LUCK OF THE DRAW

ASHEVILLE BREWING #5

A.R. CASELLA

DENISE GROVER SWANK

LAUGHING HEART PRESS

Copyright © 2021 by A.R. Casella and Denise Grover Swank

Cover design: Okay Creations

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Epilogue

Bonus Epilogue!

Fraudulently Ever After

Also by A.R. Casella and Denise Grover Swank

About the Author

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

DEE

“Boys, I’m home!” I called out as I walked through the back door into the kitchen.

“In here,” my mother said, her voice coming from the living room.

I dropped my purse on the kitchen table and headed toward the sound of the TV.

SpongeBob was on the screen, and my two boys were slouched on the sofa, while my mother sat in an armchair, knitting who knew what. She was always making scarves and blankets for me, the boys, her friends, and charities. But my mother had no sense of color coordination, nor was she a very good knitter. She’d given the boys and me sweaters last Christmas, but Liam refused to wear his purple and bright yellow cardigan to school, and Oliver’s left sleeve was five inches longer than his left. Needless to say, many of her gifts were shoved into the backs of drawers and closets.

“How were things tonight?” I asked.

“Good,” my mother said with a smile. “They both did their homework and ate their dinner and had their showers. I told them they could watch some TV before they went to bed.”

“No one watches TV anymore,” my thirteen-year-old son, Liam, said in a bored tone, leaning his elbow against the sofa arm, his chin on his hand. “They watch YouTube. And TikTok.” But he kept his gaze on the scene of SpongeBob taking a boating test.

“Ollie, did you study for your spelling test tomorrow?”

“Yep,” my ten-year-old son said, then looked up at me. “I’m hungry.”

My mother laughed. “That boy must have a hollow leg. He had three hot dogs and two helpings of mac and cheese for dinner.”

I placed my hand on his damp head. “Must be a growth spurt.”

Thankfully, I still had Liam’s old clothes, so he wouldn’t need a whole new wardrobe. My soon-to-be ex-husband was barely current with his child support and refused to contribute anything “extra.” Like clothes were extra.

“Want me to make you a peanut butter sandwich?” I asked. That was the plan for my dinner.

“Yes, please.”

I smiled down at him. He was still sweet and unsurly, but I knew those days would be ending soon.

Mom got up from her chair and followed me into the kitchen.

“You need more for dinner than peanut butter and bread, Dee,” she chided.

I pulled the peanut butter jar and bread out of the cabinet. “I’m exhausted, Mom, and the thought of a hot dog makes me want to hurl.”

“Another bad day at the phone bank?”

I made a face. My mother knew my job was telemarketing—cold-calling people to sell them rip-off Caribbean cruises—but she liked to dress it up by calling it a phone bank. “The same as any other day.”

My Monday to Friday, 11-7 schedule was horrible. The ten dollars an hour sucked, and trying to convince people to sign up for scammy cruises was a blow to my integrity. But integrity couldn’t buy hot dogs and macaroni and cheese. Nor could it pay the mortgage on a three-bedroom house I could afford less every time the property value was reassessed. I was hoping to avoid selling before the end of the school year so the boys wouldn’t have to switch schools mid-year, because I already knew I couldn’t afford another home close enough for them to go back, but it would be tight.

“You could always move in with me,” Mom said in a know-it-all tone as she stuffed her knitting into her bag.

This was not a new topic of conversation. We’d been having it since my asshole ex left us to move in with his pregnant girlfriend and her two kids early last fall.

I forced a smile. “Once again, thank you for the offer, but we’re fine.”

“You’re not fine,” she said with a frown. “You’re barely treading water, and if you lived with me, I wouldn’t have to come over three or four days a week to watch the boys.”

More guilt heaped onto a seemingly endless pile. If I’d been a better wife, Randy wouldn’t have cheated. If I’d only lost that last fifteen pounds after Ollie was born, he might have been more attracted to me. If I were a better cook, maybe my boys wouldn’t only see their father every Tuesday night and every other weekend.

I rested my hand on the counter. “I’m sorry, Mom. You know I’m trying to find a different job. I have an interview next Monday. An admin job at a doctor’s office.”

Her eyes widened. “How are you qualified for something like that?”

I knew she meant well, but sometimes her lack of confidence in me hurt worse than Randy’s.

Still, I understood the source of her hesitation. I’d never gone to college, and while I’d had a good job as an office manager before Liam was born, that had been over thirteen years ago. Randy and I had agreed that I’d stay home with the kids. Then he’d left abruptly, propelling me into the job market with a human-sized gap in my résumé. It had taken me two months to find my current telemarketing job, and I’d felt lucky to have a paycheck. But every day felt like the one before, in a soul-sucking, hopeless way. And I’d still be wallowing in those feelings if Bear, my sponsor in the Bad Luck Club, hadn’t pushed me to apply for a new job as my biweekly challenge.

Actually, he had challenged me to apply to no less than five jobs. He’d even picked them out, knowing I’d freak out and apply for the positions that required the least experience. I was pretty sure one of them, an opening posted by a portrait artist specializing in clowns, was his idea of a joke, but I applied to them all anyway. While I hadn’t gotten any of the positions, I had gotten an interview, which had inspired me to keep looking. Now, after a successful phone interview, I had an in-person interview at a busy gastroenterologist’s office. The pay was only slightly more than what I made now, but the hours were better and there was room for advancement, or at least for me to take my experience and move up somewhere else. It was promising, and for the first time in months, I didn’t feel so hopeless.

“Is Randy still getting the kids tomorrow?”

I grabbed a butter knife out of the drawer and started to slather peanut butter on the bread. “Yeah. Sheree is picking them up after school.”

“What kind of name is Sheree?” Mom asked in disgust for the umpteenth time. “She sounds like a floozy.”

“Mom!” I whisper-shouted. “You can’t say that around the boys. What if they tell their father or Sheree?”

She lifted her chin. “They have a right to know their father hooked up with a loose woman.”

That was the problem, though. I didn’t think Sheree was all that loose. Randy had told her he was separated, and she was young enough to fall for his bullshit. Even if she had two kids.

“Stop. She’s a nice woman, and she’s good to the boys.”

My mother’s face contorted with anger. “You’re far too nice, Deeandra. You let people walk all over you.”

I stared at her, mentally shaking my head at the irony. I’d spent my entire life letting her walk all over me. Was it any wonder I let everyone else do it too?

But I couldn’t tell her that, no matter how many times Bear gave me challenges that practically screamed “tell your mother off.” He’d given me that exact challenge in the beginning, which had earned me a demerit when I hadn’t followed through. Given that the Bad Luck Club had a three-and-a-half-strikes-and-you’re-out policy, and I was at two and a half demerits, Bear had resorted to skirting the issue. The fact was, I couldn’t afford to piss my mother off, both literally and figuratively. So for now, I bit my tongue.

“You must be exhausted. Go on home,” I said with a wave. “I appreciate you helping me with the boys.” Which was true. She didn’t have to help, and she didn’t rub my nose in the fact that she babysat her grandsons for free, like my friend Samantha’s mother did with her. And as much as my mother bossed me around, I knew her heart was in the right place.

She left, but not before mentioning that I’d left a sink full of dirty dishes that morning, that the back yard needed mowing and it wasn’t too soon to assign Liam that task, and when was the last time I’d changed the oil in my car?

I breathed a sigh of relief when she finally backed her car out of the driveway, then took a plate full of peanut butter sandwiches out to the living room, plopping down in the middle of the sofa.

“Did you cut mine into triangles?” Ollie asked as he snuggled into my side.

“Yep. Yours is on top.”

He snatched both triangles and resumed his snuggled position.

“I want a sandwich,” Liam said wistfully.

“I knew you would, so yours is on top of mine,” I said, holding the plate out to him. “Peanut butter and marshmallow creme, only don’t tell Grandma or she’ll throw a fit.”

Both boys giggled as Liam took his sandwich and grinned. “Rectangles.”

“You said you were too old for triangles, as though that were a thing.” I took my whole sandwich and placed the empty plate on the coffee table. “Now, tell me about your day. I want to hear about everything.”

Shockingly, they shared. Ollie told me more than his brother, of course, but Liam shared too. It helped that I knew he’d given a social studies presentation about Egypt and asked plenty of questions about his project as well as the other kids’ presentations. They were talkative, Liam more so than usual, so I was sad when I noticed the time, and reluctantly announced it was ten minutes past bedtime.

“Do we have to go to Dad’s tomorrow?” Ollie asked in a quiet voice.

I turned to face him, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “You don’t like going to Dad’s?”

He made a face, so I turned to Liam.

He shrugged. “It’s okay. It’s just not home.”

I wrapped my arms around them and held them close. “I know this is hard, but your dad loves you and wants to see you.” Because, for all the grief Randy had given me, he did love his sons. “So this is the way it needs to be.”

It had taken me months to accept our new life, so it was unreasonable to expect our kids to jump into it wholeheartedly. In the beginning, I’d felt hurt and betrayed, but as the months passed, those feelings had shifted. In spite of my awful job and the fear of not knowing what would come next, I felt a growing sense of personal freedom, something I hadn’t even realized I’d lost. Randy had always been a little controlling, but it had gotten worse after I quit my job to stay home. He said he was making all the money and should have most of the say. And like the good little girl I’d been raised to be, I hadn’t made a fuss. I’d gone along with what he wanted. And somewhere along the way, I’d lost myself.

My best friend, Samantha, was coincidentally going through a divorce too. While mine was all sorted out and we were just waiting for the year waiting period to pass, hers was still in mediation, which wasn’t going particularly well. Mostly because, unlike me, Samantha wasn’t one to lie down and accept unjust terms to make things easier for everyone else.

Our kids were with their fathers the same weekends, and she’d decided that we would spend those weekends figuring out who we were now. Mostly, I’d learned who I wasn’t. The vase I’d made in pottery class had been so crooked, it fell and broke, putting itself out of its own misery. Sam and I had gone to a wine and painting class and downed too much wine, so we’d ended the night by creating a massive bonfire in the back yard with our unicorn “masterpieces.” (Mine had somehow ended up with two horns.) I’d even tried my hand at cake decorating, but the Festive Luau Pig Cake I’d found on Pinterest and made for my friends in the Bad Luck Club had turned into an evil-eyed Porky Pig monstrosity that tasted even worse than it looked, although most of my friends had been nice enough to lie about it.

Still, Sam had pushed me to stretch my limitations. Which was how we’d ended up at one of my friend Blue’s new knitting classes at her studio. I’d decided I was done with trying to find myself after I got so tangled up in my yarn, I’d literally started to strangle myself.

So Sam and I had started staying home on our solo weekends, drinking wine and watching rom-coms, which, I decided, wasn’t a bad hobby at all. I rather liked staying home. But Sam, who had done her share of wallowing after finding her ex screwing the babysitter on her kids’ art table, was an overachiever. It only took a few weekends of our revised “chill” plan before she decided she was ready to take life by the arms and shake it.

A few weekends ago, Sam had paused the movie we were watching and cleared her throat as if she were about to make an important pronouncement. “We only have one life, Dee, and it’s time to live it.”

Which I agreed with in theory…from my comfy perch on the sofa, eating Dove chocolate and drinking moscato while watching Tom Hanks woo Meg Ryan. But what Sam really meant was that it was time to go out and pick up guys.

That was way too far out of my comfort zone. Still, she was my best friend. On our last free weekend, I’d agreed to be her wingwoman, and she’d flirted it up with multiple guys while I nursed the single drink I’d allowed myself as the designated driver. No one had paid attention to me, which had been both a blessing and a curse, only reinforcing that Randy was right. I was frumpy, tired, and unattractive. He’d made sure to tell me as he walked out the door that I’d been lucky to keep him as long as I had.

On our drive home, Sam had delicately suggested that what I really needed was a makeover, not because I wasn’t already beautiful, but because I needed to see a change so I’d finally believe it. I’d told her she was drunk and a good friend, and then she’d never mentioned it again.

But her words had sat in the back of my head for almost two weeks, like two sides of a scale, teetering back and forth. The Dee who couldn’t draw the attention of a man if she were on fire, running through a crowd, versus a new version of me—one who wasn’t gorgeous like Sam and Blue, because I was always going to be me, but who made the most out of what she had. A version of Dee who might catch the attention of one man, because, really, that was all I needed. Just one good man.

I shook my head. I needed another man like I needed a hole bored into my head with the Dremel drill Randy had left in the garage—the one I’d “accidentally given away to Goodwill,” but which was really hidden in the hall closet next to the maroon and metallic silver sweater my mother had knitted me for Christmas.

I sent the boys to bed, then put on my worn-out pajamas and climbed into bed, flipping on HGTV, dreaming of buying a run-down house and fixing it up. Who was I kidding? I wanted those smoking-hot Property Brothers to do it for me so I could watch the muscles on their arms and backs tighten and flex as they drove those sledgehammers into walls. Of course, Bear and his sexy son Cal were flipping a house, but Cal was more like a slightly younger brother than someone for me to ogle. Besides, it was better to keep it firmly in the realm of fantasy. It had been a decade and a half since I’d gone on my last first date.

