Everyone except one person.

The doorbell rang, cutting through the noise, and your father's face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. He practically jogged to the front door, leaving you mid-conversation with your mother's cousin, who was telling you—for the third time—about her new kidney stone.

You watched as your father pulled open the door, and there he was.

Vance Russo.

He wore a black suit that fit him like it was tailored by someone who knew exactly what they were doing. His dark hair was slightly tousled, like he'd run his fingers through it once and called it done. The light stubble along his jaw caught the warm light from the hallway. He looked like he'd stepped out of a movie your mother would've swooned over.

Your father clapped him on the back, laughing at something he said, and they started walking toward you. Toward you.

You heart slammed against your ribs. You quickly reached up, smoothing down your hair in what you hoped looked casual and not like a panic response. You tugged at the hem of your dress—a little black number you'd spent way too long choosing. You'd convinced yourself it was for the party. You both knew it wasn't.

You were already a few drinks in. That was a mistake. But the liquid courage had felt necessary, and now it was making your cheeks warm and your thoughts fuzzy as they approached.

You fixed a smile on your face, hoping it looked natural rather than slightly manic.

Don't say anything stupid. Don't say anything stupid.