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“You’re welcome. Oh, and give my regards to your father.”

“I will.”

“I always liked the old guy. I’d heard that he wasn’t himself lately.”

“He’s doing okay,” I replied automatically. “Thanks, Constanz.”

I tossed my hat onto the passenger seat with a sigh.

Did everyone know? Eventually, Dad’s dementia wasn’t going to be a secret, but I’d been hoping we could control the narrative and protect his dignity for as long as possible. Maybe that time was up.

I shut the radio off, letting the silence fill the car as I drove through Pinecrest’s picturesque town square decorated with potted flower arrangements and topiaries, pristine awnings, and emerald-green grass. I usually enjoyed the scenery, but damn it, my brain was fried.

Had I really asked Waylon to do a woodworking project with my dad?

I was unraveling. The stress had finally caught up to me, and I’d stooped to a new—and frankly, very odd—low.

Sex with Waylon was supposed to have been a one-off. What happens in Burlington, stays in Burlington, remember?

I had to apologize and ask him to erase our last conversation from the books. It was wrong, unprofessional, and the part about exchanging sexual favors for family favors… Oh, my God. That was embarrassing.

Also, kind of hot, but…no. Time to apologize. Again.

I reached for my cell and of course, since I was behind the wheel, I did the responsible thing and called rather than texted. Statistically, people rarely answered their phones anymore and I was counting on Waylon to be a text-only guy.

No such luck.

“How’s it going, Chief?”

“Um…good. Hey, I don’t mean to disturb you at work. I⁠—”

“You’re not. I just got home,” he intercepted.

“Ah, okay.”

“I was thinking of going for a run, but…I’m starving. Sadly, that’ll require a trip to the store. Never a good thing when you’re hungry.”

Tension eased from my neck and shoulders. My jaw unclenched and damn it, I was smiling. The cadence of his deep voice tinged with a hint of unexpected humor did something to me…or for me. And left me short a brain cell or two.

That had to be why I blurted, “Come over. I’ll grill some chicken.”

Waylon went quiet on the line for a few uncomfortable seconds. “Really? You want to have dinner together?”

I cleared my throat. “Yeah. I do.”

“Why?”

“I…” I concentrated on the road, climbing the steep ridge into a patch of forest. “The kids are with their mom. I’m eating for one tonight and⁠—”

“This is a booty call, eh?”

I could almost feel his wicked grin through the cellular connection. The last inklings of doubt fled in a heartbeat. “No. It’s an innocent invitation for chicken and veggies to thank you for⁠—”

“Stop. You’re killing the fantasy.”

I snorted, aware that my heart was beating a little too fast. “Are you coming or not?”

“Where do you live?”