My phone dinged, and I jumped, thinking it was Sam calling me out via text for drooling over the twins. Instead, it was a text from Bear.

How are you doing with your challenge?

Anxiety clenched my gut.

The Bad Luck Club was for people who felt down on their luck and wanted to change their lives around. I’d stumbled onto it last fall after I’d posted a bunch of items up for sale on Craigslist in an attempt to get enough money to pay the electric bill. As usual, I started scanning the free section to see if there were any offerings that might be good for the boys, and Bear’s ad had caught my eye, especially the line that said, The lucky need not apply. So I’d gone to a meeting and discovered the Bad Luck Club was more like a support group meets truth or dare.

One of the group’s rules required complete honesty between sponsors and sponsees. Bear knew my deepest, darkest secrets and fears. We were there to grow, and in keeping with that, sponsors created biweekly challenges to help their sponsees overcome the fears holding them back. The challenges had a theme, picked from a fishbowl into which we all contributed our ideas. They were usually generic enough to be applied to everyone’s goals.

Last week’s theme was to do something naughty, submitted by my own sponsee, Nicole, who lived to do naughty things. (I’d protested, citing that very fact, but Bear and Cal, the founders of the group, thought some of the other members, specifically Harry and me, could benefit from the challenge.) So the day after the meeting Bear had sent a text, telling me to do something that breaks some rules. A week and a half had passed, meaning I only had a few days left, and I still hadn’t done my challenge, let alone figured out what to do. I wasn’t typically a rule breaker, and while turning in the boys’ library books a day late would technically qualify as breaking a rule, I was pretty sure that wasn’t what Bear had in mind.

I had to come up with something, or I was out of the club.

The whole purpose of the Bad Luck Club was to graduate. Blue had graduated almost two months ago, but she’d been ready. I wasn’t even close. I was still lost and confused about my new purpose in life. I needed the support of the club members, which meant I needed to put more effort into coming up with a plan.

I texted Bear back, Still working on it.

He responded right away. Let me know if you need help.

I’d just started to put my phone down when it dinged with another text. I figured it was Bear, encouraging me to call him, but it was Samantha.

Our Saturday is starting in the afternoon. I’m picking you up at three. And don’t ask what we’re doing. It’s a surprise.

Ordinarily, I’d be thrilled, but part of me worried that Sam had remembered her drunken promise. What should I wear?

Whatever you want. Yoga pants are fine.

I pushed out a sigh of relief. That meant hanging out at a bar was out. Perfect.

There was a moment’s hesitation before she sent, Have you completed your challenge yet?

Bad Luck Club was like Fight Club—we weren’t supposed to talk about it or share its secrets. But Samantha was my best friend, and I didn’t think Bear would want me risking our lifetime of friendship by keeping every little aspect of the club secret. So of course she knew about my challenges. What’s more, she encouraged me to complete them. She was thrilled Bear had challenged me to do something that broke the rules.

No.

I’ve been thinking about it, and I have the perfect solution. Just leave it to me.

Why am I suddenly terrified?

It’s perfectly legal, she said, and I promise it will meet the requirements of your challenge.

I knew I should question her further, but I still had no plan and a rapidly approaching deadline, and I was too mentally exhausted to think of anything.

Fine.

Yay! Now that that is settled, I’ll let you get back to TV’s hottest twins.

I rolled my eyes, because of course she’d known what I was doing, and set my phone on my nightstand. I was terrified what Sam had cooked up, but I was more terrified of losing the Bad Luck Club.

Bring it, Sam.

CHAPTER TWO

DYLAN

“Okay,” River said, glancing from me to Daniel. “You both know what to do if any of Aunt Dottie’s friends show up uninvited, right?”

“Let’s be real, you’re talking about Lurch and Josie,” Daniel said. I’d never met either of them, but it was impossible to work at Buchanan Brewery without hearing the stories. Lurch, aka Luke Dotson, had pissed in one of the kettles of brewing beer, and they’d had to throw all of them out because he couldn’t remember which one. The brewery had been closed for three months after that.

Daniel had told me that story during my second day on the job. I’d thought he was taking the piss, so to speak, but no. That actually happened.

Only in Asheville, my sister, Tina, would say. Which was her response to pretty much everything I told her. Really, she should revise her catchphrase to Only at Buchanan Brewery, because I’d quickly come to realize I’d found myself in a special subset of strange.

My brother would probably have said the same. If he weren’t several states away and currently not talking to me.

River spread a few headshots out on the table, as if this were a war room rather than a private office in the exhibit center at the NC Arboretum. It was River’s wedding day. Shouldn’t he be hanging out with his groomsmen, drinking whiskey or Buchanan beer, not giving his bartenders a pep talk about strong-arming wedding crashers?

Plenty of strange things had happened when I was enlisted. One guy had been messing around, pretending to shoot himself in the foot, when he accidentally did it. Another guy ate something so spicy from a market that he literally lost his sense of taste. Still hadn’t come back, to this day. My family wasn’t exactly normal either. They were so up in each other’s business that my sister had known my brother’s wife was pregnant before he did, and my grandmother had started doing the rosary for my sister every night since she found out she was on birth control. She was still doing it, seven years later. But somehow this was more bizarre.

“Um, River, what are we supposed to do if someone does crash the wedding?” Daniel asked. He glanced at me. “I mean, maybe Dylan could physically remove them, but I’m not even sure I could carry Josie across the gardens. Lurch? That’s all Dylan.”

While his faith in me was touching, I doubted my knee could stand up to bodily carrying a grown man across a wedding reception.

I said as much.

River sighed and ran a hand through his hair, which he probably wasn’t supposed to do given it looked like it had some kind of spray or pomade in it. Not his usual look. Then again, it wasn’t every day a guy got married.

I should know.

The thought shouldn’t bother me anymore, but it did. It wasn’t my ex-wife I missed, because I’d long since realized we were all wrong for each other and too young and stupid to know it, but I do regret the future I’d thought I was going to have. Because I literally couldn’t.

And that was how I’d ended up here, in this place that seemed to collect lost people. Broken people. And downright strange people.

Like most people in Buchanan Brewery’s periphery, I was brought here by Dottie Hendrickson, River’s great-aunt.

I’d come to Asheville a couple of months ago on vacation with one of my buddies from the Marines. He’d suggested that my life would instantly seem less constricting once I left the orbit of my family. The plan was to let off steam. Have some beers. Hike in the mountains.

And somehow we found ourselves in Buchanan’s tasting room when a fight broke out between two guys. A girl was caught up in the middle of it, trying to stop them from beating on each other, although she only managed to catch a hit herself. I didn’t stop to ask what was happening—I stepped in and put a stop to it. The guys were bruised up pretty good, and the girl had a bloody nose, but at least no one ended up in the hospital.

Turned out the guy who’d started it was a bartender. Something to do with an open relationship, which completely defied my understanding. Why bother having a relationship if you were going to invite other people into it?

An Asheville thing, Tina would say.

To which my brother, Matteo, would probably reply, Only a masochist would leave their family and a perfectly good job to become a bartender in a city of swingers.

Either way, the bartender had found himself out of a job, and the tasting room manager, Dottie, had asked to speak to me.

My buddy, Ray, had sat back and watched everything unfold with a smile on his face. He’d known I would talk to Dottie, whose eccentricity was the kind that didn’t have to creep up on you—how many older ladies have bright pink hair?—just like he’d known I’d step in to break up the fight.

Saint Dylan, they’d called me in the Marines. As the middle child of three siblings, I’d naturally been the peacemaker, and it seemed I’d carried that habit to war with me.

But Dottie had brought us both beers, on the house, so Ray was content to chill and drink his beer while she sat me down at a separate table.

For a moment she just studied me, and it was kind of creepy the way she was staring, like she was seeing past the surface of my skin. We might have sat there for a solid minute before she spoke. Finally, she nodded as if satisfied and said, “You’re in exactly the right place at exactly the right time.”

Somehow I knew she wasn’t talking about the way I’d stopped the fight. Still, I responded as if I didn’t know any better. “Yeah, I’m glad to help.”

She tilted her head at an angle, looking at me again. “How would you like a job, my dear?”

“But you don’t even know my name.” For some reason that was the first thought that came to mind, not the fact that I didn’t really need a job since I already sort of had one at my dad’s sporting goods store, or that I lived in North Adams, Massachusetts and was only here on vacation.

“I don’t need to. I see you.”

Normally, I would have written that off as some spooky bullshit, but there was something different about Dottie. Like maybe she did understand me, however impossible that was. Like maybe she saw something in me that I was too blind to see in myself. I didn’t accept her offer that night, because I’m not totally crazy, but I came back the next day and told her I’d take the job.

Because what the hell. Being home had worked for me at first, when I was healing, but it had stopped feeling right a long time ago.

I started a week later, after moving what little I owned to an apartment in West Asheville. And dammit if it hadn’t been the right call. The water pressure sucked, and all of the furniture in my place had something wrong with it, but it was mine, and I didn’t have to ask my parents every time I wanted to invite someone over.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Finally, River sighed, deep and loud, wrenching me back to the present. “I don’t know. Distract them. Trip them. Just please make sure they don’t ruin this for Georgie. She’s planned out this day in notebook upon notebook, but there’s no planning for Lurch and Josie. Or for any of Aunt Dottie’s other friends, for that matter. If you see a wedding crasher, assume the worst and try to stop them.”

“Roger,” I said, throwing him a salute. Not the kind of thing I should be throwing a civilian’s way, but it was obvious he needed to relax.

Daniel mimicked the gesture. “We’ve got your back.”

The assurance would be more convincing if Daniel weren’t the most unreliable person alive. He was a good guy, and I counted him as a friend, but when he wasn’t at work, he smoked weed from dawn until dusk.

“Thanks, guys. Why don’t you head out to the bar? They’re going to let people grab drinks before the ceremony.”

“My man,” Daniel said, giving him another pat and heading for the door.

It was on the tip of my tongue to remind him that we weren’t supposed to drink, at least not until our replacements arrived halfway through the reception. Daniel would doubtless stay, while I would be headed home the first chance I got.

Weddings weren’t my thing, even though I liked River and Georgie. He made the beer at Buchanan, and she ran the brewery, along with her three siblings. It was the kind of story you might find in the New York Times wedding column, which I only knew about because my sister was obsessed with reading it at the breakfast table. Of course, there was little chance of them getting any space in the New York Times given Georgie’s real estate magnate father, who was a public disgrace due to a collection of felony charges I hadn’t been here long enough to learn about.

Still, River and Georgie deserved to have everything work out according to their plans.

So I nodded to him before I left and added, “Don’t worry. After four years in the Marines, I’m pretty sure I can handle policing a wedding reception.”

He smiled at me, but it looked a little forced, and who could blame him?

If Lurch had gotten River’s brewery closed down for three months with a little pee, what might he do to his wedding?

* * *

The weather was perfect, not like the day of my wedding, which had turned into an ice storm people still talked about. Dottie would probably have something to say about that. She liked talking about signs, usually to people who didn’t know better than to duck out of the conversation before it got rolling.

Normally, when we tended bar at Buchanan, we just pulled beers, but in addition to the kegs, we were making two cocktails—an old-fashioned and a lemon drop martini. Luckily, we were making them in pitchers, not individual servings, so it would be easy to get people what they needed quickly.

We were set up on the events lawn, where the reception would take place. The flowers were all budding, and the arboretum itself set the scene. Although they’d decorated a bit, with tables displaying crisp white tablecloths and centerpieces of yellow flowers, there wasn’t a need to do much. Nature had done it for them. That was one of the lures that had drawn me out here—a longer spring and fall, a shorter winter. After my tours of duty, I’d lost the ability to tolerate all that ice and snow with anything approaching good humor. It was like four years of heat and the desert had nullified twenty-five years of practice with brutal winters.

“Hey, is that Lurch?” Daniel said, pointing to a short bald man in a suit. We were about to open the bar but hadn’t yet, and a group of people had set up across from us, kind of like when people gathered near the boarding gate before their flight was even announced.

“Don’t you know Lurch?” I asked.

“Yeah. I guess I saw the guy’s bald head and got excited.”

“That guy’s got to be at least a foot shorter than Lurch, based on what River told me,” I said. “Careful. You don’t want to end up tackling Georgie’s uncle or whatever.”

“Good point,” Daniel said, popping a mint from under the bar. “I’ll bet that’s a no-no in Georgie’s book.”

“You wouldn’t be earning any points, that’s for sure.”

Dottie arrived then, cutting through the crowd to make her way to the bar, and the only person who squawked was an obvious out-of-towner. The not-Lurch guy, actually.

But Dottie ignored him so thoroughly that he had to satisfy himself with some long-suffering sighs.

