When we can, we go out for brunch on Sundays. It's a tradition we've somehow cultivated from back in our high school days, just a way for us to spend family time.

Nessy's is a homely restaurant downtown that serves the best pancakes on their all-you-can-eat buffet. And there's a planetarium across the street that we visit after we eat. Jamie loves the exhibits and the moon rocks.

He has been picking off pieces of buttermilk pancake from his plate as he talks about summer school. It ends in about a week, in time for the trip to the festival.

"I've been looking forward to it every day."

"You have?"

"Of course I have. I want to see what my baby has been doing every day."

"I'm not a baby," he pouts.

"You'll always be my baby even when you're all grown up."

His brow wrinkles like the idea of it is disagreeable. "Even when?"

"Definitely," I answer as Nathan reclaims his seat.

"What did I miss?" he asks.

"Our son telling me that he's not a baby."

Jamie giggles.

"He's not a baby? I don't know about that."

They go off on one of their amusing squabbles, and I sit back to look around. I'm about to take a drink of my juice when I do a double take. My eyes fixate on the door, unable to look away.

"Unbelievable. Please don't see us, please don't see us," I mutter, pretending to look at the mural behind me.

She sees us.

"What?" Nathan asks, glancing up from cutting Jamie's remaining pancake.

"Why? Why is she here?"

She's a woman on a mission, her steps confident and her gaze on our table. Or the back of Nathan's head.

"Who?"

"Her."

She told me that she's a Miami girl who adores the beach. Of course it wasn't said as a way of sharing; she was mentioning just how hard it would be for me standing out like a sore thumb amongst the girls in Miami. What is she still doing here? Aren't there ripped and sweaty guys to check out at the beach in Miami?

"Who are you talking about?" he asks as he looks around the room.

I take a gulp of juice just as she stops right beside him, her expensive, flowery perfume arriving before her. Her hand rests on the back of Nathan's chair, French-manicured fingernails gleaming against the wood. She's in tiny, white shorts, pink, glittering trainers, and her pink vest is so close-fitting that her navel is noticeable. In my vest and faded jeans, I can't help but feel like the scruffy minion at the supermodel's beck and call.

"Hey, Nate."

He looks up at her. She's a beautiful girl, and I wouldn't lose my cool if Nathan were to admit it. It doesn't mean that he's going to leave me for the next attractive girl. I wouldn't have a problem with Tina if we hadn't already established this arbitrary relationship; she would have been just one of the pretty faces who want Nathan and are far removed from me.

"Hey."

"Good to see you back, hot shot."

When she thrusts her chest out, I take another long drink, wishing it were a mimosa. I don't know her well; she could be a great friend to someone and a wonderful daughter, but the little I know of her, I just can't seem to like no matter how hard I try.

"Thanks. Tina, right?"

She gives him a dazzling-white smile, pleased like he's a master who has petted her for doing a neat trick. "Tina Kincaid, Dale cheerleader and co-captain. We missed you at the after-game parties."

Nathan glances at me, quickly raising his eyebrows. I dip my chin slightly. Tina's followers stand behind her, the redhead texting furiously, the curly-haired one twirling her hair in her fingers staring into space, and of course, Laura, chewing and popping gum louder than a backfiring truck.

"You know my wife Haley?"

Tina gives me a tight smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Of course I do. Hi, Haley."

It looks agonizing saying my name. I really don't feel like being diplomatic, but I bite my lower lip to keep myself from saying something unkind or sarcastic. "Hello, Tina."

"And this handsome guy here is my son Jamie."

Jamie lifts his head up. "Hi. I'm James Lucas Scott."

"Hi, handsome guy. I'm Tina."

Jamie giggles, taking her extended hand.

"You want a pancake?" he offers, pushing his plate forward.

"That's okay. I'm going to have some with my friends. They're good, huh?"

"The best."

"You're as cute as your father."

She rubs Jamie's cheek, earning another giggle from him as he picks off an apple slice from his fruit salad bowl. She's nearly transformed, genuineness to her brief interaction with Jamie that doesn't seem geared towards impressing Nathan. Then "as cute as your father" booms in my head and I grunt inaudibly.

"Do you want this particular table?" I ask with an edge, looking at the several empty tables around us.

