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Laurel took a gulp of his old-fashioned, watching the sleek bodies of the ponies thunder by across the deep green of the field, lines of sweat tracing lacy patterns down their flanks. His heart thudded in rhythm with their hooves. Though they were called ponies, they were full-sized horses, thoroughbreds with the agility of a cheetah and the force of a freight train. Laurel had loved horses as a kid, maybe even wanted to be one. The power and beauty when they ran, the sense of freedom. And all the goofiness and neuroses that each one had, when you got to know their individual personalities. He’d even played junior polo for a bit, but never gotten past the position of Number One.

A bad fall at fourteen had ruined all of his polo dreams, and Denise had sold his horse, Sunny, without asking him.

She didn’t forgive very easily.

Laurel cleared his throat. “How would you find someone’s employment history if it’s not online? Out of curiosity.” Casey Bright was on LinkedIn, but he was listed as self-employed, and had been forever. There were no clues about where he’d come from or why he was here. From what Laurel had managed to gather, he had just shown up in town one day and attached himself to Denise. And he definitely hadn’t been to Ibiza, so he was faking things on social media.

Chip made a face. Laurel knew he disliked getting legal questions when he was off the clock. “I guess you could always run a background check. But you’d need the person’s consent.”

“What if you don’t have that?”

“Whose employment history do you need, anyway?”

“Nobody’s. I’m just curious.” Laurel felt a little giddy. He took another sip of his drink, humming the opening lines of the Ascot Gavotte to himself as the horses rushed past a second time. Polo matches always made him think of the Ascot scene in My Fair Lady . His fingertips were vibrating with adrenaline, and he remembered how exciting it had been, to lean out from the saddle with his mallet in hand, just on the edge of off-balance, swinging for the ball. How it had felt like anything could happen.

“Well, if this hypothetical person were to have a criminal record, it would show up in a simple Google search,” Chip said.

“Right.” Laurel took a sip of his drink. He had tried that already and come up with nothing. Which should be a relief, right? Still, he was convinced that Casey Bright was hiding something. It was too convenient, his being here. And his background was too vague. Laurel didn’t trust him. If the Halloween ball was going to be Melody’s chance to get back into society, then it had to go perfectly.

“How’s Melody?” Chip asked, as if sensing his thoughts. “Are you staying with her?”

“No, I’m at the beach house.”

Chip frowned. “Somebody should stay with her. Someone should be keeping her from getting behind the wheel.”

“She’s fine, Chip. You’re worrying for no reason.” People had started to clap politely, and Laurel joined them without thinking, one hand tapping against the back of the one that held his glass. The first chukka must be over. Raising his voice so Chip could hear, he continued, “She just had a bad day, that’s all.”

“You haven’t been here,” Chip said. “There have been a lot of bad days.”

But Laurel wasn’t listening. He’d seen a familiar head of hair and set of shoulders in a pastel suit coat, over by the drink cart. What was that color called anyway, salmon? And how had Casey gotten an invitation to a polo match? He really had insinuated himself into everything, and after only being here for a few months.

Laurel drained his glass. “Well, would you look at that. I’m out of liquor. I’ll be right back. Do you want anything?”

Chip shook his head tersely, but Laurel didn’t have time to worry if he was upset. He was already making his way through the crowd.

A hand on his arm stopped him before he could reach the drink tent. Sarah Ann Copeland stood blinking up at him from beneath a straw hat, oddly strong for a woman of a certain age, her grip on his shirtsleeve like a talon. Laurel struggled to free himself, murmuring platitudes, but she wouldn’t release him. Her eyes were a little wobbly, her expression earnest. “Laurel, sweetie, it has been ages since we talked.”

Sarah Ann Copeland was one of the church ladies. God-fearing and timid as a mouse, until she was talking behind people’s backs, or in her cups, threatening to put rat poison in the punch bowl at parties. She had always reminded him a little of a bushbaby, the way she stared and clung to arms.

