And while my preferred style was “quirky preppy,” Easton almost always looked like she’d just come from the office, in a very stylish, expensive way. Today she wore a red silk blouse, the top buttons opened to reveal a little cleavage, and it was tucked into a gray pencil skirt. Her dark hair was styled in soft waves and the only jewelry that adorned her were a pair of diamond studs in her ears, a classic steel Jaeger watch, and the massive diamond ring on her engagement finger.

“It’s because of this, isn’t it?” Easton said, waving her left hand with the knuckle-duster on it. “Are Mom and Dad putting pressure on you because of this?”

If you called longing looks thrown my way whenever Easton’s engagement came up pressure. “Not really.”

“Not really, as in they haven’t said anything but there are enough lengthy pauses and meaningful looks to make you feel like you’re disappointing them?”

My goodness, my sister knew me, and them, so well. I shrugged. “I’m happy for you. They’re happy for you. That’s all that matters.”

And it was true. Easton had stumbled across a unicorn. Her fiancé, Oliver Bowen, had inherited a wealth borne from the fruits of a cocoa-bean empire. He was a human rights defense lawyer and was involved in so many philanthropic ventures; you couldn’t hate the guy if you tried.

There was nothing to hate.

He was a prime example that not all East Coast socialites were prinkles.

Argh, I couldn’t even curse in my head!

I frowned. Since when did I want to? Cursing was blech and unnecessary. Or was that just my mother talking?

Rhys Morgan, damn you. He was infiltrating my headspace.

“Yes, I’m very lucky,” Easton said, dreamy-eyed. I felt a prickle of envy as I remembered how it felt to love someone like she loved Oliver.

“He’s very lucky.”

“Yes, I know.” My sister shot me a look. “But I’m allowed to think I’m lucky too.”

“Of course, you are. Omelet, you say.” I mused over the menu. “I’m thinking bagel.”

“You’re distracted today. You were distracted last night too.”

“Work is all-consuming,” I lied.

The truth was I’d been worrying about my parents finding out about Rhys and, at the same time, a little disconcerted to find myself itching to text the man. When he’d dropped me off after the party, I’d told him I’d be in touch when I needed him next.

So far there’d been no need of him.

Hmm.

The waiter arrived and my sister and I studied each other. I was waiting for the Stephen Chancer bomb-drop, and she was waiting for me to admit there was something going on I hadn’t told her about.

My cell sounded a musical ditty that announced a text. “I have to,” I said apologetically as I reached for my purse. “It could be work.”

It wasn’t work.

HotHarley: No hours for me this weekend, Tinker Bell?

I grinned, hearing his Boston accent in my head.

ParkerB: Bored, Morgan?

HotHarley: I don’t do bored. Got nothing, then?

ParkerB: Not this weekend. You’re free to watch wildlife documentaries. I’ll send some tissues.

HotHarley: No need. I have my own. What you up to?

I frowned at the question, even as my stomach fluttered.

ParkerB: I’m spending time with my sister. We’re ordering breakfast.

HotHarley: Well, if you weren’t so stuck on keeping our deal from your family, I could have made you both my famous frittata.

He cooked?

He rode a hot bike (the emission levels were terrible and my guilt was real over the fact that it had not diminished its appeal nearly enough), he watched wildlife documentaries, and he cooked.

Ugh, I should have stuck with Dean. He was way less complicated.

ParkerB: Is that a euphemism? Or did you just admit to being able to cook?

HotHarley: I just admitted to being able to FUCKING cook. There’s a difference.

“Okay, who are you texting that’s making you smile like that?” Easton’s voice cut through my Rhys bubble.

My head jerked up. I was mortified to realize I’d momentarily forgotten she was there. “Um, my boss.” I hedged. “He’s a funny guy.”

“Single?” Easton asked, hopeful.

I snorted. “No. Even if he was, you’re really encouraging me to sleep with my boss?”

“I’m encouraging you to be happy.”

“And that requires a man?”

Easton narrowed her eyes. “You know it doesn’t. But it does require moving on. It’s been thirteen years, Parker. Don’t you think it’s time?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to.” I shrugged. “However, I know how it’s supposed to feel, and I’ve tried to find it again and failed. Maybe a person is only allowed it once in their lives. Why waste all that energy dating men who don’t fit when I can just concentrate on the things that make me happy? Like my job. And helping my little sister plan the wedding of the century.”

Now it was Easton’s turn to snort. “Helping me plan a wedding is the equivalent to dental torture for you.”