"I could use some help with the potato salad," my mother said, poking her head into my room. "I'm making enough to feed an army."

I looked at her in confusion, interrupted from my thoughts about how I was going to get my parents to leave before John arrived. "Potato salad?"

"For the Hanshaws' barbecue."

"That's tonight?"

"It's been on the calendar for a month."

I fell back against my pillow and heaved an exasperated sigh. "You're not actually making me go, are you? I don't want to listen to Dad's nerdy accounting friends cracking lame jokes while their pretentious wives try to passive-aggressively one-up each other."

"Thanks," my mother said dryly.

"I wasn't referring to you," I said. "But I'm always the oldest kid there, and I won't have anyone to talk to. I'll be bored."

At the last party, I'd had to put up with a persistent twelve-year-old who'd been hellbent on making me his girlfriend by the end of the night. Everyone else thought it was cute. I thought it was annoying.

"I'm sure it won't be that bad," my mother said. "You'll have fun. You can hang out with us adults if you want to."

I glared at her. "And talk about what? Investments and portfolios and interest rates? No, thank you. I'll get stuck entertaining the younger kids like I always do."

"You won't."

"I will. But it doesn't matter anyway. I'm not going."

My mother folded her arms across her chest and fixed me with her version of the Evil Eye, though she was hardly intimidating, standing at a petite 5'2". "We made plans as a family," she said. "Everyone expects you to be there."

"Yeah, so I can babysit their kids."

"Blake."

I sat up, feeling suddenly inspired. After all, if I didn't get out of going with my parents, I'd have to cancel my plans with John. "I'll talk to Zach if you let me stay home tonight."

I knew my mother wouldn't be able to resist the temptation of me getting back together with the boy she already considered her future son-in-law, and yet she narrowed her eyes, obviously suspecting I was up to something.

"You're telling me you would rather voluntarily talk to the boy you just broke up with than go to a party for a few hours?"

If I could get her to excuse me from the barbecue, I could meet up with John and go to the concert, no questions asked. I would probably get back before my parents, which meant they would never find out that I had lied.

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

My mother studied me as she considered the proposition. "Do you promise to patch things up with Zach?"

I opened my mouth to respond, and she held up a hand. "I'm not saying you have to get back together, but promise you'll smooth things over so that you can remain friends. I don't want things to be awkward."

"Awkward for Zach and me, or awkward for you and Helen?"

"Blake."

"Fine."

I made an "X" over my heart with one hand. Sticking the other behind my back, I crossed my fingers, hoping that one small gesture might protect me from whatever bad karma I surely had coming my way.

"I promise"

**********

John and Ian arrived a half-hour after my parents left for their party. I didn't know what I expected Ian to look like—I hadn't given it much thought—but the guy holding open the door of the car for me certainly wasn't it.

Ian was in his early twenties and looked like he'd stepped off the cover of GQ. He wore his dark hair short on the sides and longer on top, and subtle stubble ran along the hard line of his jaw and upper lip. A pair of bold brows sat over cobalt eyes, giving him a look of bored arrogance . . . until he smiled. And then he was absolutely mesmerizing.

I knew at once he was bad news.

"This is Ian," John said to me, unnecessarily. "My cousin. He's visiting from New York. Apparently, that's where he now lives."

Much to my surprise, Ian took my hand and raised it to his mouth, lightly brushing the back of it with his lips. "Pleased to make your acquaintance," he said in a deceivingly soft voice, tinged with a lilt from somewhere abroad.

I narrowed my eyes as I tried to pinpoint his accent. "Scotland, right?"

Ian smiled, making my stomach turn a somersault. "Aye, though I haven't called it home for many years. Shall we?" He swept out his arm, making a gallant gesture for me to take the front seat.

"I'm fine in back," I said.

He leaned in close and said in a not-so-subtle whisper, "I've been warned to be polite this evening, so in ye go."

I shrugged and slid into the passenger seat without further argument. "Thanks for inviting me," I said to John, pulling the belt over my chest and securing it in place.

"Of course," he replied. "You look nice, by the way."

Ian leaned forward in his seat, so close that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek. "John didn't tell me he had a girlfriend."

I blushed. "Oh, well . . ."

"It's a recent development," John said as he backed out of the driveway.

"So what do you do in New York?" I asked, changing the subject.

Ian tilted his head from side to side, equivocating. "A little of this. A little of that. I found myself missing my baby coz, so I thought I'd get away from the city for a while, see what life in the suburbs has to offer." He scrubbed the top of John's head with his hand, causing John's shoulders to bunch up reflexively around his ears.

"Cut it out," John said. "You're distracting me."

Ian rolled his eyes and pointed his thumb at John. "Always the responsible one, eh? The lad wouldn't know fun if it bit him in the arse."

