Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
"M om, you're not listening." My daughter, Sydney, waves a hand in front of my face, pulling me back to the present. "I said, can Jeremy come to the barbecue on Sunday?"
I nearly choke on my coffee. "What?"
"Jeremy. Your hot developer guy. Can he come to the barbecue?"
We're having our weekly breakfast at the little café near Sydney's apartment. At twenty-three, my daughter is everything I wasn't at her age– confident, grounded, unafraid to speak her mind. She's also apparently been conspiring behind my back.
"How do you even know about Jeremy?" I demand.
She rolls her eyes in that particular way only daughters can master. "Aunt Carol told me you've been seeing some silver fox who broke your heart back in the day. Then I looked up who's developing that big property you're always talking about, and found Jeremy Ford." She grins. "I did a little Instagram stalking. He's seriously handsome, Mom. Like, criminally."
I make a mental note to murder my sister later. "We're not seeing each other. We're working together."
"Uh-huh." Sydney's expression makes it clear she doesn't believe me. "So that's why he keeps commenting on your Instagram posts from three years ago?"
"He what?" I don’t run my social media accounts. I hired a tech savvy social media manager years ago. She carefully chooses what to post on all my accounts. I’ve never been much into social media. It became popular about ten years after I’d graduated from college. I have accounts, mostly for professional reasons, but I’m not addicted to the platforms and rarely log in.
Sydney slides her phone across the table, open to my Instagram account. Sure enough, Jeremy has liked and commented on photos from years ago. Including pictures of me at charity galas, on vacation, at award banquets. Now I know how he knew about the dress.
"He's been doing a deep dive," Sydney says, sounding delighted. "That's not business, Mom. That's a man who's interested."
I push the phone back toward her, ignoring the flutter in my stomach. "It's complicated."
"It doesn't have to be. Invite him to the barbecue."
"Absolutely not."
"Why not? The whole family will be there. Aunt Carol said she really liked him back in the day. It'll be the perfect way to see if he fits in."
"Fits in?" I echo. "Sydney, we're not dating."
She gives me a look that's far too knowing for her age. "He’s the one who got away, Mom. He’s your second chance at love. You know you want to."
Do I?
The past month has been a dance of professional meetings interspersed with texts that grow increasingly personal, dinners that stretch late into the evening, and moments—brief, electric moments—where his hand brushes mine or his eyes linger a beat too long.
We haven't crossed any lines. Not officially. But every day, those lines blur a little more.
"It's not a good idea to mix business and pleasure," I say, falling back on the excuse that's becoming increasingly threadbare.
"The deal's almost done, right? So soon it won't be business anymore." Sydney steals a piece of my bacon. "Just invite him, Mom. What's the worst that could happen?"
He could break my heart again. He could make me need him, then disappear. He could become part of my life, part of my family, and then leave me wondering what I did wrong.
"Fine," I say instead, because I'm apparently a masochist. "I'll ask him." Sydney's triumphant smile should worry me more than it does.
* * *
I don't actually plan to invite him. I really don't. But then we have a breakthrough with the city council, when they actually approve the zoning variance and Jeremy suggests we celebrate with dinner.
"Bring the team," I say quickly, trying to keep it professional.
He shakes his head. "Just us. You and me. We're the ones who made this happen."
And he's right. We've been working our asses off, tag-teaming council members, community leaders, even the skeptical neighborhood association. We make a good team, falling into a rhythm that feels both new and achingly familiar.
So I agree to dinner, and after two glasses of wine and Jeremy telling stories about these past few years that make me laugh until my sides hurt, I hear myself say, "My family is having a barbecue on Sunday. Nothing fancy. Just a get-together. You should come."
The moment the words leave my mouth, I want to take them back. It's too much, too soon. Too intimate.
Jeremy's surprise quickly transforms into something warm and pleased. "I'd love to. What time?"
And just like that, I've invited Jeremy Ford into my personal life.
* * *
Sunday arrives with perfect early summer weather and my nerves are stretched to the breaking point. I've changed outfits three times, settling finally on white capris and a turquoise top that Sydney once said brings out my eyes.
You look like you're trying too hard, I scold my reflection. It's just a barbecue.