After that encounter in the bathroom, she's been out to get on my nerves. Today is no different. It's so hard to take the high road when she opens her mouth. She folds her arms over her chest, and there's really not much left to the imagination.

"If you don't mind. It's our usual. We like the view."

"We'll be done shortly."

She sneers at me, jerks her chin at her companions. They follow her to a table a few feet away, leaning in to whisper to each other, their gazes drifting to and fro between us and their circle of trust.

"A joyful one, isn't she?"

"She parties hard," he says with a shrug.

I don't know what to say without coming off as a catty, jealous woman, so I keep my mouth shut. I begrudgingly respect her for being so tenacious and relentless about bedding Nathan. I can just imagine what she's like when she's drunk, out of control and sentimental.

He puts his hands over Jamie's ears, lowering his voice to a whisper. "After seeing that video, I gotta say that she has really carved the stereotypical bitchy cheerleader for herself."

Not the response I was expecting, and a laugh rips out of my throat. She's a walking caricature of the tired, bitchy cheerleader role.

"Did you say something bad?" Jamie asks Nathan.

"What?"

"When you're gonna say something bad you don't want me to hear," he says, putting his hands over his ears, "you do this!"

Nathan laughs, reaching for Jamie's hands. "You're too clever for your own good, James Lucas Scott."

After Jamie's awake from his nap, Nathan decides to tell him about Dan. There hasn't been much preparation for that talk on either of our parts, and scenarios run through my mind of Jamie asking all sorts of questions that we can't answer.

"Scott on three." I hold up my fist for Nathan's. "One, two…Come on, Nathan. One, two, three, Scott."

"Scott," he says dryly. "You are such a nerd."

My fists punch the air like I'm fighting an imaginary opponent. "Are you ready? Are you pumped?"

"It's not a boxing match."

"Wait. Wait up. I think I'm having an anxiety attack."

Stopping in our bedroom doorway, he turns around. "He's only three, Hales."

I stare at him as if he's from an alien planet. "Have you seen what facial expressions that three-year-old is capable of producing? We both know that you're less resistant to it."

Pitiful. He's good at that one. To deal with it, it's to either give in to guilt or stay firm and let him tire of making a fit. Everything was a fight a year ago; getting him undressed, getting him dressed, getting him to wake up, getting him to go to bed. It was all "no, no, no, no." The tantrum phase we read about was no myth but a harsh truth that required a herculean effort almost daily. I was ready to sleep for a week when he outgrew it.

"You're destroying my coolness," Nathan sighs.

I shake my head. I'm committing to this, and I need to make it easier for him. He's the one who'll have to explain about Dan.

"Okay, I'm good. Let's do this."

I follow him to the living room, coming to stand paces away from the couch and letting him take the lead. Jamie is lying on the floor, colouring. After brunch, a visit to the planetarium, a stop at the supermarket and Jamie's nap, we are finally telling him about Dan.

"Hey, buddy."

"Daddy, I made Pooh Bear green and Piglet orange. Does it look okay?"

"I think they would approve a change on this page. Who's this one for?"

I sit beside Nathan on the couch as Jamie shows his masterpiece. We've always dealt with Dan-related matters together, and this should be no different.

"Uncle Lucas. He helped me pick the colours."

"Well, if he picked them out, I'm sure he'll love the outcome. Can you sit with us for a minute?"

Nathan pats the space between us, and I move over a little as Jamie climbs up.

"I didn't do it."

"Do what?"

"I'm not in trouble?"

I shake my head, rubbing his hair. He needs a haircut. "No. Did you do something bad?"

"No."

His eyes don't waver from mine. He's either telling the truth or he's become very accomplished at having a poker face.

"Well, your father and I have something to tell you. Honey?"

I don't know whether I'm putting the ball in his court because I've chickened out or because I don't know where to begin. Either way, I grimace an apology. Nathan gives me a combination expression of uncertainty and sarcastic gratitude.

He clears his throat and puts an arm around Jamie. "Um, Jame, you know how your mom has me, Grandma Lydia has Grandpa Jimmy, Aunt Peyton has Uncle Lucas, Aunt Karen has Uncle Andy, Uncle Keith has Aunt Jules and Grandma May has Grandpa Royal? You see where I'm going with this?"

He nods. "They love each other."