Her hair was still bright pink, her dress a paler shade of the same color, dotted with bright yellow flowers. She should have looked insane, covered in pink from head to toe, but somehow she didn’t.

“Hey, Dottie, want a drink?” I asked.

The long-suffering man squawked again, as if he were a chicken, and he said something snarky about the bar not being open for the rest of them, but I joined Dottie in ignoring him.

“Yes, that would be lovely. Some of that lemon drink, please.”

I poured a cocktail for her and handed it over.

“You know,” she said, taking it, “I am well aware that River told you to look out for a few of my friends, but you needn’t worry, dear boys. I’ve taken care of the whole thing.”

“Oh?”

“Blue knows someone who books Caribbean cruises,” she said with no small amount of satisfaction, “and I’ve sent Lurch and Josie away for the weekend.”

Blue being her grandson’s girlfriend. People here had names that sounded like lyrics picked out of a country song.

“And you didn’t tell River?” I asked, surprised. “He seemed pretty nervous about them showing up. I bet he’d be thrilled.”

Her look turned grim. “Well, I was quite pleased with myself. But I didn’t succeed in waylaying Stella, unfortunately, and although she wasn’t invited, she did say something about walking one of her goats in the garden to get a peek.” She glanced around. “Regrettably, the grounds aren’t entirely closed to the public. She could get in.”

“River showed us her picture too,” Daniel said, “not that I needed to see it. She and Lurch come around the tasting room sometimes, or they used to before Dylan started.” Turning to me, he grinned. “They probably heard we have a bouncer now and decided to stay away. Come to think of it, River was almost as worried about Stella trying to come as he was about Josie.”

“With good reason, I’m afraid. I must admit that her goats are not well trained, and she persists in flirting with my grandsons even though all of them are taken.”

If I was remembering Stella’s picture correctly, she had to be at least mid-sixties.

Only in Asheville.

“Well, we’ll keep an eye out.”

“Do look out for other uninvited guests too, if you wouldn’t mind,” she said, more nervous than I was accustomed to seeing her. “Lee’s ex-girlfriend, Victoria, has been attempting to contact him, and although he’s made it quite clear to her that he’s not interested in talking with her, I worry that she might try to corner him here. She knows he’ll be here, you see, and although she’s not supposed to leave New York…well, I worry. I don’t have a picture of her, boys, but she had long, dark hair. The poor dear is troubled, but I’ll not let her ruin River and Georgie’s wedding.”

Lee was Georgie’s brother, another of my bosses, technically, and Victoria was somehow wrapped up in the Buchanan dad’s legal snafu in New York. None of my business. But apparently we were still very much on guard duty.

I glanced at Daniel, whose gaze was fixed on a guest in a short, flowy dress.

Okay, so I was on solo guard duty. Although I’d had nothing more than a short fling and a couple of dates since moving to Asheville, I was good at compartmentalizing. I’d only check out the guests to ensure they weren’t crashers.

It should be simple, really. Goat Lady was a no-brainer. We weren’t likely to see anyone else walking by with a goat. The ex might be harder to spot—as Daniel had clearly noticed, there were a lot of women in attendance. Many of them were beautiful.

But a party crasher would arrive late, to avoid being noticed. And they’d do their best not to be seen. Sometimes that was the easiest way to notice someone, when they were trying too hard to blend in.

“Oh dear, that’s not good,” Dottie said, and I whirled in the direction she was looking to see a flock of birds had moved in over the tables, and several of them had left little presents.

So much for the crisp white tablecloths.

Daniel laughed. “That’s definitely not on any of Georgie’s lists.”

Dottie bustled off to find someone to take care of the tablecloth problem—or maybe to look for Goat Lady—and we opened the bar to the guests. We kept busy for a while, so much so the tip jar topped out, but as it got closer to the ceremony, the interest in the bar slowed to a trickle, and then the trickle dried up entirely.

“You going to watch the ceremony?” Daniel asked, popping another mint. “River said we could.”

I didn’t remember him saying anything of the sort, but he had asked us to watch for crashers. It made sense to divide forces and send Daniel to watch the ceremony.

Dottie was officiating, so it should be interesting at any rate, but I didn’t feel up to watching it.

Plus, if someone did want to sneak in, what better time than now?

I explained the divide-and-conquer plan to Daniel, who paid suspiciously little attention to it.

He poured himself a drink, ignoring my eye roll, and then poured one for me, which I promptly set aside.

“Don’t forget to look for crashers, Daniel.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, walking off, leaving me without a strong feeling of confidence.

I straightened the bar area a little, listening to the music down below, and then took a swig of the old-fashioned. Because, hell. I kind of needed it.

Someone yelled something down below, and it was followed by an ominous-sounding crash. And then what could be an animal baying or someone crying.

Not good. I abandoned the drink and was about to go check it out, because none of this could possibly be on Georgie’s checklists, when I noticed them. Two women, a blonde and a brunette with long, silky hair, curled at the ends, sneaking around the back of the event center. They looked around, their gaze skipping past the bar, which was somewhat covered, to the currently empty reception area. They started to run around the greenhouse, presumably to wait behind it and then pop out when the party was busy and the reception started.

It was a buffet-style meal, so no one would necessarily notice there were two extra guests—until the brunette, who was certainly beautiful enough to be Victoria, charged at Lee and his girlfriend with a steak knife or annoyed everyone to death by requesting the “Macarena.” Or whatever people did when they crashed weddings.

Not on my watch.

I left the bar and barked out “Hey,” walking toward them.

I didn’t really have a strategy to get them to leave. I wasn’t going to bodily lift them, and I didn’t want to make a scene, but then again, something was clearly going down in the amphitheater. It would be best to sort this out now.

The blonde’s eyes widened, and she darted out of sight, but the brunette looked like a deer caught in the headlights. She stared at me, everything in her silent and still except for her huge brown eyes.

I took several strides toward her before I stopped too.

It was her eyes that stopped me.

Something told me this couldn’t be Victoria. Her eyes were wide and warm and lovely and currently terrified, surrounded by thick dark lashes, and her plump bottom lip was captured between her teeth. She was wearing a pink dress that revealed her every curve, and damn, did she have all the right ones. I’d always had a thing for women with curves. When we were kids, we’d spent a lot of time at our grandparents’ house, and they’d had no cable and only about twenty movies on VHS, all of them starring Sophia Loren. Needless to say, my brother and I didn’t mind one bit.

This woman’s body reminded me of her. And…crap.

I’d promised myself I wouldn’t get distracted by any of the guests, and here I was, checking out a crasher, feeling a zip of attraction shoot straight to my groin.

Something flashed in her eyes too, and I held out a hand to her as I took another step forward.

“Run,” came a shout from behind a bush, and something steeled in the brunette’s eyes. She toed off her crystal-studded stilettos and took off running across the grass, faster than an Olympic racer.

And I was so startled by the whole thing, by her and her effect on me, by the fact that there had been a crasher who wasn’t on either of the lists I’d been given, that I was left speechless, clutching a pair of sexy as hell silver shoes.

CHAPTER THREE

DEE

“Oh, hell no,” I said, shaking my head. The rest of me had stopped shaking only a couple of minutes ago, and it had been a full twenty minutes since we’d gotten caught. Not only had I been terrified, but I was trying to understand my strange reaction to the guard who’d seen us. I’d literally just stood in place, vacillating between feeling terrified and being drawn to the waves of pure masculinity rolling off him.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen a man like that in person…if ever. His shoulders were broad enough to fill a doorway, his arms thick with muscle, the hint of a tattoo dipping beneath his black button-down shirt. His hair, almost black, was thick and wavy, and it had been a while since his last cut. And those eyes. They were the color of whiskey, and they’d looked at me with…I thought it was lust, but it had been a long time since anyone had wanted me, and I couldn’t be sure. Of course, I hadn’t told Sam any of that. Lord only knew what she’d do with that information.

Sam leaned her head back and moaned. “Come on, Dee. We haven’t even made it to the reception yet.”

“And we’re not going to,” I said in my best mom voice, crossing my arms to make sure she knew I meant business.

But Sam had known me since middle school, and she knew I was all bark and no bite. “Look, if you had no intention of going back to the reception, then why didn’t you walk to the car with me?”

I pointed to my feet, which were now covered with my worn, black flats. They weren’t anything like the sexy shoes Sam’s cousin had loaned me, but at least I could walk without worrying about falling over. “I was waiting for my shoes. I couldn’t walk all the way to the car barefoot.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Well, I’m not leaving until I get Melinda’s shoes back. She needs them for her job tomorrow at the Bare Kitty Gentlemen’s Lounge, and she’ll kill me if I don’t return them in time.”

My mouth literally fell open. “Melinda got a job as a stripper?”

I was shocked at first, but as I thought about it, it wasn’t all that surprising. Melinda had always been wild. Then a new thought hit me.

“Oh, my God! I was wearing shoes she stripped in?” I sucked in a breath, feeling light-headed. “Did she use those shoes to rub some guy’s crotch in a lap dance?” I started shuffling my feet, wondering if syphilis was transmittable from foot sweat.

Sam burst out laughing, the sound echoing in the now-dusky evening. The arboretum visitors had all left, leaving only the sounds of music and the chatter of wedding guests from the now-completed wedding ceremony. She clapped her hand over her mouth. Then when she settled down, she dropped her hand and said, “Calm down. She’s still workin’ as a bartender at a place south of town. Although she has considered stripping.” Her brow lifted. “There’s good money to be made there, Dee. We might consider it if we get too cash-strapped.”

My eyes flew wide. “Have you lost your mind, Samantha Rothschild?”

She gave me a smug look. “Maybe I’ve just found it,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “Maybe it’s been shoved up in a dusty attic for far too long, and Samantha Johnson has finally come to her senses.”

I stared at her in horror. “You’re having a midlife crisis, and I’m just caught up in the middle of it.”

She burst out laughing again, then shook her head. “I’m not having a midlife crisis. If anything, I had a young adult crisis when I married that no-good asshole Bobby Rothschild when I was nineteen years old.”

“You were pregnant,” I gently reminded her. “You were scared, and your parents thought it was for the best.”

“You didn’t think it was for the best,” she countered, her anger ebbing. “You told me you’d help me raise my baby.”

“And I meant every word of it,” I said. “And I sort of did.”

Her son Cooper was eighteen now, about to graduate from high school, and had been accepted to UNC for next fall. His father was a selfish asshole, but Cooper was a good boy, thanks to Sam. Her ex hadn’t bothered with the kids hardly at all. I was the one who’d gone to their T-ball and soccer games with Sam, and I’d brought my own kids to Cooper’s football games when he started playing in middle school and high school. Just like I’d been there with her daughter Mallory, who was just three years younger, for her dance recitals and volleyball games. Sam’s kids were like my niece and nephew, and she was right—I’d been fully prepared to move in with her and co-parent her child. But her mother had convinced her that her baby needed a father, and Sam had fallen for the fairy tale of a happy family hook, line, and sinker. She’d been impulsive back then, but her mother had convinced her she was having a baby of her own and it was time to grow up.

“I understand where this is coming from,” I said solemnly. “When you go through a divorce, you look at the beginning of your relationship and see everything through a different lens.”

“Is that something Bear told you?”

“No, I read it in a self-help book. I have it on my nightstand, if you want to borrow it.”

“I don’t need a self-help book to know I gave up the person I was to become Mrs. Bobby Rothschild. I don’t need a book to tell me that I’m tired of being this shrinking violet I’ve become. I’m taking charge of my life, and fuck anyone who tries to stop me!” Then she turned around and marched toward the sounds of the reception.

I stared at her back, wondering what had just happened. This day was not going anything like I’d expected. Sam had picked me up and taken me to the beauty school where her cousin Ashley was training to become a hairdresser. Ashley needed the practice, and Sam had declared I needed a makeover. Since she wasn’t wrong, and she’d strongly suggested I was doing Ashley a favor, I’d let her work her magic. She’d not only trimmed it but had given me layers and burgundy highlights that gave my hair added depth. But Sam hadn’t stopped there. We’d gotten mani-pedis next—more practice for Ashley’s friends. Then Ashley took us to the house she shared with her sister Melinda, where she did our makeup and then found me a dress and shoes from a closet as big as Ollie’s bedroom.

I barely recognized myself in the mirror. The woman staring back at me didn’t look frazzled or careworn. She looked happy.

That feeling had lasted right up until Sam had dragged me around the corner of the greenhouse about a half hour ago. Foolish me had believed her story about purchasing tickets to a black-tie/formal event. She hadn’t confessed we were crashing a wedding until I asked why we were sneaking into the party.

Then we’d gotten caught, or nearly caught, as Sam had pointed out. She’d told me this night was for me, so I could finally live a little and check off the challenge. And if that were true, the solution to this screwup would be obvious—we’d go home and turn on Tom Hanks—but as I watched her retreating back, it struck me that this was also for her. Samantha Johnson had been wild and carefree. It was like she’d just woken up and realized she’d been asleep for nearly two decades. She needed this adventure to shed the hooks Bobby still had in her back.

