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Charlie watched his father roll his shoulders and smooth his hair before reaching for the knob.

A young woman stepped across the threshold, pale-eyed and light-haired. I prefer dark hair, Charlie thought, apropos of nothing.

“Welcome!” His dad’s voice was many decibels too loud for indoors. “Charlie has been counting down the minutes!”

He frowned at his father before remembering to smile. The new arrival blinked back at him with no discernible emotion.

Charlie’s dad cleared his throat. It was almost certainly a cue, but that kind of pressure had never helped Charlie find his words.

“Why don’t you step into the living room?” Charlie’s father urged their guest. “I need to have a quick word with my son.”

She gave the pair of them another cool look before drifting out of sight.

“I don’t know what that was, but I need you to make an effort with Emma,” his father said when the two of them were alone. “Are you listening, son?”

“Yes,” Charlie fibbed. “You said Emma—oh no!” His brain abruptly woke up. “She got out again?” The poor thing must be terrified with all these strangers in the house. He needed to check her usual hiding places. Charlie started to pull away, but his father tugged him back.

“Not that Emma.” His smile was tight. “Emma Koenig. Daughter of Philip Koenig,” he added, when Charlie didn’t respond. “CEO of Koenig Industries.”

“That’s nice,” Charlie ventured, not sure what else to say. He should have known his dad wasn’t talking about Emma the corn snake. Mr. Pike barely tolerated it when Charlie brought up reptiles of any kind, so he was hardly likely to introduce the subject. “I guess she won’t want a frozen mouse.”

“Please don’t offer Emma Koenig a mouse.

Or mention rodents at all.” With a visible effort, he left it at that, though Charlie could tell his father was dying to list all the topics that absolutely should not come up in conversation.

It boiled down to the same message: Can you be normal for once, Charlie?

Jean would have known he was joking. Speaking of irrelevant information. Charlie nodded a silent promise to say as little as possible.

“We need to put our best foot forward with the Koenigs,” his father continued, keeping his voice low. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Charlie raked his teeth over his bottom lip, stalling. “Maybe?”

“Priority numero uno for you this weekend is getting to know Emma. Shouldn’t be too much of a hardship. Can’t imagine you had many opportunities to socialize with pretty girls out there in the jungle.”

“What do you think scientists look like?” Charlie asked, genuinely curious.

“My point is that it would be a big help if you could at least try to charm Emma,” his father said on a sigh. “Like you did with that singer.”

Because that turned out so well . Charlie kept the thought to himself, not that his father would have listened. “Maybe I should stay here by the door. Take people’s coats.”

“It’s summertime. And your mother has it handled. You’re with me.”

He knew his dad had always wanted a son who was a carbon copy of himself, but since Charlie didn’t have a showman mode, he didn’t bother to mimic his father’s ear-to-ear grin as he followed him to the living room. Once there, they headed straight for the banquette where Human Emma had settled.

She would make a very convincing ghost, Charlie thought, now that he’d gotten a better look at her.

Even her hair was the color of the floaty bits you had to peel off an ear of corn.

The only thing missing was a long white dress—and getting her to put down the apparently riveting book she was reading.

Charlie had to squint to make out the title under the illustration of a shrieking green creature, lips moving as he puzzled it out.

The Ego and the Mechanisms of Defence by Anna Freud.

Huh. That made him think of Jean’s friend, who studied psychology—

Except that wasn’t right. She was a reporter, not a grad student.

“Smile,” his father hissed. Charlie gave it his best shot, letting it drop when she didn’t look up.

Mr. Pike cleared his throat. “Emma, you remember Charlie?”

She peered at him over the spine of her book. “From the hallway? Yes.” Her voice was so soft, Charlie had to strain to make out the words.

“The two of you actually met years ago, at a conference in Salzburg. You ate pretzels together. I’m sure Charlie has fond memories.”

“Uh,” Charlie started to say, breaking off when his father glared a warning. “That sounds… well.” He swallowed, uncomfortable with an outright lie. “I do like pretzels. The soft kind, anyway.”

Emma’s gaze drifted back to her book. Charlie could hardly blame her for losing interest.

“Is this your boy at last?” asked a new voice, with an accent Charlie couldn’t place. He turned to see a man around his father’s age who looked like he should be starring in one of those historical miniseries Charlie’s mom liked to watch, full of mist and cobblestones and lace.