"Yes. Good. Yes, they love each other. How about when I kiss your mom and Uncle Lucas kisses Aunt Peyton?"

I'm beginning to worry that this conversation may have diverted from genealogy to land at the thereabouts of The Birds and The Bees.

"Sometimes you and Mama make funny noises when you kiss."

Nathan is as surprised as I am, except his face doesn't look as flushed as mine feels. "Oh. Okay. What I mean is, I love your mother like Uncle Lucas loves Aunt Peyton."

His head moves up and down, and looks up at me with a soulful gaze for a second. "Uh-huh. I love Mommy, too."

I rub his back and kiss the top of his head. For a few beats, Nathan is quiet like he doesn't know how to let the story play out. Jamie's face is creased with some confusion.

"Well, Grandma Deb loved someone, too."

"Grandpa Allan?"

About a year after we moved to Durham, Deb and Allan made it official. They were so in tune, like they'd been together longer than the year they'd actually known each other. It was her second marriage, his first. She wore a grey dress, he wore a white linen suit. Our small wedding party escorted them to the judge's chambers, and in ten minutes, they were married. Jamie has never known any differently.

"Before Grandpa Allan, she loved somebody else."

"Who?"

Nathan swallows visibly. "His name was Dan Scott. He's my father."

Jamie frowns. "Grandpa Allan is not your dad?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because when Grandma Deb and Grandpa Dan loved each other, they had me. Like your mom and I have you."

Jamie then wrinkles his nose. "So Grandma Deb is your mommy and Grandpa Dan is your daddy."

The relief on Nathan's face is obvious. "Exactly."

"But if they're your mommy and daddy, they don't stay together?"

"No."

"Why?"

Nathan pauses briefly, smiles faintly. "Sometimes it's hard being a grownup with another grownup, and so they decided to be apart."

He gazes back and forth between us, looking quite astonished and scared. "Are you and Mommy gonna be apart?"

I suck in my next breath, jumping in at the same time as Nathan with, "No!"

Nathan's arm shifts around Jamie and he pulls him closer. "Not at all. Your mom and I will be together always."

"Promise?"

"Promise," we both say.

This seems to satisfy him because his eyes light up. "I have another grandpa? Where is he?"

Nathan's jaw jerks briefly like the briefest reminder of Dan spikes his blood pressure; he must be more than anxious to change the subject. "He lives in another town."

"Can we go see him? I can give him a picture."

Nathan hesitates, blows out a shaky breath, looks over to me for help.

"Would you like to, um, meet him?" I ask Jamie.

He nods. "Yes! And he can come for my party and I can tell him about everything!"

Yet another seemingly-hard statement that has us swapping another glance.

"We'll ask Grandpa Dan if he wants to meet, okay?" Nathan says with a forced smile. "You want to start on some art for him after you're done with Luke's?"

Jamie slides off the couch and reaches for his project. I'm eager to get away, and Nathan must be, too. Jamie may want to know more about Dan or even want to call him, and the longer we sit there, the more we give him that opportunity to pile us with question after question.

The aftershocks trail us into the kitchen. Nathan's earlier composure has been shaken, and apprehension is poking at him. "Okay. That was some scary crap. I obviously underestimated his facial expressions."

I offer a subtle smile, reaching for the fridge. "You know I don't like telling you 'I told you so.'"

"You know I don't like you telling me lies like those."

I sprout an easy laugh. He rakes a hand through his hair, stirs from foot to foot.

"You handled it very well, Nathan. You drew him in, and you were truthful and to the point."

Lettuce and tomatoes in my hands, I bump the refrigerator door with my hip and place them on the chopping board.

"You mean after you chickened out?" he taunts.

With a smart grin, he flaps his bent arms. He is so silly.

"I didn't chicken out. I just…froze. Were you about to give him the sex talk?"

"Huh?"

I swat his hand away from the tomatoes. "All those bits about kissing and loving each other. If you mentioned kissing with this one, I cannot imagine how raunchy you'll get with the sex talk."

I haven't seen his face collapse so fast in a while. "Me? You're the one giving it."

I wave at the air with the knife. "Pass."

His tall frame moves to stand right across the counter. "You can't pass."

"I can, and I have," I wink.