Which meant, obviously, that I had to follow her.

The reception area was full of round tables with pretty floral arrangements and candles. Twinkle lights were strung over an open area that was presumably the dance floor. A band was playing a cover song from the 2000s on a small stage behind it.

There looked to be about two hundred people present, which meant it would be easier for us to get lost in the crowd. Even more so when I saw multiple tables marked open seating.

But first I had to find Sam.

She was in line for the bar, about fifteen people from the counter, and I headed straight for her.

She grinned when she saw me. “I knew you had it in you.”

I rolled my eyes, then glanced around at the guests, not recognizing anyone, but then again, I didn’t exactly associate with a lot of people outside of Bad Luck Club, PTA meetings, and work. Then I realized who I was looking for—my mystery man. I told myself it was because we had to avoid him, but part of me knew better.

I leaned into Sam’s ear and whispered, “Whose wedding is this?”

She leaned back and muttered, “Hell if I know, but it seems like there’s a wedding here every Saturday night in the spring, so it was a safe bet.” She glanced around in awe. “If I ever get married again, I want it to be like this.”

I understood her sentiment. This section of the arboretum had been turned into something you’d see in a movie, but it wasn’t for me. I never planned to get married again, but if I did, it would be a private affair between me and a man who loved me so much he couldn’t take his eyes off me.

But I was never going to meet a man like that, so it was a moot point.

And the way my mind kept flitting to the ridiculously handsome stranger only proved I wasn’t done being foolish.

Thinking about him reminded me of our supposed mission. “How do you expect to find the shoes? Are you planning to go to lost and found?”

She laughed. “I don’t know yet, but I’m working on a plan.”

If her plan included catching the attention of several men, she was already succeeding, not that I was surprised. Samantha was beautiful with her bright blond hair and her clingy red dress that showed off her skinny waist and C-cup boobs. Plus she oozed confidence. She’d gone without it for so long, it was like once she’d taken a sip from her hidden well, she’d drunk it up in greedy gulps. But now I wondered if some of it was an act, if she was faking it until she made it.

I could use a bit of that myself.

She batted her eyes at a man further up in line, and he motioned for her to join him.

“Come on,” she said, reaching for my hand.

I held back. “I’m going to look around. Why don’t you get me something, and you’ll have a chance to talk to your new friend.”

“You could use a new friend, yourself.”

“Yeah, well…” I was nowhere close to even wanting a new friend, but my traitorous mind conjured another image of the guard.

Great, Deeandra. Find the security guard so you can ogle him as he carts you to jail. I was losing it.

I walked away, planning to check out the area by the band, but there weren’t very many people and it would be too conspicuous. Instead, I wandered to the other side of the reception area, looking for the bridal party.

They were still in the amphitheater, taking photos, and my heart fell straight to my Target store flats.

My friend Blue was standing to the side, wearing a beautiful deep-blue gown and smiling with unabashed love at one of the groomsmen.

We had crashed the wedding of someone I knew. Well, sort of. Blue’s boyfriend was Lee Buchanan, one of the four siblings who owned Buchanan Brewery, and his sister Georgie had just married their brewmaster, River Reeves.

I whirled around to run and tell Sam that we had to leave right now—and ran straight into a wedding guest.

“I am so sorry,” I said, reaching out and grabbing her arm to steady her. And thank goodness I did. She looked to be in her seventies or eighties, despite the fact that she had bright pink hair and a pink dress covered in yellow daisies. Something about her was familiar, but I couldn’t place her.

“That’s quite all right, dear,” she said. “You seem to be off-balance.”

I cringed. “Yeah, I spun around too quickly and—”

“Oh no,” she said, “not that. Your spirit.”

I stared at her, somehow on the verge of tears. A soft smile lit up her eyes and she reached her free hand to my cheek. “This is exactly where you need to be, my dear. If anyone gives you any trouble about crashing, you tell them you’re Dottie’s guest.”

I gasped. How did she know I was a crasher?

“Aunt Dottie!” a man called from the wedding party. “We need you for more photos.”

“Coming, dear,” she shouted down to him. Then she turned her attention back to me. “They already took tons of photos earlier, but they want more now.” She didn’t look irritated, though. If anything, she looked pleased. “Promise me that you won’t leave until after the goat dance, okay?”

“Goat dance?” I asked in disbelief.

Her grin spread wider, her whole face radiating joy. “Trust me. Do you promise?”

“Yeah,” I said, realizing that I couldn’t refuse her even if I wanted to.

“Good. That’s settled, then.” Satisfied, she headed down the steps. Part of me wondered if I should help her, but she seemed to be handling them just fine.

I headed back to the reception and found Samantha sitting at a table with the man from the line at the bar. Several other people were sitting with them, but Sam had saved me a spot, the same way she always used to in high school. Her purse sat in front of the empty chair next to hers.

I took my seat, and she smiled at me. “I got you a lemon drop martini. They didn’t have many options.”

“I’m not complaining.” I picked up the martini glass and took a sip, thankful it wasn’t very strong. I had a feeling I’d be the designated driver again.

“I nearly died when that goat came running down the steps,” one of the women at the table said to the woman next to her, shaking her head. “And then when it knocked down the candelabra…”

“It’s a good thing the bridesmaid was so quick on her feet,” her friend responded.

“The bridesmaid?” the first woman said. “What about the groomsman? He practically tackled her to put the flames out.”

“What?” Sam asked, catching the tail end of the conversation.

“Didn’t you see it?” the first woman asked.

“We were late,” Sam said.

“A goat came out of nowhere, and an older woman was chasing it. The goat knocked over a candelabra, and the candles rolled, one of them catching a bridesmaid’s dress on fire.”

“It was the maid of honor,” said the man next to Sam. “Georgie’s sister, Adalia. And her fiancé, Finn Hamilton, was the one who put the fire out.” He glanced around. “He has a consulting business to help start-ups. I have this great idea about self-driving cars for dogs, and I’m hoping to corner him tonight.”

From what Blue had told me, Finn and River were best friends, and I was pretty sure Finn wouldn’t want to talk shop at this wedding.

“So let me get this straight,” the man next to me said, leaning forward with a perplexed look. “You put the dog in a car and it drives itself?”

“That’s right.”

“Why would you want to do that?” he asked. “What purpose could that possibly serve?”

Sam’s new friend looked confused. “So you can send your dog to the dog park if you don’t have time. Or the vet. Or—” He started getting excited. “Let’s say your dog likes to chase cars. Now you can put him in one and let him chase it behind the steering wheel.” He made a face. “The steering wheel is for aesthetics only. It would look weird if a dog were driving a car without one.”

Like that was the only weird thing about his idea.

“What happened to the goat?” I asked.

“One of the bartenders dragged the older woman off, and the other one tried to lure the goat away with a breath mint.”

Was the guy who’d confronted us a bartender? I made a mental note to stay away from the bar and to warn Sam later. Even as I felt a pull to go order a drink.

Poor Georgie. Blue had told me that Georgie had planned this wedding to be perfect. The goat interruption would be a disaster for any wedding, but for a perfectionist? It could be devastating.

As if on cue, the bridal party made their entrance, the band announcing them as they walked in and headed toward a rectangular table off to the side. I was relieved to see Georgie beaming at her groom. Hopefully, all the disasters were behind them now.

“I’m Phoebe,” the woman across the table said, “a friend of the bride’s from back in college. How do the rest of you know the happy couple?”

Everyone introduced themselves as we waited for our table to be called up to the buffet. Thankfully, the others all seemed to be there for the bride, including Samantha’s new friend Tristan. When Samantha introduced herself, she said, “I’m Samantha and this is my friend Deeandra. We’re friends of the groom.”

The man next to me gave us a suspicious look. “How do you know River?”

Samantha paused, then turned to me.

“We know him through his aunt Dottie,” I said with more confidence than I felt.

His face lit up. “I love Dottie. That woman saved River’s life.”

Sam and I just nodded, and while his statement seemed dramatic, after meeting her, I wouldn’t be surprised if it were true.

The dinner was delicious. When the buffet was nearly empty and the last plates were cleared away, the happy couple had their first dance, and then everyone joined them. Sam gave me a wistful look, and I motioned for her to head to the dance floor. “Go dance with Tristan. Have fun.”

I was content to sit and people-watch. To be surrounded by beautiful dresses and fancy suits and tuxes. To bask in the sheer happiness all around me. My life had felt hopeless for so long, my soul soaked it in. Blue and Lee were out on the dance floor with the rest of the bridal party, enjoying themselves enough that I didn’t have to worry about them noticing me.

I took the last sip of my second drink (Tristan, bless him, had gotten us another round), then glanced back at the bar, realizing, one, the line was only two people long, and two, the guy who had caught us was not at the bar. Maybe he’d been arboretum security after all. I wouldn’t have been surprised if they had security at a wedding like this. Who wouldn’t want to crash it?

I headed to the bar, pleased that there was only one person in front of me getting a couple of beers.

I approached the counter and asked for two lemon drops, figuring Sam would be thirsty. Just as the bartender finished pouring our drinks from a pitcher, I noticed a man heading toward the bar with a bucket full of ice.

I’d had a couple of hours to recover from the whole nearly getting caught thing, but the instant I saw him, it happened again—I froze like a deer caught in the headlights, stilled by his presence, by the sheer fact that a man like him existed and was standing across from me in the flesh, not on a poster or a TV. It was a strange combination of melting butter, dipping down a steep hill on a roller coaster, and a low current of electricity flowing over my skin.

Then he took a step toward me and the spell broke. I turned around and fled, the bartender’s tip still in my hand.

CHAPTER FOUR

DYLAN

I’d fully intended to tell someone about the crashers. The thing was, I was pretty sure neither of them was Victoria. Admittedly, Dottie’s description was slim on details, and Cinderella was pretty and dark-haired, but she certainly didn’t look crazy, and I could practically hear Dottie in my head, telling me that I was picking up on her aura or some shit. Still, I’d been told to stop crashers, and Cinderella and her friend were crashers. Despite what Matteo and my dad might think of me, I wasn’t the kind of man to shirk my duty. So maybe I would have said something…if I hadn’t heard another scream from the amphitheater seconds after they disappeared. It sent a pulse of panic through me before I reminded myself that the people down there were probably being attacked by a goat, not a gun, and tucked the sparkling shoes beneath the bar and ran down to see what fresh hell awaited me.

Turned out the goat lady had gotten through our very limited security setup—thanks, Daniel—and nearly caused the bride’s train to go up in flames. The wedding party had averted the near-fire disaster, although Adalia, who’d pushed her sister away from the falling candelabra, had lost part of her own gown instead. Thankfully, the bridesmaid’s dresses had some weird puffy fabric sewn along the bottoms, like the tutus Tina used to wear to ballet class when we were kids, and only the sewed-on part caught fire. Finn had upended a vase full of water and lilies on her before it could do any harm.

But all of that had gone down before I made it to the amphitheater. By the time I got there, Daniel was chasing the goat as it attempted to run away with a guest’s clutch. Goat Lady Stella was hot on his heels, attempting to hit him with a stick she must have picked up from the grounds, hollering that “Grumpy” had a heart problem and shouldn’t be running. The guests were all watching in mute horror, but none of the Buchanans seemed all that fussed or surprised, even Georgie, who’d actually burst out laughing as she watched her plans go up in flames like that stuff on her sister’s dress.

Actually, maybe she was in shock.

“Give the goat a mint!” Dottie cried out, and Daniel, who’d of course stolen a handful and stuck them in his pocket, used one to lure him to a stop.

Only in Asheville.

As soon as the goat was stationary, Goat Lady Stella stopped running too.

It proved strangely easy to get her to leave.

Although she didn’t so much as flinch when I barked out, “Ma’am, you need to vacate the premises,” she swiveled to look at me after I touched her upper arm, giving me a long, lingering perusal. Her eyes wide, she held her hands out to me, palms facing down. It took me a solid ten seconds to realize she was offering herself up to be cuffed.

“Um. There’s no need for that, ma’am. Just follow us off the premises.”

“Pity,” she said, looking at me like I was the last hot-ticket Christmas toy in the bin. “But I think we can work out something mutually beneficial.” Apparently, she was some sort of artist because she offered to cooperate if I’d pose for a painting. Given that I hadn’t wanted to physically cart a little old lady off and Georgie’s laughter had dried up into a somewhat desperate look, I’d agreed on the spot, on the condition that I would only do it fully clothed. If a nude painting of me with some goats found its way online, I would be the one my grandmother said a rosary for every night, and my buddies in the Marines would never let me hear the end of it.

As we made our deal, Daniel made faces at me over her shoulder, mouthing something I didn’t understand. We followed her as far as the parking lot to make sure she actually took off, carting the goat along with a ribbon someone had given her because his leash had broken. Finally, as she ushered Grumpy into her VW van, Daniel turned to me with a grim look. “You’re going to regret that, dude. I’ve heard she eats men alive.”

