The red-haired woman. Melissa.

Jen turned, wide-eyed and worried, to Aimee. Jen held her breath, waiting for either Aimee or Melissa to explode into a scene worthy of a Mexican soap opera.

But Aimee just watched her daughter talking with the girls belonging to her still-married lover, and said an unexpected thing: “Maybe she will.”

Jen shook her head to clear it, to try to follow Aimee’s train of thought. “Maybe she’ll what?”

Aimee’s ear tilted toward one shoulder. “Maybe Ainsley will get to New York. She’s more like you than me anyway.” She sighed. “I often wonder how a kid created out of such ugliness managed to turn out so completely opposite.”

“Would you hate that,” Jen asked, “if Ainsley eventually went to the city?”

Aimee thought about that, still watching the scene over at the table that had Jen digging her fingernails into her palms in gruesome anticipation. “No. I mean, the place isn’t for me, but I think you and I both know that just because we’re born to certain people doesn’t mean we’re automatically like them.”

Jen couldn’t help adding, “You were exactly like Mom once.”

“And I fight that battle every day. You don’t think I do?”

Jen bit the inside of her cheek.

Aimee said, “I’m sorry for not telling you about the phone calls.”

Jen rolled her eyes. “No, you’re not. You would’ve kept on hiding them from me if I hadn’t walked in.”

“Maybe you should call her. Talk to her yourself. Then you’d see—”

“Nope.” Jen’s hair swished across her cheeks as she shook her head. “Can’t do it yet, Aim.”

“Then don’t get all pissy because I am.”

“I am mad. I’m mad you’re talking to the woman who almost ruined both our lives.”

“She was the only other adult left in our family, because you clearly weren’t.”

Jen distinctly felt the bite of those words.

“What’s worse?” Aimee asked. “A grandma with a shitty track record as a mom actually paying attention to and loving my little girl? Or the sister who was a better mom to me blowing off my little girl for most of her life, including one specific weekend in New York City?”

Jen nodded, understanding. “I’m sorry for that. I really am. I’m hoping that by being here now, I can try to make it up to you and her.”

Aimee didn’t look all that convinced. “I’m not like Mom anymore. I’m not even the same Aimee you knew and took care of.”

Jen raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because the other day with the water pipe—”

Aimee winced. “It was so weird. It was like the second you came back I reverted. And you always know what to do. I’m not really like that. Not anymore.”

“Then show me, Aim.”

Her sister drew herself up. “Okay. I will.” A glance across the Kafe. “I better go. Ainsley’s starting to give me the pancake stink-eye.” Then she let out a rueful laugh. “Another way she’s like you. She gets mean when she’s hungry.”

Jen saw that Ainsley had slid into the booth behind Sue’s.

“Okay,” said Jen. “I’d join you, but—”

“Leith,” Aimee filled in, with a tiny smile that cracked some of the tension. “I see him. And he sees you, too.”

Jen could feel Leith’s eyes on her, but she was watching Aimee cut to Ainsley’s booth and grinding her teeth against a potential mess with Melissa. Several of the other diners were whispering and pointing, too, their disapproval clear. Jen cringed. She was waiting for Melissa to jump up, flip the table to its side, and reach for Aimee’s throat, nails bared.

Jen expected this, because it was an exact scene she’d once broken up between Mom and some woman named Janet, who’d been Frank’s flavor of the week. Funny, she hadn’t thought about that day in such a long time. Now the visuals of the past and present overlapped, so much so that when Melissa looked up and gave Aimee a polite but aloof smile, Jen saw Melissa letting out a snarl, sharpening her fangs. Preparing to attack.

Jen was already three steps toward her sister, ready to step in, when her name cut across the Kafe.

“Jen.”

She startled, stopped, and looked over at Leith who was waving her over. A glance back at Aimee saw that her sister waved to Melissa, then slid into the booth with Ainsley.

“Jen, I want you to meet someone.” Leith swiveled on the stool, his hard, massive thighs taking up the whole seat, his grin aimed only at her. She joined him.

“This is Chris.” Leith gestured to the ponytail guy who held a forkful of French toast. “Chris works for me. Plays a mean fiddle in the band DeeDee hired for the games.”

There was a watchfulness to Leith’s expression. He seemed to be looking for something on her face. Then she realized what he’d done, calling her over here just as she was about to charge into a battle that didn’t exist. He’d spared her a scene. He’d saved her from embarrassing herself and Aimee, when Sue McCurdy and a good chunk of the town sat in the same room.

A long time ago, he’d witnessed some good fights between the sisters. He’d been there for Jen when she’d had to rescue Aimee from more than one mess.

Jen drew a deep breath, cleansing herself of the past. “Hi,” she said to Chris, offering him a genuine smile. “Great to meet you.” Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Leith’s shoulders relax.

Chris was chewing, nodding, but there was a wide-eyed worry in the way he stared at her. After he swallowed, he said, “We still get to play at the games. Don’t we?”

Jen gave him an exaggerated look of appraisal and pretended to consider it. “Have a digital file you can send me?”

Chris wiped his hands on his jeans, leaving smears of powdered sugar. “Oh, absolutely.” She gave him her email address and he practically jumped from his seat. “I’ll get that to you right now. I promise you, there won’t be any issues with the guys. Then I’ll get to Mayor Sue’s yard. That okay, Dougall?”

“Issues with the guys?” she asked Leith when Chris had gone.

“Remember I said he had problems with one of his roommates? That guy’s also the drummer. Alcohol problem he’s trying to kick. I don’t know if it’s working, though.” Leith picked up his coffee cup and said into it, “So what other Scottish folk rock band do you know that could possibly play here on such short notice?”

She steepled her fingers. “Oh, I have resources you couldn’t possibly know about.” Then, seriously, with a wave of her hand, “I’ll take Chris at his word that things will work out.”

He gave her that slow, sexy grin. “You shouldn’t tease a man like that.”

“Says the guy who taped false stalker notes to my door.”

“Hey, Lindsay wasn’t a stalker. He was just . . . interested.”

She leaned down and she could smell his shampoo. “Who exactly teased whom?”

His eyes flicked up over the top of his mug, and in them she saw the same desire from last night.

“Sit down.” He pivoted to face the bar. “I’ll buy you hash browns. I remember you liked them here.”

“Ooooh, are they still the same?”

He pointed to the silver-haired man at the burners, who was cooking so furiously and fast that little pieces of food flew everywhere. Jen recognized him and grinned. A middle-aged man wearing an apron, jeans, and checkered shirt came over to take their order, and the icy glare he threw at Leith was unmistakable.

“What was that about?” she asked Leith under her breath as the server shuffled off. “The only person within a twenty-mile radius who doesn’t worship at the feet of Leith MacDougall?”

Leith pressed his lips together and nodded. “Used to work for me. Had to let him go, along with two other full-time guys. Chris is the only one I have left.”

“Oh.” That had to have been hard for him. She was about to ask him more about it, when he turned and lifted a muscled arm to an older couple who’d just entered the Kafe. They came over, wearing the looks of delight she’d come to associate with being recognized and acknowledged by Leith.