She beamed at him. “Thank you, honey. Who’s Roussou?”

Amelia snorted. “Only their fiercest competitor in sports. If they could kill each other on the court, they would.”

“Honey, do we play Roussou?”

David’s smile was strained. He busied himself with the carrots. “They’re a level above us.”

“Oh. They are?”

“We’re a private school.” Adam was the epitome of a professional diplomat. Fake smile and fake charm. Malinda bought it all the way. “We play Fallen Crest Public because we attend schools in the same town. It was a friendly competition drawn up a long time ago, but FCP is larger. They play in the league above us.”

Cassandra had been watching the conversation. She lifted a shoulder now and cooed at the hostess. “They wanted Adam to play for them. They wanted him to attend their school too. Did you know that?”

Malinda’s smile slipped a notch. “From what I’ve heard, the Kade brothers are assets to their team, but better for us. We need you, Adam. You’re our star quarterback.”

Cassandra clamped a hand on his arm. “And he plays hockey too. Did you know that, Malinda?”

He bit out a laugh as he twisted his arm from her hold. “Uh, yeah, but football’s more my sport.”

“You don’t play basketball?”

He seemed apologetic to Malinda. “I don’t.”

She turned in her seat. “Mark, you do.”

“Um.” He froze in mid-reach for the ribs and blinked several times. “I do, mom. You’re right.” He glanced around. “Was that a point of conversation? If I played basketball or not?”

Cassandra plastered another bright smile on. She took the wine from Amelia, who had filled her third glass. “My boyfriend is their captain. Peter Glasburg. You’ve met Peter, right, Malinda? He’s their forward.”

Becky groaned next to me. Her hands switched from her lap, to her plate, to her utensils, and back to her lap. She hadn’t had a bite of food from her plate.

“He’s the one who dribbles the basketball down the court, right?” Malinda made a point to flutter her eyelashes across the table. “I haven’t been watching my son play his favorite sport since he was in third grade for nothing.”

Mark grunted and walloped a spoonful of mashed potatoes on his plate. “My mom was my first coach. She played in college.” He grimaced. “If you want your asses handed to you, play horse against her. She always wins.”

Cassandra’s laugh sounded strangled. “You don’t say.”

Amelia blinked and beamed. “I’d love to learn basketball, Malinda. You could coach me.”

The older woman’s smile slipped, and she rested back in her seat. “Oh, dear. Those days are long gone for me now. I wouldn’t know how to even spell horse anymore.”

“You beat me last weeken—” Mark started to say.

“Try some gravy with those, son.” Malinda stuffed a spoonful in his mouth, and he jerked back, sputtering from the onslaught. She sat back with a contented smile and raised her eyebrows across the table. “You were saying, dear?”

Amelia looked from son to mother. “Nothing.” She folded her hands over her lap and sat back as well.

Malinda looked like the cat that swallowed the canary and got away with it. She glowed for a moment before she looked to me. “Sam, honey, tell me you’d like more than that salad? David tells me you go on long runs.”

“All the time.” Becky surged forward. Her eagerness couldn’t be contained. “She can run for hours at a time. I keep telling her to go out for cross country, but she doesn’t.”

Aware of all the attention, I muttered, “I don’t do it for sport. It’s my time away.”

“Well, of course. I know I wouldn’t even imagine trying to compete against Mason and Logan in sports. Those two are natural talents.” Cassandra leaned back and regarded me with a smug smile.

I tilted my head to the side and asked, “Don’t you run cross country?”

She blinked. “Yeah. Why?”

Malinda placed a hand on my arm and gushed out, “Oh, you must try out for the team—”

“It was in the fall. We’re done already.” Cassandra’s tone had chilled.

Malinda frowned a second and then smiled. Two dimples showed. “How about for track? Do you run for track, Cassandra?”

She seemed frozen in place. “I run the two mile.”

My arm was patted. “There you go, honey. Run the two mile. I’m sure it’s nothing for you. You could smoke anyone.”

“Mom.” Mark frowned. “You’re a track fan now? I’m not running track. I don’t care how much you love me. I don’t love you that much.”

She laughed, a bit strained. “Not for you, honey. For Sam. She’s the runner here. I think she should show something for it.”

I grinned at her words. “That’s what Garrett said. He asked what the point of running so much if I wasn’t training for a marathon.” I laughed at the memory. He’d been so brash.

She quieted and I felt David’s silence beside me.

I turned, helpless, “Not that I care what he said, but…”

David tried to give me a reassuring smile.

I floundered anyway. “I’m sorry, dad.”

He shook his head. “No. No, honey. Don’t ever apologize for thinking of a memory, certainly not when it comes to him.”