“Sarah Ann!” Laurel forced enthusiasm into his voice. He cast around the crowd for another glimpse of Casey, but he had disappeared, and now Laurel was trapped.

“When will we see you at church again, Laurel?”

When Hell freezes over . “Oh gosh, I keep sleeping in. You know.”

Sarah Ann pursed her lips. “Yes, well, I’m sure you keep a busy schedule over there in Europe. It’s probably been hard re-adjusting to our way of life.”

Laurel ran a hand through his hair. Even after all this time, he found himself shrinking under the obvious judgment in her eyes. Everyone in town seemed to think he was some kind of playboy, fucking his way across Europe. Which maybe he was, but not in the way they imagined. And there were a lot of hiking trips through the Dolomites and museum visits mixed in with all the slutting around, thanks. Besides, there actually hadn’t been anyone since Casey, which was embarrassing in its own way. He rubbed the nape of his neck, skin feeling hot.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s a slower pace over here for sure.”

“Well, I am so glad I ran into you.” She squeezed his arm even harder. “I had hoped we would get a chance to talk at your mother’s charity gala, but of course there was that unpleasantness, and you had to leave.”

“Of course, of course.” He tried to sound friendly, but all he could think was how much he wanted to shake himself off like a dog, get rid of the weight of Sarah Ann’s hand on him. The knowledge of Casey somewhere in the crowd was still buzzing in the back of his head. He cleared his throat. “Actually, what did you think of the dog wedding? Fabulous, right?” If anyone would know the gossip about Denise’s new employee, it would be Sarah Ann. “That Casey Bright knows how to throw a party.” He thought he sounded casual enough. He wasn’t sure. A drop of sweat trickled down his neck.

“Oh goodness, I don’t know.” Sarah Ann lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I thought it was all rather gauche, with all the balloons.” Laurel wondered what could possibly be offensive about balloons, but he said nothing. “But of course it was for a good cause,” Sarah Ann added. “Denise really does fancy herself some sort of celebrity, though, doesn’t she? With all these events and these LA types.”

Melody had mentioned something about LA, too. Laurel would have to look into that. He knew a couple of people in the LA area who might have moved in the same circles as Casey. If he’d even been there at all; if it wasn’t another fiction, like Ibiza. “Well, what do you think of him? The party planner?”

Sarah Ann made a dismissive gesture. “Oh, I shouldn’t say anything. He seems like a pleasant enough young man. And he keeps Denise company. But none of us really know anything about him. And—well—I wouldn’t want him around my sons.”

“Because…?”

“Oh.” Sarah Ann smiled uncomfortably. “Just the lifestyle choices, you know. But he’s very nice. Very polite.”

Laurel wanted to melt into the ground. He thought again of the Ascot scene in My Fair Lady , of Audrey Hepburn screaming obscenities in a big hat. How freeing that must be, to look gorgeous and be an absolute menace in public. To say what you were thinking. “Well, I have to go. I see my mother waving to me, and I don’t want to leave her waiting.”

“Oh, of course.” She squeezed his arm one last time. “Tell her the party was lovely, won’t you? We’re all looking forward to the next one.”

“Oh, I am too.” It was the truest thing he had said to her so far.

*

The horses looked as tense as Casey felt, standing in line, their long legs like rubber bands about to snap. Some shuffled and pranced, impatient to run, as if their natural state was to be in motion, always. They were waiting for some command, Casey guessed, for the next part of the game to start. Honestly, he knew nothing about polo, but he knew plenty about running. He had only come up close to the pitch to get a moment with his own thoughts. Denise and Meredith had been talking in his ear all afternoon, salacious stories about the people at the match, laced with sickly-sweet proclamations of, “Bless their heart.” Usually, he would welcome gossip, file away facts about the people in this town like a student taking notes. But Laurel had complicated everything, thrown him off.

