Mollie had never gotten Shawn’s side of the story. He’d dumped her three days later due to “lack of chemistry.” Sadly, Mollie hadn’t even been able to disagree. The guy had never exactly set her loins on fire.

“There hasn’t been anyone serious,” Mollie told Jackson, taking a sip of beer. “That’s kind of the problem. I’m twenty-eight. I want to be dating for at least two years before I get married, then engaged for a year to plan my epic wedding. Then I want to be married for at least a year before the first kid—”

He held up a hand. “Stop. Too much math.”

She propped her chin on her hand and looked at him. “Does that mean you’re not going to fix me up with some hottie at Oxford?”

“Hell no.”

“Come on,” she coaxed. “I bet that place is dripping with hot guys.”

He winced. “Not answering that.”

“What if I gave you, like, a list of requirements, and you tell me if you’ve got a match?”

“Nope.” He took another sip of beer.

She plodded on anyway, just because it was kind of fun to see him a little bit discomfited. “Dark hair, blue eyes. Tall. Chiseled jaw. Muscular.”

“Chiseled jaw? What the fuck is that?”

She used her bottle to gesture at his jawline. “Look in the mirror.”

“Don’t be weird,” he muttered.

“Fine, but let’s go back to the hot guys at Oxford. Somehow I’m thinking that they’re a hell of a lot better-looking than the ones who work in the lab with me.”

He glared at her. “I wouldn’t let those guys anywhere near you.”

“Oh, come on. Set me up with one of the ones you’ve made friends with. Someone you trust.”

He looked away, and Mollie’s mouth dropped. “Jackson. You have made friends, right?”

“I mostly keep to myself,” he muttered.

“Do they keep to themselves?”

“Hell no. They’re always all up in everybody’s business. Especially mine.”

“Well, man up! Let them in. You need friends. Non-football friends for your non-football life.”

His eyes lit with anger, and she knew she’d struck a nerve. She’d meant to. He was too good a guy to become a hermit in his thirties.

“I’m not setting you up with one of them,” he said again as he took a sip of beer.

“But if you were going to set me up…”

“God. I’d forgotten how incapable you were of dropping stuff. Okay, fine. There’s a guy with dark hair and blue eyes, and his jaw could be considered…chiseled.”

Mollie fanned herself. “Name?”

“Lincoln Mathis.”

“Marital status?”

“Single. Jesus, you think I’d set you up with a married man?”

“Handsome?”

“Sure, Mollie. A total dreamboat.”

“Dreamboat, Burke?”

She could have sworn she saw him flush. “My mom uses the phrase.”

Oh my God, you’re cute. “Speaking of your mom, did she tell you that she dyed her hair pink for a day after losing a bet to one of her bridge friends?”

Jackson blinked in surprise. “Sure she told me, but how do you know about that?”

Mollie shrugged. “She mentioned it on the phone the other day.”

“You talk to my mom on the phone?” He looked stunned.

“Well, not like every day or anything,” she said, feeling uncomfortable. “But we keep in touch. I like her.”

Jackson was staring at her, and Mollie squirmed. “I guess I can stop if that’s weird for you.”

“No,” he said quickly. “It’s just…I didn’t know. I bet she loves that. She always wanted a daughter, and it’s not like…you know.”

Mollie did know. It wasn’t like Madison had been much of a daughter.

Mollie hadn’t witnessed much of Madison and Jackson’s early courtship; her sister had always made a big deal about not wanting to introduce a man into Mollie’s life until Madison was sure the man was there to stay. Back then, Mollie had thought this was sweet—had bought into her sister’s pretty words that Mollie had had too many people abandon her for Madison to put her through it again. It wasn’t until years later that Mollie wondered if Madison hadn’t merely been trying to plant put-a-ring-on-it thoughts in Jackson’s head.

But regardless of Madison’s motives, Mollie knew that in those early years Madison had been perfect, doting daughter-in-law material. But Jackson’s mother had once let it slip after one too many lemon drops that Madison had changed once the ring was on her finger. Subtly at first, being a little less considerate, a little more impatient. By the time Jackson and Madison had reached their three-year anniversary, Maddie had taken to claiming a “stomach bug” on major holidays to avoid the Burkes.

Jackson had tried to pretend that he was okay with it—that he understood family dynamics were hard for Madison because of the way she’d grown up. But Mollie knew it ate at him, knew that he desperately wished that the three most important people in his life had gotten along.

“Thanks,” Jackson said gruffly.

Mollie’s head shot up. “What?”

He lifted a shoulder. “For staying in touch with my mom. She always liked you. Although why she didn’t tell me you guys were all chatty is interesting.”