looked away.
“That wasn’t in the agreement.”
“Consider it complimentary.”
A laugh escaped her.
“Come on,” I said.
I held out my hand.
She stared at it.
“We need to look believable.”
“Right.”
She slipped her fingers through mine.
Something shifted.
Nothing dramatic.
Nothing I could have explained.
Her hand was warm, smaller than mine, and slightly trembling.
I expected the contact to feel theatrical.
Instead, it felt dangerously natural.
Nora must have noticed something too, because she glanced at me.
Neither of us spoke.
Then a woman’s voice came from the top of the steps.
“Nora Bennett.”
Nora closed her eyes.
“Here we go.”
The woman approaching us was elegant, silver-haired, and moving with the determined grace of someone who had never once doubted that a room would make space for her.
She wore a pale blue dress and carried a cane she clearly regarded as an accessory rather than a necessity.
I knew immediately who she was.
“Grandma,” Nora said.
Eleanor Bennett stopped in front of us.
Her gaze went to our joined hands.
Then to me.
Then back to Nora.
“So,” she said.
Nora swallowed.
“So.”
“This is him?”
There was something suspiciously amused in Eleanor’s eyes.
“Yes.”
“The mysterious boyfriend.”
“Yes.”
“The one I somehow have never heard you mention.”
Nora hesitated.
I stepped forward.
“Evan Cole, ma’am.”
Eleanor studied my face.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then her eyebrows lifted.
“Well.”
That single word contained enough meaning to make Nora tense beside me.
I offered my hand.
Eleanor ignored it and hugged me.
I wasn’t prepared.
Very few people hugged me without permission.
Fewer survived the experience without immediately apologizing.
Eleanor Bennett patted my back twice.
“You’re too thin.”
I looked at Nora over her shoulder.
Nora was biting her lip to keep from laughing.
“I’ve been called many things,” I said when Eleanor released me. “That’s a first.”
“You need pie.”
“I won’t argue.”
“Good. I dislike argumentative men.”
“Grandma,” Nora whispered.
“What?”
“You met him seven seconds ago.”
“And?”
“And maybe don’t interrogate him before we get inside.”
“I haven’t interrogated anyone.”
Eleanor hooked her arm through mine.
“Yet.”
She marched us toward the doors.
Nora followed, giving me an apologetic look.
I smiled.
I really did like her grandmother.
Inside, nearly forty people occupied the main dining room.
And every single one of them noticed us.
Conversation didn’t stop.
That would have been too obvious.
Instead, it softened.
Heads turned.
Glasses paused halfway to mouths.
Nora’s grip tightened around my hand.
I leaned toward her.
“Which one is your mother?”
“You’ll know.”
That was all she had time to say.
A tall woman in an emerald dress appeared through the crowd.
She had Nora’s eyes.
Not the color.
The intensity.
Diane Bennett looked at her daughter first.
Then at me.
“Nora.”
“Hi, Mom.”
“You’re late.”
“Seven minutes.”
“I was worried.”
Nora’s shoulders rose almost imperceptibly.
I noticed because I had spent years learning to recognize the smallest signals in people.
A tightened jaw.
A shifted stance.
Eyes moving toward an exit.
Nora’s entire body changed around her mother.
She wasn’t frightened.
She became younger.
That was somehow more complicated.
“Mom,” Nora said, “this is Evan.”
Diane’s smile appeared instantly.
Polished.
Professional.
Perfect.
“Evan.”
She offered her hand.
“Diane Bennett.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“I’m afraid Nora has been terribly secretive about you.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Nora shot me a warning glance.
Diane noticed.
Interesting.
“How long have you two been together?”
“Three months,” Nora said.
“Almost,” I said at the same time.
Silence.
Nora’s fingers stiffened inside mine.
Diane looked between us.
I smiled.
“Depending on whether you count our first terrible date.”
Nora caught on immediately.
“It wasn’t terrible.”
“You left after forty minutes.”
“You spilled coffee on me.”
“You insulted the coffee first.”
“It deserved it.”
Diane’s mouth twitched.
Crisis avoided.
For now.
“What do you do, Evan?”
“I work in real estate and logistics.”
Nora had warned me not to say too much.
Unfortunately, Diane was already studying my face more carefully.
“Cole Development?”
I nodded.
“I thought I recognized you.”
Nora’s hand went still.
Apparently she hadn’t expected that.
Diane’s expression changed subtly.
Not greed.
Not excitement.
Calculation.
I had seen it thousands of times in business.
She was rearranging her understanding of the situation.
Before she could ask anything else, another voice interrupted.
“Nora.”
A man approached from beside the windows.
Thirty-two.
Navy suit.
Open collar.
Confident without trying too hard.
Miles Harper.
He looked almost exactly as Nora had described him.
Attractive.
Put together.
Polite.
Dangerously reasonable.
His gaze settled on her face, and something in it told me immediately that this wasn’t merely her mother trying to arrange a convenient match.
Miles actually cared about her.
That complicated everything.
“Nora,” he repeated, smiling. “You made it.”
Then he noticed our hands.
His smile didn’t vanish.
But it changed.
“This is Evan,” Nora said quickly. “My boyfriend.”
Miles looked at me.
There are men who try to establish dominance by gripping too hard when they shake your hand.
Miles wasn’t one of them.
His handshake was normal.
“Good to meet you.”
“You too.”
“I’m Miles.”
“I’ve heard.”
Nora nearly choked.
Miles glanced at her.
“What exactly did she tell you?”
“That you remember birthdays.”
His expression became completely serious.
“I have a calendar.”
I liked him immediately.
That was inconvenient.
Nora laughed.
Miles did too.
Whatever tension had existed loosened.
Then a younger woman appeared beside him.
She resembled Nora enough to be related but carried herself completely differently—confident, bright-eyed, curious.
“Nora Bennett,” she said. “You have been hiding a man?”
“My sister, Claire,” Nora murmured.
Claire ignored me.
She grabbed Nora by both shoulders.
“Three months?”
“Apparently.”
“Apparently?”
Nora gave me a look that promised consequences.
I rescued her.
“She means it feels longer because I’m difficult.”
Claire turned toward me.
“I also like him.”
“You’ve known him four seconds,” Nora said.
“That was enough.”
Lunch began twenty minutes later.
Somehow, I ended up between Nora and Eleanor.
Miles sat across from us.
Diane sat two seats away.
Claire sat beside Miles and spent most of the appetizer watching Nora and me as though she were reviewing a play and waiting for someone to forget a line.
May you like
I was good at lying.
Very good.
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