We’re bound to run into each other. Might as well lean into it . What was that supposed to mean? Did Laurel want to hook up again? It wasn’t going to happen. Casey would be keeping him at a distance, no matter how much Laurel winked or grinned at him. Did he want to—God forbid—be friends? Casey didn’t do friends, except for Jamie, who was really more like family. And he especially didn’t do friends with some spoiled, lazy playboy who’d been born on third base. Besides, Laurel would hate him if he knew what Casey had planned.

It shouldn’t matter, being hated by him. Casey remembered the red flush that had spread across Laurel’s freckled chest, the worshipful way he’d looked up at him, hair feathered across the pillow. The taste of his skin.

He shook his head, trying to get rid of the thought. He would deal with this the same way he dealt with everything. Slap on a pleasant face and make up a story.

And he’d have to do it now, because here Denise was, coming through the crowd with Meredith and Laurel in tow. Casey groaned internally.

“Well, fancy seeing you here,” Laurel said. There was a glass of something brown in his hand, and an easy smile on his face, but his eyes were sharp. Too sharp for Casey’s comfort. “How are you enjoying the match?”

Casey shrugged. “I don’t really know enough about it to say.”

“I could explain the rules. I used to play.”

Of course you did . Unbidden, the image of Laurel, sweaty, in a tight sweater and riding pants, flashed through his head, making his knees a little weak. Was Casey imagining things, or had his accent gotten deeper since he’d been back in South Carolina? When they’d met in Vegas, it had just been a tease, a ribbon of caramel through Laurel’s voice. Now it was stronger, his vowels sleepy and soft and somehow refined, so different from the country hick accent that Casey had grown up with and spent years erasing.

Casey cleared his throat. “Maybe some other time.”

“It must all feel very foreign, after LA,” Laurel said innocently. “Being here in our little backwoods town.”

Who had told him about LA? God, everyone was in everyone’s business around here. Casey smoothed the front of his shirt. The phantom of Laurel’s fingers prickled across his throat as he remembered Laurel adjusting his bowtie. How it had seemed somehow more intimate than a kiss. “It’s a nice change of scenery.”

“I’m telling you, Laurel, I lucked out with this one.” Denise put an unwelcome hand on his arm, and Casey felt a little queasy. “He has the magic touch.”

“Really, you’re a genius. Peaches has gained over a thousand new followers because of you,” Meredith said. Peaches was her dog, Jasper’s bride.

Casey forced himself to smile, but it felt more like a baring of teeth. Fucking Peaches and her Instagram. If Meredith hadn’t tagged him in the first place, maybe Laurel wouldn’t have been asking so many probing questions. Maybe Casey wouldn’t have gotten tripped up by Ibiza.

“And we raised two thousand dollars for the humane society,” Denise added. “Isn’t that wonderful?” She squeezed Casey’s arm, gazing starry-eyed off into the distance. “I really do think that’s my calling: helping the less fortunate. I’ve always considered myself an empath, to be honest.”

“You are, Denise. You absolutely are,” Meredith gushed.

Laurel choked on his drink audibly, and Casey bit his lip. Jesus, could she hear herself?

Their eyes met. Casey saw his own incredulous amusement reflected in Laurel’s expression. He looked away.

“Well gosh, Casey just sounds like he’s heaven-sent,” Laurel said. “What a blessing that he showed up in town to help you find your calling, Mom.”

“Isn’t it? He’s worked with some very exclusive people,” Denise said. Her hand was still on Casey’s arm, uncomfortably warm. “I just know my Halloween ball is going to be sensational. Maybe we’ll even get into Country Living .”

“Wow, Country Living .” Laurel took a sip of his drink, watching Casey over the rim of the glass. “Have you ever been featured in a magazine before, Casey? You must have, what with all the rubbing elbows with Hollywood types.”