He huffs. "Correct me if I'm wrong but didn't I turn down the offer to do it? Could you please aim that thing away from me?"

I'm pointing the knife at him. "Your explanation was good. I'd have confused him completely."

"You mean with your big words?"

I give him a slight eye roll. "No. Believe it or not, I understand child-speak. I would have confused him because I'd have drifted from the facts and given him a complete history of your family's structure. Can you imagine when you'll have to explain to him the entire dynamics of it?"

He swipes a slice of tomato. "What are you talking about?"

I pause, the tip of the knife digging into the chopping board. "Don't tell me you've never thought about it?"

"Thought about what?"

"Are you being serious?"

"What are you talking about?"

"The Scott family tree? Were you going to skip over that discussion?"

He sobers up. The wheels spin. "Oh, that."

"You were not planning to tell your son about your family history?"

"Details. It's just never been a top priority."

"By the time he's curious enough, you'll have something. Will you call him tonight?"

He thinks it over for three heartbeats. "Not tonight. Or tomorrow. I can do it after the Fourth."

I know that he's procrastinating until the moment he'll have no choice but to contact Dan. Until then, I guarantee that Jamie will drive him up the wall with questions about his grandfather.

"How do I even begin?" he asks.

"With a hello."

He releases an overly dramatic sigh. "A conversation with Dan Scott may start with hello and end with an insult. I'll probably get so angry that I'll hang up and forget what I wanted to ask. Then I'll feel like a jackass when I call him again, and my pride can't take a beating like that."

"Don't think of it as the worst thing you've ever done."

His brow rises inquisitively.

"Okay, wrong choice of words. Just try to keep your cool and rattle off why you're calling after you exchange pleasantries," I encourage.

"What pleasantries?"

"The weather?"

He comes around the counter and steps up behind me, kisses the nape of my neck. The knife is extracted from my hand and laid aside.

"Speaking of the weather, you know one of the things I like about summer?"

"What?"

Heat crackles like embers. The chemistry between us has always been powerful and unquestionable, and the intimacy – emotional or physical – has always been another promise of love between us. One more thing to bond us.

I shiver in response to the light touches against my skin, his hand bunching the hem of my dress, the material grazing along as he drags it higher over my thigh.

"You wearing these dresses that give me easy, easy access," he murmurs hotly into my hair.

He locks an arm around my waist and draws me back into him. There's an undeniable stirring in my gut as he presses himself tightly against me. I tilt my head, meeting his mouth immediately.

"That will get me through dinner," I say softly against his lips.

"I can give you a couple more."

My cell phone vibrates from the edge of the counter, the sound slamming into our bubble. As my brain resettles, lips still puckered, I reach for it, but just as I'm about to pick it up, it stops.

"That was a quick phone call."

"Who is it?"

I show him the quiet display. "No idea. Unknown. Do you think it could be the camp?"

He tugs the phone from my hand, taps his thumb to the screen to visit the call log. "Using an unknown, blocked number?"

"Or the record label. Dorothy is partial to shocking me. What?"

"What if it's that little turd who tried to chat you up?"

His statement registers slowly. I flinch. My eyes are wide as they bounce from the cell phone to his stony face. "I don't advertise my number. I hardly use my online social account. How could he have gotten it?"

"It wouldn't be that hard if he really wanted it. He'd call up one of the parents with a sob story about needing your number."

The words alarm me. "He can't be that crazy."

Nathan slants his head in question, eyes darkened with seriousness. "What do your instincts tell you about him?"

"That it was good I made myself clear to him."

My stomach contracts as I watch him nod, his gaze drilling into mine. His misgivings are not wiped clear as he quickly kisses my lips and gives me a hug.

"I'm probably overreacting."

I blink as though my mind is clearing and my eyes are coming into some kind of focus. I press my face into his shoulder, taking in a deep inhalation of his scent. Is he really overreacting?

I turn back to the makings of the salad, concentrating on tearing up the lettuce. "Um, why don't you bathe Jamie and I'll finish up here?"

Alone, I'm not nearly somewhat relaxed, uncertainty gnawing at the back of my mind. I stare at my cell phone, analyzing who could have been behind the phone call. A wrong number? Dorothy? Dan? Sam? Before obsession does something to me, I clear the call history.

There. Nothing to write home about.