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He was successful and, if his eight-bedroom house was any indication, loaded. Celia told me during one of our calls that after some big transaction Harlan had bought a ninety-thousand-dollar car with cash—one of four cars he kept in those big garages on his property. The expense sounded so absurd I dug around for more info about him.

The words “advising,” “polling,” “researching,” and “financing” were all over the “About Us” section of his company’s website. That and photos of Harlan with important figures. Athletes. Businesspeople. Politicians.

I could see hints of Jackson in Harlan’s face. Jackson had his dad’s nose and eyes. The same hair color though Harlan’s carried a touch of gray. Both checked theobjectively good-lookingbox but the similarities ended there. Harlan was always “on” and Jackson showed no interest in playing that game.

“Kasey. Welcome home. I heard you were in town.” He nodded in the direction of the door. “Mags is in the house.”

His voice sounded all shiny and charming. No way was that real.

“Did you need something, hon?” Celia asked.

I’d known Celia long enough to recognize her fake smile. The one she wore when talking with a particular lady from church who frequently took verbal shots that included thewordsif you had children you’d understand.With Harlan, Celia made an effort, which seemed like a waste of energy.

My gaze bounced from Celia to Harlan. Neither of them moved.

Harlan jumped in before I could come up with a good question to ask. “Is this a short visit to town or something else?”

The rumor network moved with amazing speed in this town. “Jackson told you I was here?”

“No.”

Uh, okay. Not sure how to interpret the quick response. “I needed to speak with Celia.”

“Of course.” Harlan nodded but didn’t leave.

I didn’t think it was possible to find him more annoying and in-the-way than I already did. I was wrong. “I’m sure you’re almost done. I can wait.”

“You were in and out at Christmas.” He nodded as if agreeing with his own comment. “We didn’t get a chance to visit, but I know you’re busy back in DC.”

He didn’t overtly attack. He’d perfected the art of looking and sounding engaged and interested. Still, I couldn’t kick the sensation of being assessed and measured.

Before I could respond, Celia cleared her throat but didn’t say anything else.

A warning.Be nice.Got it.

Be respectful and understanding even if the person you’re talking to is a complete asshat. Celia hammered that basic rule into my head from the time I got into that fight with Taylor whatever-her-last-name-was when she tried to cut the line at the climbing wall. Being seven, a tactful approach wasn’t mygo-to response, but Celia told me to appease, not fight. Talk, not yell.

When it came to dealing with unpleasant people, Gram went with the more directtell the bastards to go to hellreaction. I sided with Gram on this topic.

“I’ll be here for at least another week. Visiting.” There. Neutral. Not bitchy. Somewhat respectful.

Harlan kept on nodding. “Interesting.”

Was it?

He finally stopped staring at me and turned to Celia. He shot her a huge smile that wasn’t one bit more genuine than the ones he’d delivered up until now. “We’ll talk soon.”

“Of course.” Celia followed Harlan to the door, as if she wanted to make sure he actually left.

I fought the urge to run behind him and lock him out. Something about him annoyed the crap out of me. Maybe I still blamed him for his treatment of Jackson’s mom fifteen years ago. Maybe it was because Harlan possessed anI’m barely tolerating youvibe. Maybe it was because we’d never had a conversation of more than three sentences. Could be any of those or a combination of a few.

“What was that about?” Because if he was bugging Celia, I would not hold back.

Celia busied herself with the dirty baking dishes. Moving them around. Stacking them on the counter. “We meet now and then. Usually not here because Mags isn’t his biggest fan, but he was my brother-in-law. So, I make the time.”

Should that be past tense? He still was her brother-in-law... sort of. “Don’t you find him a little—”

“Condescending? Fake? Annoying? Yes.” She picked up a bowl that had cake batter remnants up the sides. “He usually keeps talking until I give in and agree out of exhaustion. I guess that’s what makes him successful at work.”