"Landon just invited me to brunch."

As she texted back a quick yes, along with confirmation that Jasmine was fine, Daphne couldn't hold back the smile or the confirmation of just how right things felt between the two of them.

The good did outweigh the bad.

Fender Blackstone considered himself a man who rolled with the punches. From shitty childhood to rebellious adolescence to-surprise, surprise-successful local businessman in adulthood, he credited his success to three things: That roll-with-the-punches attitude.

An easygoing nature that ensured he kept his options open and his eyes even more so.

And an adoptive mother who'd given him the world.

She'd pulled him out of the shitty childhood, went to battle with him through those screw-you teen years, and then staked him his shop when college wasn't the natural path for his life.

She'd seen him through.

"Blackstone! You coming or what?" The knock came hard on the door of his rented trailer. The sounds from the speedway had died down, replaced with revelry and congenial camaraderie as everyone looked forward to more racing the next day.

He'd ducked out to clean up and had decided to check a few messages. A glance at the small clock on the wall indicated he'd spent longer than he'd planned.

"Coming! And don't touch my steak. Sammy cooked it the way I like it."

"Nearly raw," came flying back, along with a muttered curse, and Fender smiled to himself. Nothing like a good steak after a long day messing around with the rest of the pit crew.

With the promise of rare meat urging him on, he turned back to his tablet and finished tapping out a quick e-mail to his mother, smiling once more as his big fingers fumbled over the screen.

Hell yeah, she'd seen him through.

So it was only right he helped her figure out how to deal with Gretchen Fucking Reynolds, the prim, vengeful bitch of Park Avenue.

He'd stepped in quietly last month, after the news had come out that she'd been rousting his mother, giving her a hard time and threatening to expose Louisa's affair with her husband so long ago there wasn't anyone left to care. His mother had nearly dropped her bid for borough president because of it-a job she'd be amazing at. It had taken considerable effort and a thoroughly united front, including Mrs. W., to finally convince her to keep with it.

All of them supported her, but once their mother agreed to stay the course on the election, Landon checked out. He struggled with the affair part and hadn't seen his way past it yet. Fender knew Nick had tried to talk to Landon without getting too far, and figured he'd leave his brother alone a few more weeks before he butted in. Easygoing only worked for so long.

In the meantime, L needed to work through his own demons. They all saw Mama Lou as pretty much perfect, and L saw the adultery as a betrayal. And Fender got it. Not the silent treatment or taking it quite so hard, but he did understand the more unfortunate side of the ghosts of Landon's past that got all rattled up on this one.

He'd never said anything, but Landon's birth mother's reputation wasn't a secret around Park Heights when they were kids. His father had taken a go or two at her, although, as Fender recalled it, without much success. Lucky for her.

But that didn't mean there weren't quite a few who had been successful.

So yeah, he got why L was upset. And while he wasn't personally comfortable with adultery as a rule, he also figured he had no right to judge something that happened before he had a stake in the outcome.

Handling Gretchen Fucking Reynolds, on the other hand. That was an absolute.

Funnily enough, his nosing around had paid dividends. And while he might not have the money to go toe-to-toe with a Park Avenue monster, he did have enough moxie to make her think twice about who she was messing with. Her husband hadn't been perfect, nor had adultery been his only sin. If that news came out, it would be awfully unpleasant to sit on charity boards or attend one elaborate ball after another.

Kincade Reynolds might be dead, but his legacy wasn't. And if his wife wanted it to remain untarnished, she'd better leave his damn family alone.

Landon shoved his phone into his pocket, absurdly happy in spite of the hard-on that had tortured him every step of the way home. Daphne was in for brunch tomorrow.

He'd deliberately walked from her place, determined to work off the heat and need that still pounded his system in torrents. The distance hadn't done much in the way of cooling him off, but it minimized the time he'd climb the walls in his own place.

And because he'd done the right thing, he walked the steps of the self-righteous as he headed for home.

Whether or not it felt like it at the moment.

Daphne's friend was obviously miserable, and there was no way he could have played the jerk and shoved the woman on her not-so-merry way. He was a stand-up guy and after thirty-three years of living, he was hard pressed to give it up.

Which sucked donkey balls when it meant walking away from a beautiful-and willing-woman.

He was tempted to text Fender, but all he'd get was a bunch of trash talk and no one to say yes to a few beers, since his brother was up at Watkins Glen. And Fender, that perceptive bastard, would quickly read between what would no doubt be grumpy lines of texts anyway, only adding teeth to the inevitable trash talk.

Nick was out, too. Based on the looks he was always giving Emma, interrupting there would be akin to what had just taken place on Daphne's front porch.

Only he'd be the bedraggled princess, desperate for a friend.

Nope. Only thing for it was a cold shower and a cold beer-maybe both at the same time-and a big fantasy of what might happen Sunday afternoon after brunch.

Because she'd said yes.

He turned into the entrance to his building, where a bright glow emanated from the foyer. Soft sconces bounced light off the marble entryway and he hopped the few steps to the interior door, pulling it open and narrowly missing his foot as it swung.

Slow down, McGee. Or when you do finally get your shot you'll be fumbling over yourself like a fucking teenager.

The internal reprimand-and the image of fumbling over Daphne-was enough to slow him down, and he visualized the cold beer that was in his very near future.

He nearly breezed by the woman who blocked his path from the entry door to the elevator, when he stopped, his body rigid with recognition.