**********

The night was clear and warm. Hundreds had turned out for the concert, but it wasn't yet too crowded to find a seat. Scouting out a spot on the lawn close to the pavilion, Ian spread a blanket for us to sit on. He'd brought a wicker picnic basket, and from it, he pulled out three glasses and a bottle of red wine.

"I'm underage," I whispered, looking around to see if there were any cops on security detail ready to bust us. I'd had the occasional sip of alcohol before, but only during holiday dinners.

Handing John the glass he'd just filled, Ian turned a pair of thickly lashed eyes on me. "That's why I brought ye this," he said, producing a bottle of sparkling cider with a flourish.

"What about John?" I said, suddenly indignant, and not a little embarrassed. "He's underage, too. If we get caught and thrown in jail, my parents will totally freak."

"John won't let that happen," Ian said.

"The getting caught and thrown in jail part," I asked, "or the part about my parents freaking out?"

"Both," Ian answered.

Nevertheless, John downed his wine in two large gulps and handed the glass back to Ian. "If you're worried about it, we won't drink. Sparkling cider for everyone." He smiled and gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Fantastic," Ian said, though his smile was somewhat less genuine. "I suppose I'll have to save the fun for later tonight after the children have gone to bed."

As the concert stretched past the hour mark, the light began to fade into that dusky, in-between time of day and night. A tinge of purple and rose lit the clouds from behind, making everything seem surreal and full of magic and expectation. Fireflies glittered to life in nearby trees and bushes, flashing their tails against the dark in an earnest effort to attract a mate.

Meanwhile, I had grown acutely aware of John's presence next to me, sitting so close that our arms at first touched on accident . . . and then deliberately. In the strange way that only darkness coaxes one to lower their guard, I finally acknowledged that the crush I'd had on John was becoming something more.

Turning my gaze in his direction, I traced the long lines of his arm with my eyes, starting at the round hump of his shoulder and running over the small rise of his biceps, into the crease of his freckled elbow, and down to the underlying bones of wrist and hand. I thought about the warm touch of his fingers currently interlaced with mine, his thumb making lazy circles against the flesh of my palm. I could just make out the shape of his torso through his shirt and recalled the day at the lake, the broad expanse of muscle in his back and chest as he held me in the water. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, a small fire burning in the pit of my stomach.

In my mind, it was just the two of us, and I could do what I wanted without consequence. I visualized the solid weight of his body pressing me down into the ground, the cool grass against my back. I imagined the tickle of his lips on my neck and the graze of teeth against my earlobe. Closing my eyes tighter, building the image in my head as the music swelled in the background, I sailed away on waves of pleasure that I could only dream about. The desire was so strong it was almost painful, and I realized with an intense conviction that I wanted John with a longing I'd never known before.

And then his lips were pressing against mine, softly.

"Hey," he whispered against my mouth.

"Hey," I whispered back.

John kissed me again, just a butterfly's touch, and pulled back to look at me. "Tell me what you were thinking about just now."

"You," I said. "I was thinking of you."

John's eyes lit up and his mouth curved into a slow, sensual smile. He opened his arms to me then, and I crawled into the space between his bent knees. As I leaned back against his chest, I caught Ian's eyes on me, the space between his brows deeply creased. But then the look vanished almost at once as he smiled and tipped an imaginary hat to me.

**********

John insisted on feeding me before taking me home, so we stopped at a little Indian restaurant where the lighting was bad and the booths cramped. There was barely enough space for us to fit together without me practically sitting on John's lap, but he didn't seem to mind, and neither did I.

Under some unspoken agreement, the dynamic of our relationship had changed from casual flirting to something a little more . . . I didn't exactly know what to call it, but we were more than just friends. It was as if that kiss under the rose-colored sky, with the fireflies twinkling all around us, had been a silent acknowledgment that we were now heading down some secret path together. Where we were going or how long it would take to get there, I didn't know.

Ian couldn't stop flirting with the waitress, a pretty Indian girl with coffee-and-cream skin. He had her blushing and giggling so uncontrollably that I thought she might hyperventilate or trip over her own feet.

Her fingers shook as she set his plate before him, and he grabbed her hand in both his, startling her. "There's nothing to be nervous about now, aye?" he said. "I won't bite . . . unless ye want me to."

John kept fidgeting next to me and saying things like "That's enough, Ian," and "Give it a rest, Ian," and "People are watching, Ian." I wasn't sure why John cared so much. The girl was obviously enjoying it. Only when John pounded his fist against the table hard enough to rattle the water glasses did Ian finally stop.

"Has anyone ever told you that you possess a great talent for killing the mood?" Ian said, glaring at John.

