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to kick, beat and harass each other, and in turn, to kick anyone to the curb that tries any of the above outside our little unit. The only thing I or Sharon want is more of your time. You need to come out to the house more often.”
    “When you get back from Italy,” Caleb agreed, “I’ll eagerly come by to be kicked, beaten and happily harassed.”
    Kent offered to be lead harasser, and though Shay normally would have volunteered her services as well, she held back. History said the more she teased and played with Caleb, the more their attraction bubbled into demand.
    Distracted, she barely registered the final gift—a bottle of wine from their neighbor—until her mother handed it to her.
    “That’s it,” Shay called out and glanced at the sun’s rapid decline.
    “Poker game starts at seven o’clock,” Kent added, rubbing his hands together and elbowing Caleb. “Time to hand over some of that Mac money.”
    Shay sent Kent a warning look. “Poker is hardly the romantic way to end this day.”
    “That’s what Italy is for,” Kent replied. “The way Dad plays poker, he’ll have won big, and Mom can spend more on the trip.”
    “You leave tomorrow,” Caleb offered, “so you need to start packing.”
    Sharon jumped to her feet. “Tomorrow? I can’t leave tomorrow. The house is a mess and—”
    “I’ll clean up,” Shay promised. “And you can pack. A little party mess is no reason to miss Italy.”
    “You’re retired,” Caleb said. “You can make the short notice. The whole idea is to get whisked away from your party like you would from your wedding.”
    “I’m game,” her father said. “In the meantime, I’ll play poker.” He kissed Sharon’s hand and held it in his. “While you do that packing.”
    “Bob!” Sharon objected.
    “Kent’s right,” Bob said quickly. “I win on poker night. That means you get to shop more.”
    “And if you lose?” Sharon asked, propping her free hand on her hip.
    Bob winked. “After forty years, you should know I never lose.”
    Sharon harrumphed. “You always seem to forget that when there’s bad luck.”
    Bob pulled her into his lap. “Because I have a forty-year-old lucky charm.”
    Shay smiled at the two of them, her gaze lifting and brushing Caleb’s—a brush she felt to her toes. They had to talk. But not here, not today. On the phone, where they were a safe distance apart, and she wouldn’t become weak. They’d figure out a way to deal with all this tension between them once and for all—and not by kissing. Talking. Yes, she silently vowed. Talking.
    It was her mother that broke the connection, darting to Caleb for a big hug. Her father followed.
    When the sentimental interlude ended, Caleb said, “When you get back from Italy, why don’t we plan a family outing at the Hotzone? Kent’s the only one who’s been out to jump. We have a huge grill out there. We can barbecue and make a day of it.”
    “Oh, yeah,” Kent said. “It’s a rush you gotta experience to believe.”
    “Sounds lovely,” Sharon said. “As long as I can watch from the ground. That’s as close to jumping out of a plane as I’m getting.”
    “I might just want to try it,” Bob said, his eyes lighting up with the idea.
    “What about you, Shay?” Caleb asked, surprising her.
    “Shay’s been taking flying lessons,” her father bragged, before she could reply. “She made a list of a hundred things she wanted to do before turning fifty, and her pilot’s license is one of her top five to-do items.”
    “Really,” Caleb said. “So flying lessons and what else?”
    “It’s a hundred items,” Shay said, not about to reveal the list that had “finally make love to Caleb” in a high-ranking position. “Too long to detail. But I can assure you that skydiving is not on it. Flying a plane isn’t the same as jumping out of a plane. Somehow the two just don’t mix.” She hesitated a second. “Some things,” she added meaningfully, “are just better