“I thought she was involved with Lurch?” Not to mention she was probably old enough to be my grandmother.

“Sure, but she’s polyamorous.”

Who wasn’t in this town?

His shoulders slumped a little as we headed back to the bar. He obviously felt bad about letting Stella through, and it was on the tip of my tongue to tell him about the other crashers to make him feel better, but for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

It was only after we got back to the bar, the silver shoes winking up at me from underneath it, that I realized why I’d kept quiet.

If I told someone else, they might find her before I did.

And maybe the crazy in this town had already rubbed off on me, because I didn’t want to send my Cinderella away without at least talking to her. And if she wasn’t here to mess with the newly married couple, I wasn’t so sure I’d send her away at all.

But the reception was crowded, and if she’d come back, I didn’t catch a single glimpse of her—even though I looked hard enough that Daniel asked if there was something wrong with my eyes.

Finally, it came time for Daniel and me to tap out for the other bartenders. The instant our shift ended, he grabbed another handful of mints and poured himself a lemon drop martini. Grinning, he said, “I made this batch super strong.”

“You know, you could have just made yourself a separate drink.”

“Huh, I guess you’re right.” He shrugged. “Oh well. This way we all get to cut loose.”

And we’d single-handedly be responsible for an Uber surge.

He headed into the crowd, sidling up to a single lady—who instantly turned to dance with her friend—but I stayed back to grab ice for the guys replacing us. And also because I had to decide what the hell to do about those shoes. I didn’t know much about ladies’ fashion, but they looked expensive, and if she didn’t have them, what was she wearing on her feet?

Shouldn’t I make sure to get them back to her?

Maybe that was a Saint Dylan kind of thought, but I had to admit I wasn’t interested in staying for saintly reasons. There weren’t many women here who could fill out a dress like that, and her face was this mix of sweet and sexy, with those full lips and…

Shit, if I kept it up, I’d need to dump the ice on myself.

It was then, midway through that thought, that I looked up and saw her directly in front of me at the bar. Dave, my replacement, was holding two drinks out to her, but she ignored them, her gaze glued to mine the same way it had been earlier, plenty of heat passing between us, and this time I was sure she was going to stick around and talk.

Except she took off again, just when I’d recovered enough to step forward.

In my peripheral vision, I caught a glimpse of Dave shrugging and then lifting one of the cups to his mouth for a sip, but I was already racing after her.

She was fast, but this time there were almost two hundred people gathered around us. Still, she might have gotten away—escape favored people who weren’t as big as me—but she tripped on something.

I staggered to a stop, my knee twinging hard, and held out a hand to her. The people around us were staring. One woman had been lifting what looked like a cream puff to her mouth, and she missed and got it stuck in her hair. But a couple of guys whose physiques and expensive suits suggested high-paying office jobs exchanged a look and got out of their seats.

“Is this guy bothering you?” one of them asked.

Given that I had fifty pounds of muscle on him, he was brave to ask, and under other circumstances I’d have been impressed. His friend hung back behind him, clearly less eager to make a fuss now that he’d gotten a good look at me.

I glanced down at Cinderella, wondering if she was the kind of woman who’d take the out. It would be easy for her to tell them I was giving her trouble, and to use whatever kind of scene ensued to make her escape.

But her eyes widened in horror, and she mutely shook her head, accepting my hand with a firm grasp of soft fingers.

“No,” she said as I lifted her up, and I realized it was the first time I’d heard her voice. It was soft and sweet, like the rolling mountains around us, but with a flinty strength behind it. “We were…playing a game.”

“Ohhh,” the first guy said, backing up, and from the way he said it, it was obvious he thought this was some kind of role-playing thing.

Which I probably shouldn’t be thinking about with her hand tucked into mine.

“Speaking of which,” I said, “I think I won this round, Cinderella. Last time I got your shoes. What do I get this time?”

Her would-be rescuer backed up further, bumping into the lady whose cream puff had left a liberal dusting of whipped topping in her hair.

“Hey,” she snapped, “find your own place to watch the show.”

But I only noticed them in my peripheral vision because my gaze was firmly on Cinderella. She’d flushed prettily, a flush that traveled to her chest and her face, but she didn’t pull away. I’d been challenging her, I realized, wanting to see how she’d react.

“What do you want?” she asked.

I wanted a kiss. The way she tipped her head up, looking at me with those soulful eyes, told me she expected me to ask. Maybe she even wanted me to. But it would be a dick move, and there was at least a grain of truth to the Saint Dylan nickname. While I was game for whatever she wanted—even if Cinderella role-playing was her kink—I wasn’t going to take what she didn’t willingly give.

So I shook my head softly and said, “I just want to talk.”

Was that disappointment in her eyes?

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Cream Puff Lady said with a laugh.

Cinderella ignored her and nodded to the bar. “Okay, but I’m going to need a drink for this. Maybe two.”

“I think I will too,” I said, leading the way. Her hand was still nestled in mine, and I had no intention of letting go unless she pulled away. She didn’t though, and we walked like that, hand in hand to the bar. The line was completely clear for what had to be the first time that night, and when we reached the bar, her drink was still sitting on the counter, the one beside it only half-full.

Dave’s eyes widened as we approached him. “Damn, Dylan, you’re a legend. You’ve only been off for about a minute and a half, and you already met someone?”

That didn’t sound great, so it didn’t surprise me when she dropped my hand as if she’d learned I had some sort of skin-eating disease.

When his eyes finally focused on my companion, Dave snapped up the half-full martini on the bar. “Sorry about that, miss,” he said. “This one fell and spilled a little. Let me get you a fresh glass.”

Right.

Her cheeks even redder than they’d been a minute ago, she opened her mouth as if to stop him. But then she glanced at me again, and apparently decided she did want two, because she didn’t correct him.

“You want anything, man?” he asked me, nudging the second drink over.

“An old-fashioned.” Shooting a glance at Cinderella, I added, “And those shoes under the counter.”

Dave glanced down, his eyes widening like I’d pulled off a trick worthy of a magician at a fair, but he handed them over before pouring my drink. With a glass in each hand, Cinderella eyed the shoes a little wildly, like she wasn’t sure what to do.

“I’ll carry them,” I said. Because it was the polite thing to do, and because she probably wouldn’t run again while I was carrying the shoes. Then I accepted my drink from Dave and led the way to an empty table at the back corner of the reception. The tables around it were empty too, making it an ideal place to talk.

I pulled out a chair for her, and she sat, setting down her two martinis, one of them already half empty.

“Thirsty?” I asked, trying to break the tension, but it ended up sounding like innuendo, and she bit her lip again, drawing my attention to the luscious weight of it.

When she’d lowered into the chair, I caught sight of her simple black flats, the kind of shoes Tina wore at the bar where she worked, another reason my nonna spent so much time praying for her.

I wasn’t sure what possessed me, but I knelt down in front of her and slowly removed the flats. She had lovely feet, small and arched. I slid the stilettos onto them, and the gasp that escaped her shot straight down south.

“Thank you,” she said as I sat down across from her. “Thank you for not turning me in.”

“You’re not Victoria, are you?”

Because I really needed to officially rule that out.

“Huh?” she asked. “Who’s that?”

“Never mind. An ex of one of the groomsmen. There was some worry about her showing up, I guess.”

“Oh.” Her eyes rounded. “You’re talking about Lee’s ex-girlfriend.”

Suspicion crept in, dampening my libido. If she knew the Buchanans, then why was she crashing this wedding? They’d invited two hundred people, so it wasn’t like they’d only asked their nearest and dearest.

Was she someone else’s ex? Or maybe some other friend of Dottie’s who’d managed to escape the VIP party crasher list?

“Who are you?”

She considered that for a moment, then shook her head. “You called me Cinderella earlier. You can keep calling me that.”

“Not good enough,” I said, frustrated. “River”—the recognition that flashed across her face confirmed she knew him—“asked me to keep crashers out. You clearly know them, so I need to know why you’re at this wedding.”

She reached for my hand again, her touch sending a shock wave through me, and then pulled away with wide eyes, as if shocked she’d done it.

“I’m not here to cause trouble, Dylan.” Hearing her say my name was another reminder that she knew who I was, and I didn’t know the first thing about her. Misunderstanding my look, she insisted, “I mean it. I’m in this…self-help group, for lack of a better word. We challenge each other to do things, and my challenge this time was to break some rules. My friend figured it would be fun to crash a wedding. So we ended up here, and it wasn’t until we got here that I figured out I knew the bride and groom. Sort of. I’m friendly with Blue.”

A truth or dare self-help group that urged people to break the law. Sounded like Asheville, but I found myself asking, “Am I supposed to just take your word for it?”

“Dottie knows I’m here,” she continued. “She said we could tell people we were her guests.” She looked down for a second. “She said I was exactly where I needed to be.”

Any doubt I’d felt, or thought I should feel, drifted away. Hadn’t Dottie said exactly the same thing to me a couple of months back?

She’d been right about me. Asheville was good for me. Much better than living in my hometown, running into Marisa nearly every other day. Marisa, with her new husband. Marisa, with the two kids I couldn’t give her.

My brother hadn’t understood, but for all her talk about crazy Asheville, my sister did.

She knew how much I’d wanted a family of my own, a big, loud home with children running around and sauce bubbling on the stove. A home like ours had been growing up.

Only I hadn’t wanted to stay in the actual home I’d grown up in, with my parents and little sister instead of the kids I’d wanted. It was like some fun house version of the future I’d planned, and every day I’d spent there after getting wounded overseas had made it feel a little more like a prison.

Yeah, Dottie had been right about me. Maybe she was right about Cinderella too.

Cinderella must have taken my silence to mean something else, though, because she blurted out, “My friend and I are both going through divorces, and we needed something fun to do. Something to help us feel like we could still have fun. I didn’t actually realize this was what she had in mind until it was too late, but you know what? It has been fun, and it’s been so long since I had some adul–.” She cut herself off, as if searching for the right word, and finished with, “…real fun that I could hardly remember what it felt like.”

I found myself nodding, because it was almost like she’d read my mind. “I can understand that.”

“You can?” she asked in disbelief, like she’d actually expected me to throw her out on her very nice ass.

I smiled at her. “Yeah, except my way of working through my divorce was to join the Marines and move halfway across the world. Maybe I should have tried crashing a wedding first. Might have saved myself some time and a bullet.”

Her eyes widened. “You got shot?”

“Yeah, but I’m fine now.”

“But you got shot.” She looked worried about me, like she wanted to feed me chicken soup or something. I’d gotten plenty of those looks back home, but weirdly enough it didn’t bother me, coming from her.

“That’s what they tell me.” I shrugged. “It ended my deployment, and I was discharged for medical reasons. I spent the better part of a year trying to get back into shape at home…which wasn’t great. It was nice not having to worry about anything for a while, but after I got better I guess I was ready to worry about things again. To have something of my own. Then I came here on vacation and broke up a fight at the brewery. The next thing I knew, Dottie had talked me into taking a job there.”

When she smiled, it was like she put her whole being into it, not just her face, and it was impossible not to smile back. “She’s good at talking people into things.”

“Just like your blonde friend, the one who talked you into coming here.” I tilted my head, studying her, taking in her blush and the glimmer of excitement in her eyes, which appeared to have replaced the nerves. “Breaking the rules suits you, you know. Maybe you should make a habit of it.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said with a surprised laugh. “Turns out it comes with a risk of being caught by the hot bartender.”

Her face went scarlet, and she lifted a hand to her mouth, as if she could shove the words back in.

She was a beautiful, lush woman, but the way she was acting, bashful and embarrassed, told me that she didn’t know, or maybe didn’t remember. And even though it was a terrible idea, maybe one of the worst I’d ever had, I thought I’d like to be the one to show her.

“Nope. Can’t take it back. You already said it.” I glanced at those glasses in front of her, noticing one of them was empty. So she’d been sneaking sips during our talk. “Fair warning. The other bartender said he made this batch much stronger.”

“Is that why it tastes like someone mixed a juice box with rubbing alcohol?”

“Drink a lot of juice boxes?”

Something flickered across her face, but she shook it off. “Not me, no. But you…how old are you?”

I laughed. “Does it matter?”

“It does if…”

She looked flustered, so I stepped in to help her out. “I am attracted to you,” I said, slipping a hand over hers on the table, enjoying the familiar feel of her fingers beneath mine. I wanted to get better acquainted with them. “I’d argue that it doesn’t matter, but then again, I doubt you’re much older than I am.”

“Which is?”

I grinned at her. “I’ll tell you as soon as you tell me your name.”

She studied me for a moment, as if weighing how badly she wanted to know my age. Then she lifted a shoulder. “Deeandra.”

“I’m thirty.”

I didn’t ask for her age, but she bit her lip again, which made me laugh.

“I’m thirty-eight,” she blurted out. “I’m much too old for you.”