He placed both hands on Charlie’s shoulders, staring deeply into his eyes before kissing him on the cheeks, left and then right. There was an alarming moment when it seemed he might be going for the mouth and Charlie almost jerked back, but he managed to control himself.

“Mr. Koenig?” he guessed. His father looked pleased Charlie had figured it out, but less so when he added, “You seem very healthy.”

It wasn’t only the strength of his grip.

You could practically see the life force radiating from his glowing skin—especially in contrast to his daughter, who looked like she might be getting over a cold.

Not that Charlie would have said that part out loud.

He felt mean for even thinking it. That was just a lot of sweater for a warm day.

“Call me Philip,” Mr. Koenig said.

“Oh, that’s—” unlikely to happen , Charlie silently finished. “I’m Charlie. Pike.” He pointed at himself, aware even before his father sighed that this was not approved alpha-male behavior.

“I bet Emma would like to go outside and get some fresh air,” Mr. Pike hinted. “Meet the other young people. Why don’t you escort her, Charlie? I heard there might be a volleyball game.”

Charlie tried to imagine a less enticing prospect. Paper cuts on all his fingers, maybe. While juicing a bag full of lemons.

“I’m not going out there.” Although Emma’s voice was barely above a whisper, there was a finality to the words that left no room for argument. “Hay fever,” she added, before turning her attention back to her book.

It was an impressive dodge. Short of throwing up in the car, it was almost impossible to derail one of Mr. Pike’s “fresh air and exercise” campaigns. Charlie was torn between intimidation and asking her to share her secret.

“Who is that ravishing creature?” Mr. Koenig said. He was facing the other direction, so Charlie couldn’t see who he was talking about. Nor did he care, since it was almost certainly another business connection of his father’s.

“How do you do?”

Charlie’s spine snapped upright, as if a puppeteer had pulled his strings. That voice—

Time slowed to a crawl as he turned.

His brain said impossible, but his body was already in motion.

Charlie forgot the other people in the room, the bottle of not-beer in his hand, and (most catastrophically) the ottoman that had occupied the same patch of floor for at least a decade.

All he could think about was getting to her as quickly as possible.

Which was how he wound up launching himself headfirst over a piece of furniture and landing at her feet. Propping himself on his elbows, he slowly lifted his head.

Jean .

Those were Jean’s ankles, and Jean’s legs, her knees, her— He jerked his head up to meet her eyes.

Please, he thought, not sure what he was asking for.

She was a life jacket, and Charlie wanted to wrap her around his body before the choppy waters closed over his head.

Only not literally, since they were on dry land.

(Mostly dry; his hand was touching something wet.)

Before he could unstick his tongue, the sound of laughter penetrated the roaring in his ears.

“For goodness’ sake, Charlie.” His father’s voice was bright, like it was all in good fun, but there was no mistaking the underlying strain. “You’re making a mess.”

A napkin landed next to Charlie’s arm, startling him. Details sharpened: a soggy patch on the carpet where he’d spilled his drink, the bottom half of his body still propped on the ottoman like a human wheelbarrow, Mr. Koenig stepping over him to greet Jean.

Was he going to kiss her? Charlie had a wild impulse to grab the older man’s ankle and wrestle him away, but she was already letting Philip Koenig press his lips to her hand.

No doubt she’d gotten a good whiff of his incredible smell, like a forest full of saddles next to a seaside cliff.

It was enough to make anyone lightheaded. Dammit!

There was an old bottle of cologne on Charlie’s dresser.

Maybe he should run upstairs and spritz himself.

Except that would mean leaving Jean alone with Philip Koenig, which seemed like a very bad idea, what with him being so good-looking…

and the way he was looking at her. But who could blame him?

She was even prettier than Charlie remembered. How long had it been since he’d breathed the same air as Jean? Way too long. And now she was here, but still so far away. All he could do was stare. Those eyes were like moss agates. Or no, topaz—

“Didn’t know your boy was a rodeo clown.” The spicy-cocktail guy slapped himself on the thigh, chortling.

“It takes a lot of nerve to step into the arena with an angry bull.” It was unclear whether Charlie’s father was defending him or implying he wasn’t tough enough for rodeo.