And as every thought drained from his mind save one, a wave of blistering cold enveloped him like a wave.

Amber McGee had returned.

Ten.

Time. Air. Anger. Hurt.

Landon whirled through his disparate thoughts, unable to make a single one stick.

Nothing would fucking land.

Except that she was here.

After all this time. And there was no air. Not one single breath would take root in his goddamned lungs. Not one single thought could get past the wall of anger and the shocking wellspring of hurt that bore through his chest with all the finesse of a jackhammer.

She was here.

"Do you know who I am?" The question was quiet-low and breathy and barely audible-and yet she might as well have announced it with a megaphone.

Did he know who she was?

Every bit of shock and anger coalesced into action at her question. He bit off the curse that sprang to his lips, even as a litany of fuck yous ricocheted through his mind.

Did he know her?

He pushed past her and right on past the elevator, veering into a small alcove that housed the steps to his apartment. The emotional work of nearly a quarter century vanished in the reality of her.

Gone in a heartbeat, up in smoke thicker than the haze from a joint.

His mother.

The root of everything he was, everything he'd become, and everything he hated about himself pounded in tempo with his racing pulse. Footsteps echoed behind him, the noise daring him to turn around, but he headed for the stairs, his legs already clearing the first two when she spoke.

"Landon. Please."

It was the please that stopped him. Along with the consideration, understanding, and compassion that had been invested in him in the previous twenty-five years.

He stilled but didn't turn around.

"Please talk to me. For just a moment. All I want is a moment."

The pleasant, sexy buzz that had hummed in his veins had vanished, replaced with a wash of anger, frustration, and rage. Like an animal in high frenzy, it clawed at him from the inside, desperate to get out. Anxious to attack her and make her feel as horrible as he did.

"Why are you here?"

"I understand you had some trouble recently."

He did turn at that, that rocking frenzy struggling with the change in topic and a new direction for some of the anger.

Had Daphne brought his mother to his door? Was that why Amber was here, blindsiding him?

He remained on the stairs, looking down at her. "What do you understand?"

"Your business. I've followed it. Online. The news story Brooklyn Today did on you. You're doing some amazing work. The Clues and Jewels game is one of my favorites."

She followed his business? Him? She knew his work?

"And?"

"And I understand you had a break-in the other night. I just thought-" She stopped, her gaze dropping to the floor. "I just wanted to make sure you knew I wasn't involved."

"Right. Sure."

"And I'm sorry if I've surprised you."

"Yeah, fine."

"Landon." She moved a few steps closer, then took one back as if she'd thought better of it. "I'm sorry if I've surprised you. I've been thinking about you, and I got off work and walked this way. I didn't expect to run into you, but once I saw you I thought-" She stopped again, her voice hitching. "I wanted to say hello."

"Fine. You did that."

"I'm sorry."

She turned to leave and as she moved he caught the lightest scent. Strawberry shampoo. Their bathroom had perpetually smelled of it, and it was the one thing that never failed to remind him of her.

"You have a job?" The question slipped out. He wasn't interested, and he didn't want to know, but damn it, the words had taken over, the question spilling like a runaway avalanche from his brain to his lips.

The question was enough to stop her, and she stared up at him. It struck him that the last time he'd seen her, he'd been the one looking up. Confused. Angry. And strangely desolate that she was giving him up.

And now he stared down at her, a grown man staring directly into his past.

"Yes. I've been a waitress at Moe's for a few years now. Before that I was in Richmond for about twenty years. I went there after-" She took a deep breath. "I moved there a few years after you were adopted. After I got clean."

Vague memories assailed him of her mentions of growing up in Richmond before running from Virginia to New York the summer between her freshman and sophomore years of high school. It was curious that she'd gone back, but he refused to ask any more questions.

It was even more curious, though, that she was back in Brooklyn. And clean, too?

He knew Moe's. It was a small place known for its quiet alcoves and dark lighting. The locals usually dubbed it a good date place but he'd occasionally gotten Moe's take out, too.

Yet he'd never seen her.

Hell, he wasn't sure what he'd have done if he had.

"So you've seen me. And you're not responsible for breaking into my office. And you're clean. I guess that sums it up."

Subtle lines stamped her face, a departure from the youthful visage he'd remembered, but light enough to suggest her story of getting off drugs was a reality. If she had done the hard work she claimed, she'd have been off drugs and alcohol before the age of thirty. Enough time to stave off the worst ravages, if she'd stayed clean.

"I guess it does." When he said nothing further, she gave him a small nod. The movement was slight, but it was enough to send another cloud of strawberry shampoo floating his way. "I'd better get going."

She slipped from the alcove, moving out of view in the work of a few steps.

Unable to stand any longer, Landon sank down to the steps just as his knees buckled.

Daphne floated around the apartment, dusting, changing her sheets, and primping all at the same time. She had the energy of a manic fairy and just enough vision to see what might happen in the small space later that afternoon.

If she was lucky.

She grinned to herself and confirmed on a quick pass by the mirror that she was channeling that manic fairy to a T, her eyes alight with some serious joy.

Talking to her reflection, she added a little boogie step. "If he's lucky, you mean."

She boogied on, working her way around her bed as she smoothed the top sheet over the fitted. She hummed a small, mindless tune as she tucked in the corners of her sheets, the folds military-crisp. Freeing her inner crazy Tinker Bell or not, she still took pride in her chores.