She didn’t look thirty-eight, not that it mattered. In fact, I preferred dating women who were older than me. Women who already had children or didn’t want them. But I didn’t want to get into that discussion with her, nor did it seem like there was any point.

She wanted to have a little fun, break some rules, and I wanted to help her. There was no need for us to think beyond that.

“Thirty-eight?” I asked in feigned shock. “You’re right, I’ve changed my mind.”

She gasped before noticing the playful look in my eyes, then pulled her hand away and gave me a little shove that barely registered.

“A sixty-something goat woman tried to pick me up earlier. Another crasher. Do you know her?”

“No,” she said with a smile twitching at the corners of her lips. “But I did hear some interesting stories.”

“Well, I’m not sure if anyone told you, but I had to make a Faustian bargain to get her to leave the wedding. I’m supposed to pose for a painting for her. So, if you’re willing to spend some time with a condemned man tonight, you’d be doing me a favor. It’ll be my last hurrah before I’m made into a stew or just a really bad portrait.”

She laughed, and just like her smile, it bled into every part of her being. I decided I liked making her laugh and instantly wanted to do more of it. She laid her hand back on top of mine. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, you said you were all about challenges, right?” I asked, standing and lifting her to her feet. “I have a challenge for you.”

CHAPTER FIVE

DEE

I have a challenge for you.

After Dylan had caught me sneaking around the corner of the greenhouse earlier in the evening, I’d been ready to strangle Bear and Sam for coming up with this ridiculous challenge, but now as Dylan pulled me to my feet, his callused hand holding mine, I felt almost painfully grateful to them. The way he looked at me, like I was an ice-cold beer in a desert mirage and he wanted to drink every last gulp…a tingle ran down my hand and sent a pulse of warmth to my core.

Lord only knew what his challenge might be, but I wasn’t ready to let this moment go. I wasn’t ready to let him go. He had to be drunk or addled from his experience with Stella to want to be here with me, looking like he wanted to touch more than my hand, but he didn’t look addled.

And good grief, the way he’d slid off my flats and put my heels back on…it had lit an actual fire inside of me. Randy had never done anything even close to as romantic as that. His idea of romance was watching Discovery Channel’s Alaskan Bush People in bed, rolling over to cop a feel of my breasts, then getting pissed when I didn’t jump from zero to sixty.

When was the last time a man had looked at me like this?

A very, very long time. If ever.

I lifted my chin slightly, the beaten-down part of me embarrassed that Dylan was staring at me so intently, but the rest of me wanted to be the person he seemed to see—a sexy, intriguing woman.

I scraped my bottom lip with my teeth, and his gaze followed the movement, his hand tightening over mine.

Another pulse of heat filled my core, and I barely restrained the gasp rising in my throat.

“What kind of challenge?” I asked, shocked at my coyness.

He grinned, taking a step backward toward the dance floor and holding my hand up like he was a duke at a Victorian ball.

The dance floor? He wanted to dance with me? Was he crazy? But something about him told me that this was just as uncharacteristic for him as it was for me.

Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe this was just a game for him. Maybe he bartended weddings every weekend and met all kinds of women. Maybe he picked one every night and looked at her the same way he was looking at me now. He was certainly hot and charming enough to pull it off.

The flood of disappointment and jealousy made me stumble.

He stopped, concern filling his eyes, and leaned in close, his lips next to my ear. “I will never ask you for what you aren’t willing to give, Cinderella.” Then he added, “Like your Netflix password.”

I couldn’t stop my giggle. I was sure the strong drink I’d just downed wasn’t helping.

Despite his joke, he was solemn when he said, “If you’d rather not do this, just say the word.”

His breath was hot on my neck, and a wave of desire rolled through me. All I could think was that I wanted to be in Dylan’s arms. I wanted to touch his chest and feel his body against mine. I wanted this as much as he did.

“No,” I said as I pulled back to look into his amber eyes. “I want to dance with you.”

It occurred to me that I’d have no good explanation if Blue or Lee saw me. Especially if I was dancing with the bartender. But when Dylan looked at me like that, his mouth just inches from mine, he filled my every thought. I wanted to dance with him, and to my surprise, the potential of getting caught added a little thrill.

A slow smile tugged at his lips—very kissable lips—and I resisted the urge to close the distance and see what he tasted like. Because we were playing a game of seduction, and I very, very much wanted to be seduced.

He led me to the periphery of the dance floor just as the band began to play a slow song. Still holding my hand, he gently tugged me closer, never breaking eye contact as his free arm lightly wrapped around the small of my back, pulling me in until only a few inches separated us. He devoured me with his eyes, yet he was respectful of my space. It only made me want to touch him even more.

I lifted my free hand to his shoulder, savoring the strength I felt beneath my fingertips.

“Tell me about yourself,” he murmured, still holding my gaze.

I started to, then stopped. Tonight was magical, and I didn’t want to ruin it with real life. I was eight years older than him, and I had no delusions this would be anything other than a one-night experience. I refused to taint it with talk of Randy or my divorce.

A grin lifted my lips. “How about we volunteer something about ourselves, then the other person responds in kind and gets to ask a question.”

“I’m game,” he said, his eyes dancing. “You start.”

Crap, what was I going to say? My life was boring. Work. Home. Kids. Money troubles. What could this man possibly find interesting about me? I decided to go with a cliché. “I’m a Pisces, and I like long walks on the beach.”

He leaned his head back and laughed, a throaty sound that made my insides quiver, especially when he involuntarily pulled me closer so that our chests touched. Then his laughter faded and hunger filled his eyes.

“Your turn,” I prodded, our bodies still touching. Heat radiated where we touched, and I struggled to keep my breath even as my pulse raced.

“Pisces, huh?” he said, trying to sound light, but I could see he was affected too. “You just had a birthday.” When I gave him a questioning look, he said, “My sister is a Pisces. It’s not like I’m a walking encyclopedia of astrology.”

“Sure,” I teased.

He laughed again. “Okay, I’m a Taurus, which means I’m about to turn thirty-one, which will make me only seven years younger than you.” Then he added, “And I like hiking in the mountains.”

“Was that what brought you to Asheville?”

His brow lifted playfully. “I think I get to ask the question. But I’ll be gracious and answer yours first. I came here with a friend, and yes, the mountains were part of the appeal, but if I’m being truthful, the breweries were too.”

“And it led you to Dottie.”

“Dottie called it fate. I call it luck.” His voice turned husky. “But I’m reevaluating my stance on that.”

The heat between us pulsed.

“Do you have siblings?” he asked.

“Only child,” I said. “Sometimes I wish I had a sibling so my mother had someone else to worry about.”

“I have a brother and the aforementioned sister, and my parents still find the time to get involved in every aspect of our lives. I don’t think the number of siblings has anything to do with it,” he said. “Your turn to ask a question.”

“Did your friend stay in Asheville too?”

“Nope, he headed home back to his job. We met on deployment, but we’re both from Western Mass. Tell me about the friend who suggested you crash a wedding. You said she’s going through a divorce too?”

“Samantha. We’ve been friends since middle school. Her husband cheated on her. Multiple times, come to find out. She has two older kids—both teenagers—and I’m pretty sure she’s rediscovering herself and dragging me along with her.” I purposely held back information about myself. It was easier to tell him about Sam’s divorce.

“You don’t need to rediscover yourself?” he asked.

I hesitated. “I was stuck in a rut,” I said carefully. “I guess I’m a little slower to get moving than Sam is.”

“I’ve been there and got a T-shirt,” he said. “But I think crashing a wedding officially means you’ve climbed out of it.”

“More like Sam dragged me out.”

“But you’re here. Not crawling back in. That means something.”

He had no idea how out of character all of this was for me. Crashing a wedding. Flirting with a too-hot-not-to-be-a-figment-of-my-imagination stranger.

My gaze drifted to his mouth, and I couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to be kissed by Dylan. I was sure he would be very good.

He pulled me closer, our bodies fully pressed together now, and I tipped my head up to look at him, surprised by the pure lust on his face.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to have to kiss you,” he murmured, his arm tight around my back.

I could feel his excitement pressed against my belly, and a heady lust of my own overtook my senses. “Then maybe you should.”

He leaned down, giving me a tentative kiss. I lifted my hand up to capture his neck and hold it in place should he try to do the gentlemanly thing and pull back. We stopped swaying and he growled softly into my mouth as my lips parted and his lips and teeth and tongue thoroughly captured mine. I clung to him, my knees weak, but Dylan held me up, showing me how much he wanted me.

When he pulled back, his eyes were hooded with desire, but he also looked apologetic. “Deeandra, I’m sorry. I only meant to…”

I slowly shook my head. “Don’t you dare apologize for that. It was…”

I couldn’t seem to find a word to describe the electricity racing through my body. The fire in my blood. The need in my core. I wanted this man more than I’d ever wanted anyone in my life.

There was no doubt I was slightly tipsy, although nowhere near drunk, but that slug of liquid courage must have given me the courage to do something completely out of character. Like kiss a man like that in public, then say, “Take me home, Dylan.”

Disappointment washed over his face, and his hold on me loosened. “Of course, I’m sorry.”

“I think you misunderstood.” I pulled his head down and captured his mouth with mine, biting his bottom lip.

He dropped my hand and his fingers sank into my hair, holding my head so he could angle it to kiss me even more thoroughly than last time.

When he pulled back, I couldn’t help wondering what had come over me. Dee Bowers didn’t passionately kiss men in public. She definitely wasn’t kissed senseless anywhere, in public or otherwise.

“Take me home with you.”

He studied me as though trying to decide if this was a good idea, but I didn’t care. Dylan made me feel like the sexiest woman in the world, and even if this was just a one-night thing, I was okay with that. I was grabbing hold of opportunities and living. No more letting fear hold me back.

Still, a moment of horror hit me that perhaps I’d misinterpreted the whole thing, and he wasn’t interested in sleeping with me. But that was just my insecurities talking. I knew there was no way he could kiss me like that and not want to be inside of me.

The thought of him propped above me as he entered, his strong arms holding him up, made my core ache.

“Part of me wants to know what put that look on your face,” he growled, “but I’m afraid if you tell me that, I might find a tree in the shadows, push you up against it, and reenact it, everyone else be damned.”

Another wave of desire washed through me, making me moan.

He released me, and for one brief moment, I thought he was going to walk away, but then he captured my hand and started to pull me away from the crowd.

We passed Lee, who had two drinks in his hand, and he did a double take when he saw me. I was prepared to talk my way out of this, somehow, but then confusion wrinkled his brow, and he walked away, still looking perplexed.

He hadn’t recognized me, and I wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“Wait,” I said, some common sense surfacing from the lust-filled fog in my head. “I have to tell Sam.”

Dylan grimaced, and I could see it was his sense of honor that had him cringing, not irritation. “Of course. Do you need to stay for her?”

“Don’t be silly,” I heard Dottie say, and I turned to see her standing to the side, beaming. “I’ll make sure that Samantha makes it home.”

“You know Sam?” I asked in surprise, flushing when I realized she must have seen us on the dance floor.

“Of course,” she said with a wave of her hand. “She took art classes from me after she graduated from high school.”

I remembered Sam’s art phase, before she got pregnant and her husband and mother convinced her that pursuing art wasn’t practical for a new mother.

“I think you know everyone in this town,” Dylan said, shaking his head and sounding partially in awe.

“Not everyone,” she said with a laugh. “But perhaps more than most.” She smiled up at him. “I like to think I help fate weave its tapestry. Sometimes the answers we’re looking for come to us when we least expect them.”

He stared at her for several seconds, and then his hand tightened around mine.

She turned her attention to me. “You two run along. I’ll take care of Samantha.”

With that, she wandered off.

I still felt guilty about leaving Sam, but I knew she’d want me to go. I could just send her a text when we reached Dylan’s car.

We grabbed my clutch and flats from the table, and Dylan led me through the service entrance, out to a parking lot and to an older model Jeep with a canvas top.

“It’s not much,” he said, and I heard a bit of uncertainty in his voice.

“I drive a fifteen-year-old Toyota, so no complaints from me.”

He smiled at me and stopped next to the passenger door and opened it. I was about to step up onto the running board, but I released a tiny yelp of surprise as he grabbed my waist and lifted me up onto the seat like I weighed nothing.

His hand cupped the side of my face, and he smiled. “What kind of prince would I be if I let you climb up inside?”

“So you’re a prince?” I teased.

“I think I have to be if you’re Cinderella.”

I leaned forward and kissed him, shocked that I wasn’t embarrassed or feeling shy. He made me feel comfortable. Like I was sexy and desirable. His belief filled me with confidence.

“Take me home, Prince Dylan,” I murmured against his mouth.

“Anything for you, Cinderella.”