But it's not just a barbecue. It's Jeremy meeting and getting reacquainted with my family. It’s not a small family gathering either. Not this month. It’s my opinionated sister, my nosy cousins, my daughter who's already half in love with the idea of him. It's crossing a line I've been carefully avoiding for weeks.
The doorbell rings at precisely two o'clock. Of course he's exactly on time.
I open the door to find Jeremy looking casually perfect in dark jeans and a light blue button-down, sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned forearms. He's holding a bouquet of orchids, not white roses this time, but vibrant purple orchids. My favorite. Always have been.
"You remembered," I say before I can stop myself.
His smile is gentle. "I remember everything about you, kitten."
The nickname slips out so naturally now, a private endearment rather than a provocation. I should correct him. I don't.
"Come in," I say instead, taking the flowers. "Everyone's out back."
"Everyone? How many people are we talking about?"
"Just my sister Carol, who you should remember. Her husband, my cousin Mike and his wife, and Sydney, my daughter."
Jeremy pauses. "I didn't know you had a daughter."
Right.
Because we never talk about our personal lives. Because we're keeping this professional. Because I made it clear to my social media manager that my family stays off of my pages. We’ve kept this professional. Except I've just invited him to a family barbecue, so clearly that ship has sailed.
"Sydney is twenty-three," I explain. "She works in graphic design downtown."
"Twenty-three," he repeats, doing the math. "So you had her after..."
After us. After he left. After I picked up the pieces and built a life he wasn't part of.
"Yes," I say simply.
"Her father?" His tone is carefully neutral.
"Not in the picture. We’ve been divorced for longer than we were married. He’s not a part of my life." The understatement of the century. He had been a rebound, a distraction after Jeremy left. "It's been just Sydney and me since she was two. Her father is in her life, but not mine. We’re respectful towards each other but as she’s grown older, we’ve had less reason to talk."
Jeremy nods, processing this. "I'm looking forward to meeting her."
When we step into the backyard, all conversation stops. My family isn't subtle. Carol's eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, and Sydney practically bounces with excitement.
"Everyone," I say, fighting the urge to fidget, "this is Jeremy Ford. Jeremy, this is everyone."
What follows is a blur of introductions, handshakes, and not-so-subtle evaluations from my family. Jeremy handles it with grace, charming Carol within minutes, who says loud enough for me to hear, “I always liked you for her!” Before he moves over and talks sports with Mike, and treats Sydney like an adult whose opinions matter.
It's disconcerting how easily he fits in, how natural he looks standing by the grill with my brother-in-law, beer in hand, laughing at some joke.
"He's gorgeous. Definitely got finer with age," Carol whispers, cornering me in the kitchen, where I'm arranging the orchids in a vase. "And he can't take his eyes off you."
"We're just colleagues," I insist, though the lie is wearing thin.
"Uh-huh. And I'm the Queen of England." She bumps my hip with hers. "It's okay to be happy, you know. To let someone in. To give him a second chance."
I don't respond, because I don't know how. The wall I've built around my heart has protected me for so long, I'm not sure I remember how to lower it.
When I return to the backyard, Jeremy is sitting with Sydney, their heads bent together over her phone. They're laughing, and something about the sight makes my chest tight.
"Your daughter is incredible," Jeremy tells me later, as we're cleaning up after everyone has left. "Smart, funny, confident. You did an amazing job with her."
"She made it easy." I stack plates, keeping my hands busy. "She was always a good kid."
"She takes after her mother."
I look up, caught by the sincerity in his voice. He's watching me with something like wonder, like I'm a puzzle he's still trying to solve.
"Thank you for inviting me today," he says softly. "For letting me be part of this."
Part of my life. Part of my family. The unspoken words hang between us.
"It was just a barbecue," I say, but we both know it's more than that.
When he leaves, he brushes a kiss against my cheek, his lips lingering just a moment too long. "Goodnight, kitten."
I don't correct him. I don't step away. I don't maintain professional boundaries.
Instead, I lean into the touch, just slightly, and whisper, "Goodnight, Jeremy."
It feels like surrender.
What the fuck have I gotten myself into?