“I prefer to stay out of the spotlight.” Hollywood had been a magic word to get him into Denise’s good graces and convince her to open up her wallet, but it hadn’t been a lie. Now he was wondering if he should have mentioned it at all.

“But you at least can drop some names, right?” Laurel asked.

“I signed an NDA,” Casey said tersely.

“Laurel, stop pestering him.” Denise let out a dramatic sigh. “Honestly, you’d think he wanted to plan the party himself, with all the questions he’s been asking,” she told Meredith. “I keep telling him not to worry. I trust Casey to figure everything out. It’s going to be the event of the season, right, Casey?”

Casey licked his lips, mouth feeling dry. “Yes, absolutely.” One way or another . He felt Laurel’s gaze on him, and a bead of sweat ran down his neck. “It’ll be the talk of the town.”

*

Back at the house, Miss Mina was leaning against the sideboard, fanning herself. She stood upright as Casey came into the kitchen, reaching for a dish towel that sat discarded on the counter.

“Don’t trouble yourself, Miss Mina. It’s too hot to be cleaning kitchens.”

“It sure is.” She patted her forehead with the towel, posture growing more relaxed. “Are you hungry? I made lemon bars.”

Casey desperately wanted an ice-cold lemon bar, could practically feel it dissolving on his tongue, like liquid gold. But he said, “Just an unsweet tea, if you have some.”

“You know, the sweet kind wouldn’t hurt you any,” Miss Mina said, opening the fridge. “Neither would a lemon bar. Put some meat on your bones.”

Casey made a noncommittal noise. Miss Mina was always trying to feed him. Maybe he reminded her of some grandson, the same way she vaguely reminded him of his grandmother, another nice yet formidable working-class lady. But he didn’t need the sugar; he hadn’t gotten all of his acne scars lasered away just to break out again, and he refused to gain back any of his adolescent chubbiness. That could stay in the past, along with all the other grubby aspects of his childhood.

“So how is the ball coming along?” Miss Mina handed him a glass.

Ugh . The ball was the last thing he wanted to talk about. Denise was drunk on her own power after the success of the dog wedding, and her demands were getting wilder and wilder. He was having a hard time keeping track of what he’d agreed to. Not that it mattered, in the long run.

“It’s coming. We were in talks with the band today, putting together a set list. She wants to sing.”

“Uh-huh.” A wry expression flashed across Miss Mina’s face, almost too quick to see.

“Some song called Moon River . I guess it’s from an old movie?” Casey had grown up on Christian talk radio and, later, crime dramas and 80’s action movies, so his knowledge of the classics was limited.

“They love their old movies, those two,” Miss Mina said. “I’m surprised she doesn’t want Laurel to sing, too. Now that he’s back in town.”

“Oh yeah?” Ugh, again . Laurel was the last person he wanted to think about right now, but he kept popping up. The nape of Casey’s neck tingled, and his hands tightened slightly around the glass. “He sings?” He hadn’t mentioned it in Vegas. Casey really didn’t know much about Laurel at all, besides the fact that he traveled a lot, liked horses and French poetry, loved giving head, and what his face looked like when he—

“He used to, as a kid,” Miss Mina said, mercifully derailing his train of thought. Casey felt heat rising in his cheeks, and he took another sip of tea. “He had the voice of an angel. Sang in the church choir every Sunday. But he was lonely, too, it seemed like, always trying to please. He used to follow me around like a little puppy, trying to help with the chores. Of course, I couldn’t let him.” She paused. “She’s hard on him, I think. Mrs. Denise.”

Casey rolled his eyes. Oh, boohoo, he didn’t get to help clean . But he got all sorts of other things. A trust fund. A college degree. A dad who wasn’t in and out of prison and court-mandated rehab. “What’s he like now?” It didn’t matter; Casey didn’t want to get to know him. There probably wasn’t anything to get to know, anyway. Rich pretty boys like Laurel were a dime a dozen, French poetry or not. But maybe Miss Mina knew some of his secrets, or something embarrassing. Housekeepers, in Casey’s experience, often knew much more than their employers thought they did.