CHAPTER SIX

DYLAN

I obviously hadn’t done much in the way of thinking, because it hadn’t occurred to me until I was on the road that it was purely ridiculous to bring a woman like her back to my crappy one-bedroom apartment with the water stain over the bed that looked like a face in certain lighting. In a moment of loneliness or insanity—I wasn’t sure which—I’d named it Tony. I no longer lived with my parents and sister, which was a serious plus, but even so. It wouldn’t exactly set the scene.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I shot a look at her, taking in the lush mass of her hair, those soft pillowy lips, and the bright splash of excitement and hunger in her eyes. I wanted to taste her, to see what her face looked like when she moaned in pleasure, which made it harder to choke out, “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go back to your place? My apartment’s not much to look at.”

I thought I saw a glimmer of alarm in her eyes before I shifted my gaze back out the windshield. “No. We can’t go there.”

Something about the way she said it, so definite and unbending, made me wonder what she was hiding.

“You got a doll room in there or something?”

She sputtered out a laugh. “No. Is that a thing? Because I don’t think that’s a thing.”

“Oh, believe me, it is. Both of my aunts had one, but Aunt Jackie’s was bigger, and her dolls all had porcelain heads. I had nightmares about them. Finally, my dad marched me in there one day and knocked one of their heads open like a pinata. He said, ‘They come at you in the night, Dylan, you bust their heads in. Simple as that.’”

“I’ll bet Aunt Jackie wasn’t pleased.”

“Damn straight. They argued until Sunday, but Sunday is family spaghetti day. No one breaks the spaghetti truce.”

“The spaghetti truce,” she said thoughtfully. “I like that. Maybe I’ll try that with…my mom.”

But it had looked like she was about to say something else. Alarm bells went off in my head. This woman was gorgeous, and something about her—her unstudied beauty, her mixture of strength and vulnerability—affected me more than any woman in who knew how long. But she was clearly keeping a secret, and I wanted to make sure that secret wasn’t a not-so-ex-husband at home in her bed.

“You are divorced, right? You’re not avoiding your house because of a Mr. Cinderella?”

We’d reached a red light, and I leveled a quick glance at her. There was no faking the kind of artless horror that filled her eyes. “What? No. I would never do that. He moved out months ago. He’s going to marry someone else.”

Which had to feel like a gut punch if they’d just divorced.

When I’d heard that Marisa was getting remarried, I’d beaten a punching bag until my fists were bloody and then slumped down crying.

I’d known it would happen. That was why she’d left me, wasn’t it? To move on?

Matteo always said I’d dodged a bullet, which only became ironic later, after I failed to. My parents only spoke of her in hushed strains of disapproval, and my sister had taken to calling her putana. My nonna literally spat when anyone mentioned her name, which my mom couldn’t stop, even though she’d asked her not to about a hundred times.

The thing was, it didn’t hurt because I still loved Marisa. I didn’t. It was the feeling of rejection, of not being enough of a man.

“I’m sorry,” I said simply. “I get that. My ex moved on quickly too.”

“I’m not sorry,” she said, then gasped. A quick glance showed me her eyes were as round as quarters. “It’s the first time I’ve said that, but I guess I really mean it. It…it was hard in the beginning, after he left, but he wasn’t good to me.”

My blood started boiling, and I felt a surge of protectiveness. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No, nothing like that. I just…I felt invisible in my own house, my own life. It was like I was a house elf, and each morning the house would miraculously be clean and there’d be food on the table—crappy food, because I’m no chef, but whatever. Food is food. But that felt like the sum of my existence. Like I was a convenience, not a person.”

There was something so raw in her, and I stole a glance at her, taking in the dejection in her eyes sucking away the joy that had been there moments before.

“House elf?” I said.

“You’re telling me you haven’t read Harry Potter?”

Her shock was so genuine, her horror so sincere, I had to laugh. “I’ve watched the movies with my niece. I guess I was struggling to imagine such a fine, sexy woman as a creature with golf ball eyes and a loincloth.”

Surprised laughter sputtered out of her, which was good. I’d wanted to make her laugh, to banish the look of dejection I’d seen in a stolen glance. Because I liked her laughter, and because I wanted to make her feel seen. Noticed. Appreciated. Even if this only lasted one night.

“Sometimes I feel like that,” she said, but even in my peripheral vision, I could see her blush. And shit…she was even more compelling like this, so open and lovely, so bashful…and a wave of pure lust shot straight down south. I wanted to show her that I saw her, and that I liked what I saw.

“And sometimes I feel like Moe from The Simpsons, selling beer to a bunch of imbeciles, but it doesn’t make me yellow.”

She smiled at me then and reached over and put a tentative hand on my thigh, and it was a good thing we were on my block now, because I wasn’t sure how much longer I could wait to get her upstairs and out of that dress. The shoes she could keep on.

“Is this okay?” she asked, as if there were a single chance in hell I’d say no.

“You touch me wherever the hell you like.” It came out on a growl, and for a moment I worried that maybe it would put her off, but if anything the fire in her eyes blossomed and her hand—those small, perfectly formed fingers—inched upward. And I was so hard it actually hurt.

I parked in the lot outside my shitty apartment and captured her hand in mine, lifting it up to my lips. “Like I said, I’m sorry about the apartment. I wish I could bring you somewhere nicer. You deserve something nice.”

“I don’t care.” She lifted her eyebrows. “As long as you’re not hiding another woman in there.” Her nose scrunched, and I loved how expressive her face was—how her feelings were broadcast to everyone with the shifting of her features. “Or, you know, if you have rats. Rats are a no-go in my book. One time R—my ex jumped on the bed and left me to deal with a rat.”

“No rats. But if there was one, I’d punch it for you.” A stupid thing to say, but I wasn’t thinking much at that point. I leaned forward to kiss her, intending for it to be a simple kiss, but the moan in the back of her throat had me leaning in closer, going for broke, and we really had to get out of the car. I pulled back, panting, and got out, circling around to lift her out. I had to smile when I saw her there, waiting. Looking down at me with trust in her eyes.

Shit. This woman was doing something to me.

But I didn’t have time to think about it as I lifted her out of the Jeep. From the way she moved, it was obvious she expected me to set her down, but I didn’t want to. So I carried her like that, like a princess, all the way up the stairs leading to my front stoop. Her hands were on my biceps, her head was tucked under my chin, and I had a strange feeling of contentment.

Then again, maybe it wasn’t so strange. I had a beautiful woman in my arms, and I was about to get laid. Talk about lucky.

“Damn, Dylan, you got it going on,” my teenage neighbor, Tyrell, said from the next stoop over. Which wasn’t great since it made me sound like I brought a woman home every night. But Tyrell was a good kid, and we played pickup basketball out in the neighborhood court sometimes.

I lifted one hand in a wave. “Aren’t you supposed to be out causing trouble?”

He shrugged. “It’s only a part-time vocation, not a full-time job.”

“Good call,” I said, setting Deeandra down so I could wrestle out my key. “No need to be too ambitious when it comes to causing trouble. Catch you later, man. Maybe we can play some basketball tomorrow.”

“I got some new moves to show you, old man,” he said, grinning.

“I’m counting on it.”

He slipped back into his apartment as I took Deeandra’s hand and led her into mine.

“Sorry about that,” I said. “He’s a good kid. But”—a shrug—“still very much a teenage boy.”

She gave me a strange look. “You play basketball with him?”

“Yeah. I like kids. Tyrell reminds me of my little cousins back home.”

“That’s nice,” she said softly. Then as I shut the door her attention shifted to my place.

“I’ve only lived here for a couple of months,” I said, feeling the need to explain why the walls are mostly bare and the furniture is purely spartan. “My sister’s coming to visit next month, and she’s going to help me decorate. I’ll admit I’m not much good at things like that.”

Her attention narrowed on a painting over the futon, a whorl of colors. Blue and black and red.

“Dottie gave me that,” I said, walking over and sliding an arm around her, liking the feel of her next to me, the curve of her, the heat. “She said it’s my soul.”

She looked up at me then, from the circle of my arm, her eyes full of need and maybe something else. But I was no great interpreter of women’s glances. If I had been, maybe I wouldn’t be here.

And, weirdly, I found myself thinking of what Dottie said to me two months back. You’re in exactly the right place at exactly the right time.

I almost never felt that way. Ever. But I did now. Here with Deeandra, my Cinderella, I was exactly where I wanted to be.

“Looks just like you,” she said with a playful little twitch of her mouth, and then she slid her hand under my shirt, and a moan escaped me. There was a little self-conscious glint in her eyes. Then she said, “You told me I could touch you wherever I wanted.”

“And I meant it,” I said, letting my hands lower from her shoulders to her waist. “God, you have curves for days. Your body reminds me of Sophia Loren.”

She gasped, and her eyes shone with pleasure. “No one’s ever told me that before.”

“Well, they should. But I’m glad I got to be the first.”

Her hands crept upward, pausing over the ridges of my chest. “I…I’d like to take your shirt off.”

“So do it,” I said with a smile. “You’re in control here, Cinderella. Don’t you forget it.”

She started undoing the buttons, her concentration so complete that I got harder just from watching her, from feeling the slide of her fingers over the fabric, dipping against my chest. I let her do it without interfering, but it didn’t stop me from learning her shape too, moving my hands over that perfect, peach-shaped ass and…

My shirt slid off, and another gasp told me she liked what she saw.

Her face burning red, she asked, “How do you look like this?”

Even though I couldn’t remember ever feeling this turned on, I couldn’t resist teasing her. “I was born this way. They said I was the most muscular baby the doctors had ever seen.”

“I believe it,” she said, her hands spanning my chest, running softly over the ridges. “You’re beautiful.” That flush came back. “I mean…I’m sorry. I guess that wasn’t the right word.”

“It was the perfect word,” I said, reveling in the feel of her hands on me, those soft exploring fingers driving me crazy with need. “I’m glad I look good to you, because I think you are goddamn gorgeous. I’m going to take off your dress now, Deeandra, but I’m going to leave those shoes on. And I’d like you to stand against the wall. I’m going to taste you before I bring you to the bedroom.”

“This is when I wake up and find out this has all been a dream, right?” she said with a nervous laugh, her hands still on my chest, although one dipped to my pants to touch my hardness, and a jolt of pure pleasure shot through me. The things this woman did to me…

Reaching for the hem of her dress, I said, “The best dreams are real life.”

I was about to lift the fabric when suddenly she jolted back, yanking her hands from my chest, as if I’d told her that I’d followed my aunts into the family tradition of doll collecting.

“What is it?” I said, worried she’d changed her mind.

Her face was even redder now. “I…I should probably get changed in the bedroom. Or the bathroom.”

“Um. Do you mind if I ask why?”

“It’s probably for the best, is all.”

She must have seen my bafflement on my face, because she blurted out, “I’m wearing shapewear under the dress.”

A little laugh escaped me, but it dried up almost instantly, because it was clear from the look on her face she thought I was laughing at her. I lifted my hands in surrender, then took hers, pulling her close again. Kissing her with a passion that showed her I didn’t give a shit about her shapewear. Knowing she could feel from where our bodies pressed together how little I cared.

“Not laughing at you,” I soothed, pulling away. “You think I haven’t seen shapewear before? It’ll be like unwrapping a present.”

Her eyes were wide as I lifted the hem again, dancing the dress over her head and letting it fall in a pool on the floor. The shapewear was next, and although it took some maneuvering to get it off, I felt lucky to be opening this particular present. She was even sexier now, all womanly curves like the Botticelli prints at my nonna’s house.

“There you are.” Taking her by the hand, I led her to the wall and got to my knees.

She gasped. “You meant it.”

“Oh, I meant every word. And this is just the beginning.”

* * *

I woke up when she got out of bed, mostly because the bed had already been broken before she came over, and it was definitely broken now. It had belched out an ominous creak somewhere in the middle of round two, and then there’d been a collapsing sensation as part of the frame gave way. It hadn’t stopped us.

I hadn’t really been sleeping anyway, because I was floating in a state of wonder. It had never been like this with anyone else. There was a slumbering passion in Deeandra, and I’d had the privilege of awakening it. But the truth was, it went the other way too. I’d kept a distance with every woman I’d been with since Marisa, but something about this woman, this night, had brought those walls tumbling down. Maybe it was how open she’d been with me. Maybe it was because she looked at me like I was a man worth knowing, even though I had a dead-end job as a bartender and I lived in a place a college student would probably think was a dump.

“Is this where you sneak out?” I asked, taking in the curve of her back, my gaze traveling down to her butt. Already, I felt a stirring. A wish for more.

She jerked back, her eyes wide. “You scared me.”

I raised my brows.

“No, I’m not leaving. I just really need to use the bathroom.” She looked embarrassed and I had to laugh.

“No getting dressed, though. I have plans for you.”

“More?” she asked, her tone reminding me of a kid asking for another scoop of ice cream. There was a sweet, almost innocent joy to it that sent another surge of desire through me.

“More.”

“Good.” She slipped out of the room with a smile tipping up her luscious lips, and I watched the door for her return.

