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I frown. “Party?”

“The Fourth of July party!” My mother waves a hand, clucking her tongue. “I told you that you were in charge of the apple pie.”

“I don’t have time to make a pie,” I argue.

“But your apple pie is famous! You know everyone will be asking about it.”

“Did we forget that I just took on the biggest case of my career?”

Dad shoots me a look. “If you think that’s getting you out of coming to the party, you can think again.”

“We all know your Fourth of July thing—”

“The ninth annual Pierce Fourth of July Bash,” Dad corrects.

I roll my eyes. “Yourpartyis just an excuse for all of your old work friends to get tipsy and for you to almost burn your hand off shooting fireworks.”

“Haven’t lost anything yet.” Dad grins, wiggling his fingers at me. “You’re coming.”

“I’ll check my schedule,” I mumble.

Mom laughs. “You know our Danica can’t do anything without making sure we completely understand how begrudged she is about it.”

“It is one of her more adorable personality traits,” Dad chuckles. “No idea where she gets it from though.”

Mom taps her chin with one manicured nail. “Maybe from your dad? You know he was an old grouch.”

“He was also a raging alcoholic,” Dad says. “Which I hope our Dani isn’t.”

“That’s fine,” I huff. “Please continue to talk about me as if I’m not here.”

“We’re just teasing,” Mom tells me, reaching to pat my hand. “You’re just always so serious, honey. Makes me worry you’re going to keel over before us.”

“Lovely,” I deadpan.

“Feel free to bring a date to the party,” my mom adds, practically winking at me like a cartoon character.

I bristle. “I’m not bringing a date.”

“Honey…” My mom’s eyes turn sympathetic. “It’s been years. You can’t keep letting Grant hang over your head like some sort of—”

“Can we please not talk about this right now?” I say through gritted teeth.

Or never,I don’t say. Grant is a nonstarter for me. He always will be.

Dad shoots Mom a worried look, clearing his throat and blessedly changing the subject. “So, do you know who the opposing counsel is yet?”

“I do,” I grind out with a scowl. I definitely don’t want to remember Ezra fucking me silly over the back of his couch a few nights ago while I’m sitting with my parents and skirting conversation about my ex. “Unfortunately.”

Dad looks at me expectantly. “Well? Who is it?”

“I—”

My mouth continues to hang open, whatever I’d been about to say trailing off into open air and wafting away as my eyes catch sight of a familiar figure entering the dining room from the bar seating area in the room beyond. I don’t think my brain fully realizes that I’m just staring at him as he winds through the linen-covered tables effortlessly, his hands in his pockets and a sly smile on his mouth as if he’s taking a leisurely stroll through the park.

And that’s when I realize he’s headed right for our table.

My eyes dart around as I try to look for an escape; being within a ten-foot radius of Ezra Hart while my fucking parents are around is on the very bottom of my to-do list—right under Pap smears and custody hearings. I’m seconds away from shooting up from the table and breaking out into a run without any explanation, but when Ezra raises a hand in greeting, I realize there’s no getting out of this.