Miss Mina shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. He comes and goes whenever he feels like it. He’s never settled down, or really had a girlfriend, besides the one in college.”

“Right. Weren’t they engaged, or something?” Denise had talked his ear off about it. Apparently the college girlfriend had been a perfect beautiful blameless angel, and Laurel had fucked it up somehow. Sounded about right; he seemed like the type to fuck things up. He was definitely ruining Casey’s whole month, just by being here.

He thought of Laurel’s smug little smile at the polo match, the way his long-lashed eyes had sparkled in the afternoon sunlight. The sly, conspiratorial tone in his voice as he’d called Casey heaven-sent . Inadvertently, he felt a little shiver go down his spine. From the cold of the iced tea, surely. He was drinking it too quickly.

Miss Mina gave Casey a look. “Engaged to be engaged, maybe. I don’t think his heart was ever in it.” She went back to the sink, polishing one spot on the faucet over and over again.

Interesting. Laurel clearly hadn’t told his mom anything about his sexuality, but Casey wondered if Miss Mina had her own suspicions. Leaning against the counter, he asked, “And what about the girl who crashed the party the other day? Melody? White girl, long black hair, about five-ten? Kind of a bombshell?” She had something of a reputation, from what he heard. Casey had only met her in passing, at the Bonard Fourth of July Jamboree a few months ago. She’d been pretty out of it, if he remembered correctly. “She’s a friend of his, right?”

“Yes, just a friend. But part of me always wished they would get together. Maybe it would have been different.” She grimaced, continuing to scrub the sink. “She used to sparkle, that girl. Before Howie Bonard came along and sucked all the life out of her.”

“He’s running for congress. Or, no, his brother is, right?” The family were local royalty, the kind of old-money dirtbags that Casey tried to avoid. He hadn’t met Howie Bonard, only his brother, Wayon, who had reacted to Casey with over-friendliness and barely concealed disgust. As if he’d been afraid of the gay rubbing off, or of Casey hitting on him. Please . Some of us have actual taste.

Questionable taste, maybe, Casey reflected, considering Laurel. But taste nevertheless.

“Running for congress, running just about everything around here…” Miss Mina shrugged, trailing off.

Casey jumped as his phone buzzed again in his pocket, sending an electric shiver down his thigh. Jamie had texted back finally, sending him a comprehensive spreadsheet of all the places he’d been on his Instagram. There was also a message from the caterers at Landry Hall, with an updated estimate for the Halloween ball. The amount kept climbing, which was good news for him. He tucked the phone back into his pocket, concealing a satisfied smile.

“Do you think he’ll win?” Casey was planning to be out of town before November, so it didn’t matter. If he got the chance, he’d gladly leave the whole state of South Carolina—Hell, the whole country—and its rotten politics in the dust. Hopefully the increase in the catering bill would help with that.

“They always seem to, in that family.”

His stomach went a little sour. “What did Howie Bonard do to Melody?” Casey asked.

Miss Mina eyed him from across the counter. “You’re a smart kid, Casey. You know what men do to pretty girls.”

The glass felt too slippery in Casey’s hand all of a sudden, and he set it down. He shouldn’t be surprised. “So how is Laurel—”

“It’s none of my business.” Miss Mina turned away. “I need to get back to work. You’re sure you don’t want a lemon bar?”

“No, no,” Casey said, too many thoughts darting through his head. These poisonous little towns were all the same. He’d been in enough of them to know that everything had an ugly underside and everyone was all tangled up in each other’s drama, and the last thing he wanted was to get involved, or to start caring about any of it. The sooner he could get his money and get out of here, the better. “Thank you. But I should probably get back to work, too.” He had to re-memorize his backstory. Figure out how to get Laurel off his back. And look at mockups of a seafood tower that would never exist.