"Aren't you going to eat?" I asked if only to lessen the tension. Both Ian and John were pushing their food around on their plates, refusing to make eye contact with each other, or me.

"I seem to have lost my appetite," Ian said moodily.

It hadn't escaped my attention that John was very much on edge around Ian, and I wondered if this was how things were between them. I thought they were close—they were cousins, after all—but I'd begun to sense an underlying strain conveyed in silent glares and a subtle narrowing of the eyes, which seemed to communicate more loudly than words.

Catching the waitress's attention, no difficult task considering she'd been staring at our table the entire time, I motioned for the check. I meant to pay for it myself—the guys had eaten nothing—but John snagged the bill before I could and stuck a wad of cash into the girl's hand without even counting it.

"Keep the change," he said and slid from the booth.

For a moment I thought he was going to storm out of the restaurant without regard to Ian or me, but he reached for my hand. "I should take you home."

When John pulled into the driveway, my mother was standing at the front window, presumably keeping watch for me. It was dark outside, and the glow from the lights behind set her small form in relief. She held her arms crossed over her chest, her posture ramrod straight. I wondered how long she'd been standing there. Too long, I was sure. Going to the restaurant had been a mistake.

I had made no contingency plans for what I would do if my mother caught me in this lie. I supposed it wasn't a question of if, but more of when. She and Zach's mom Helen were best friends and talked to each other about everything. No doubt my mom had called Helen after she and I struck our fake bargain, and I was positive Helen had then told Zach to expect my call. A call that had never come.

"This isn't good," I said under my breath.

"Did you miss curfew?" John asked, misunderstanding the reason for my anxiety.

I looked at my watch, finding that I still had almost an hour before I technically had to be home. "I left a note that I was going out, but I didn't say who with."

"She assumed you were with Zach," said John, immediately reading between the lines.

Ian leaned forward, all pretense of anger disappearing as his curiosity won out. "And who would Zach be?"

"My ex-boyfriend," I said, my eyes still trained on my mother at the window. She hadn't budged.

"Oh," Ian said with interest, drawing out the word. "The new girlfriend has an ex. Maybe you could introduce me."

Turning in my seat, I stared at Ian in astonishment. "What about that waitress you were flirting with not more than twenty minutes ago?"

Ian's teeth gleamed white in the moonlight as he grinned. "I'm not picky. As long as they're warm."

"Enough," John said, the warning evident in his voice. He touched my hand. "I'll walk you to the door. You should introduce me to your mother."

Introducing him to my mother when she was in an obvious mood was the last thing I wanted to do, but I couldn't seem to find the words to tell him so. "All right," I said.

"Don't worry," Ian said to me. "All the mums love John. He has a knack—"

"Come on," John said, cutting him off.

Before we'd made it halfway up the walkway, my mother opened the door. "Blake Edwards Ehlert. Where have you been?"

"I'm not in violation of curfew," I said.

"No, but you are in violation of my trust." She pointed her finger at me, winding up for the full lecture.

"You told me you would call Zach and work things out with him, but I know for a fact you didn't. I talked to Helen, and she said Zach is devastated that you stood him up. You lied to me, Blake. You lied to all of us. I am beyond disappointed."

Pausing to take a breath, she seemed to notice John for the first time. "And you are?"

"John Kelly," he said, unbothered by my mom's hostility. "Blake's friend."

My mom had yet to change out of her party clothes, and something about the perfectly coiffed hair, starched linen pantsuit, and wedge heels gave her an air of superiority that turned my blood cold.

"Blake's friend. Right. Zach mentioned your name," she said, an obvious accusation. "You're why they broke up."

"Mom!"

"You're why Blake has been lying to—"

"Mother!" I said, spitting out the word. "Zach and I are over. Why can't you accept that?"

"Zach is a nice boy from a very nice family, Blake. You have been friends for—"

"Mother, if you'll just—"

"You broke his heart. Helen says he's been so depressed lately, and it's all—"

"Don't tell me it's all my fault!" I yelled.

My mother snapped her mouth shut, but her eyes were wide. We had never argued like this before and I thought it only a matter of time before one of us exploded.

"Mrs. Kinsley-Ehlert," John said calmly, stepping between us. "With all due respect, Zach and Blake are no longer together. I think she should be free to date whomever she wants."

She turned her steely gaze on him. "I don't care what you think," she said through her teeth. "I don't know exactly who you are, but I know I don't like you."

The air was heavy with sudden silence. Heart pounding, I glanced at John to see his jaw clench and unclench. "Mrs. Kinsley-Ehlert," he finally said, looking her in the eyes. "I'm sorry for how you see things now, but I have no doubt you'll wake up tomorrow and realize just how wrong you are about me."

*****

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