Only, I heard a yelp in the other room a minute later, and I leaped up, still naked as the day I was born, pausing only to grab the baseball bat behind the bed. I was expecting an intruder, but what I found was Deeandra, staring up at the massive crucifix in the hallway.

“Sorry,” she said. “I must’ve gotten turned around in the dark on my way back from the bathroom, and I bumped into him. I didn’t notice it there before.”

I had to laugh at how freaked out she seemed, like it was sacrilegious to have bumped into it completely naked, at the apartment of a man she’d known for less than twenty-four hours.

And really, I supposed Nonna would think that was true.

“I’m sorry,” I said, setting down the bat. “I thought someone had broken in or something. I was all ready to jump in and protect you, but I don’t think there’s much I can do in this case.”

“You were going to save me?” She asked it with so much wonder, I had to wonder about that asshole ex of hers.

Had he really jumped on the bed and let her deal with a rat?

“Also, on an unrelated note, did you buy that?” she said, and from the way she thrust her hand over her mouth, it was obvious she’d blurted that out without meaning to.

It was a fair question. It was a giant crucifix, and a little graphic, to be honest.

“No, and I usually take it down after FaceTiming with my nonna. I’m more of a lapsed Catholic, but she asked me to hang it up in my new apartment, and I don’t want to be the one to give her a heart attack.”

Her expression changed, her eyes warm as whipped honey. “You’re close to your family, aren’t you?”

The moment felt like it had changed, the heat running out of it and a different kind of warmth taking its place, so I wrapped an arm around her waist and led her to the futon. I pulled a crocheted blanket over us, and she snuggled into me as if we’d been together forever. Something tugged at my heart, and I found myself wanting more of this. Whatever it was.

“Yeah, sometimes I think we’re a little too tight, though I wouldn’t change it for the world. But my brother and my dad are pissed at me for moving here. They don’t understand why I’d duck out on the family company to live here by myself and work as a bartender.” I shrugged. Because maybe they had a point.

“Why did you?” she asked. “It must be hard for you to be away from them.”

I could tell her the whole saga, but I didn’t want to change the way she was looking at me—seeing pity in her eyes would be too much for me—so I settled for a piece of the truth. “I had the future mapped out, and when it changed, I needed to change too. I knew if I stayed there I wouldn’t be able to breathe.”

She snuggled in closer. “Then Dottie was right about you too. You really were in the right place at the right time.”

I’d never felt it more keenly.

I dipped my head and kissed her forehead. “Let’s just lie out here and watch some TV for a while.”

She nodded, and I grabbed the remote and turned to HGTV. Property Brothers was playing, and I grinned at her. “Maybe we can get some ideas for my place. You know, fancy it up so it’s only sort of a shithole by the time Tina gets here.”

She laughed and tightened her hold on me, but something was sparkling in her eyes. “You know,” she said after a moment, “I usually watch this alone.”

From the way she said it, I couldn’t be sure what she meant. Whether she’d prefer to be alone now. Whether she was maybe planning on sneaking out before I caught her.

So I asked, “Is this okay?”

“It’s perfect.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

DEE

By lunchtime, I figured I had to be in a coma. That was the only way I could explain why I was still at Dylan’s place. Why he was still looking at me like I was the sexiest woman alive. Why we’d had sex in every room of his apartment…okay, it was small, but still. I was going to be sore for days, but it would be worth every bit of discomfort.

But after he made us grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch—with Gruyère cheese, not American!—I realized that I would need to wake up from this fairy tale soon. The Bad Luck Club meeting was at three, and I really needed to go. Besides, the longer I stayed and put off the inevitable, the harder this was going to be. So after we ate, I found my phone and went into the bathroom to text Sam.

I need you to come pick me up. Are you free?

She responded immediately. Are you still with the hot bartender?!?!?!

I couldn’t help smiling. Yes, but I need to go home, and I don’t have my car.

You don’t want him to take you?

No.

I’d given it plenty of thought over the last hour, as it became painfully obvious that I would have to leave la-la land and return to my everyday life, with random knitted atrocities tucked all over the house and workdays full of strangers shouting obscenities at me for cold-calling about the cruises. Better for me to leave him here, where all the memories were good, rather than endure an awkward drive to my place. It would be a clean break.

Sure, she sent. Undoubtedly she had questions, but I knew she would wait to ask them later. When and where?

I sent her a pin of my location, then texted, Give me an hour.

Call me a glutton for punishment, but I was greedy and wanted a little more time with him. Lord knew when I’d ever have an experience like this again, but even as the thought floated into my head, I knew the answer. Never. This was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and I would be devastated to walk away.

I left the bathroom wearing Dylan’s T-shirt, wondering where my dress had ended up. I would need to change, and now it all felt awkward.

He smiled when I walked into the kitchen and held his arm out to me. He was rinsing the skillet under the kitchen faucet.

I went to him, and he wrapped an arm around my back, snugging me against his side and resting his chin on top of my head as he set the skillet on the counter.

He tilted my chin up to face him. The oh-so-delicious look in his eyes made my insides turn to molten lava. He wanted me again, and to my sheer surprise, I wanted him too. Just as much as I’d wanted him at the wedding. If anything, as we learned about each other with our mouths, hands, and eyes, my need for him only grew.

He grabbed my waist and lifted me onto the kitchen counter, then stripped the T-shirt from my body, leaving me completely naked. Last night, it had embarrassed me to strip in front of him. I’d worried he would be disgusted by my stretch marks and the extra padding on my hips. I was thirty-eight years old, and while Hollywood actresses could be a size two and have a perfectly fit body at my age, they had tons of money for personal trainers and plastic surgeons. I was never going to look like those women, no matter how much Randy wished otherwise. But Dylan, whose body was a work of art, whose scars somehow made him even sexier, didn’t seem to care. He ran his hands over my skin as though he was worshipping me, his mouth kissing and nibbling its way down to my breast.

I sucked in a breath as his tongue found my nipple just as his hand slipped between my legs. I leaned my head back, feeling his hands and mouth everywhere until he was filling me again, making me climb the highest mountain peak and then tossing me off. Only as I fell, he was there with me, his arms wrapped around me, holding me close.

Dylan would never let you break.

Only that wasn’t true, was it? It was a fairy tale, and everyone knew fairy tales weren’t real. Tears stung my eyes, and I clung to him a little tighter. Sam would be here soon, and I would have to find the strength to tell him goodbye.

He held me tighter too, and we stayed there for several seconds as we caught our breath, him standing between my legs, still inside me, while my butt was up on the counter, my legs wrapped around his waist. Then he lifted me up and walked us into the bathroom, lowering me gently to the bathroom floor and turning on the shower.

He washed me, his hands sliding over my body like I was a goddess, and even though he hadn’t fully recovered yet, his hand and mouth were between my legs, making me come again.

I closed my eyes, the back of my head against the shower wall as the waves of pleasure rippled through me.

“I think I’ve officially set a record for the most orgasms in a twenty-four-hour period,” I said when I caught my breath.

Still on his knees, he looked up at me with a wicked grin that lit up his eyes. “You had an orgasm yesterday afternoon?”

Something about seeing this man, kneeling in front of me, twisted my heart. I lifted a hand to his head, weaving my fingers through his short locks. “Okay, you cocky man.” I did some quick mental math and grinned. “Fourteen hours.”

He got to his feet, then kissed me, slow and leisurely as though we had all the time in the world and he planned to enjoy every minute of it. “That’s more like it.”

I stared up at him, my hand still in his hair, and my heart ached at the thought of leaving him. What if I told him about the kids? He liked kids. Not just Tyrell but his cousins back home. He’d told me a little more about them last night, in between marathon bouts of sex and the Property Brothers.

The lukewarm water suddenly turned cold, and I shrieked. Laughing, we jumped out of the shower and Dylan turned the water off, then wrapped me in a towel before he dried himself off. Something about the gesture was so sweet, so caring that I reminded myself that yes, he liked kids, and he was probably going to want some of his own someday. He’d made it clear family was important to him, and I couldn’t give him children even if I wanted to. After I had Oliver, the doctor had told me it wouldn’t be safe to get pregnant again, and after several years of begging Randy to get a vasectomy—which he obviously hadn’t agreed to—I’d had my tubes tied. Dylan deserved a woman who could give him children, not a woman who forced him to compromise.

“You’re a good man, Dylan,” I said, my voice tight with unshed tears. He smile faded when he saw my expression. Worry lines creased his forehead.

An unfamiliar ringtone sounded from the living room, and he frowned. “That’s my mother.”

I grinned. “You have mind-reading skills? No wonder you’re amazing in bed. Tell me what I’m thinking right now.”

He grinned too, but he still looked worried. “I wish I knew what you were thinking, especially a moment ago, but sadly I don’t. My family calls me every Sunday after they have lunch. It’s the only day my brother and my dad will talk to me at all lately.”

“Spaghetti truce,” I said softly, pleased that he had such a devoted family, yet understanding his need for separation, for a space of his own. Some days I really needed space from my own mother.

“Yeah,” he said with a hint of embarrassment.

I reached up and kissed him lightly, then sank back down to my heels. “I think it’s very sweet.”

The phone stopped ringing, only to start up again three seconds later.

He cringed. “My mother may live nearly a thousand miles away, but she still knows my Sunday schedule. If I don’t answer, she’ll call the Asheville Police Department and order them to check on me, certain I was murdered in my sleep.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m thirty years old, yet she still thinks of me as a child. And if I complained about it, she’d tell me that the one time she let her guard down I was shot, as if she could have stopped it just by sending thought rays or whatever.”

“Mine’s like that too. I understand.”

“Even at the ripe old age of thirty-eight?” he teased.

“Yeah,” I said with a laugh, even though my heart was breaking. “Even though I’m old.”

He grabbed his T-shirt and tugged it over his head. “I’m really sorry. It’s a FaceTime call, so I’ll take it in the bedroom, but I’ll try to cut it short,” he said apologetically.

“No. Please. Don’t cut it short on my account. They might start asking questions you don’t want to answer.”

The look on his face suggested I understood his situation all too well.

The phone stopped ringing.

I’d wanted to give him a proper goodbye, but maybe this would be easier. Maybe it would be less painful for us both. I hated the thought of causing him pain, but I told myself it would be fleeting. A man like him wouldn’t be alone for long, not if he didn’t want to be. Even if it made me feel an uncomfortable prickle of jealousy to imagine him with anyone else.

I smiled up at him, cupping his face and drinking in his every feature. I wanted his image burned into my memory.

“Deeandra,” he said, turning serious. “This has—”

The phone started ringing again.

I pressed another soft kiss to his lips, needing to kiss him one last time. “Go answer your call,” I said softly. “Don’t keep your family waiting.”

He gave me a long, worried look, then grabbed his athletic shorts and tugged them on as he walked out of the bathroom and into his room, cracking the door.

The sounds of his family’s effusive greetings drifted out, and I smiled to myself even as my heart wept. How could I grieve over a man I’d known for fourteen hours? But my heart didn’t listen to reason. Tears burned my eyes as I left the bathroom and peeked out the blinds to see Sam’s car in the parking lot.

Damn it.

My borrowed dress was next to the sofa, but there was no way I had time to struggle into that, and my shapewear was tucked beneath it. Not to mention Melinda’s shoes were in Dylan’s room. I’d have to reimburse her because there was no way in hell I was going to ask for them back. So I put on Dylan’s T-shirt, which was as big as a dress on me, then went out into the kitchen and found a small notepad and pen and wrote:

Dylan,

This has been the greatest fourteen hours of my life. Thank you for that. Thank you for making me feel desirable and beautiful. I will never forget this time with you as long as I live,

Cinderella

Then I wadded the dress and shapewear into a ball, shoved my feet into my flats, and grabbed my phone as Dylan’s voice carried from the bedroom. “Nonna, I promise you. I haven’t lost weight. I’m eating.”

I opened the front door, then carefully closed it behind me, making sure to keep it as quiet as possible.

“That’s Dylan’s shirt,” the boy from last night said in an accusatory tone.

I jumped, placing a hand on my chest, feeling a fresh wave of gratitude that Dylan was so tall his T-shirt came to my mid-thighs. “What?”

“That’s his jersey,” he repeated, the accusation replaced with anger. “He wears his Boston Celtics jersey when they play sometimes. For good luck. You’re stealing it.”

I didn’t have time to have this discussion with him, but I also didn’t want him to alert Dylan to the fact that I’d left. That would be all kinds of awkward. “I’m only borrowing it.”

Then I raced down the sidewalk to Sam’s waiting car.

She stared at me, her mouth hanging open, and I could only imagine what I looked like, running away from a teenager in a borrowed shirt.

I jumped into the passenger seat, then said, “Go!” before I even got the door shut.

Being the good friend that she was, she threw the car in reverse and shot away from the curb before slamming it into drive, tires screeching as she took off and turned out of the lot.

Tyrell stood in front of his apartment, his eyes wide.

Great. So much for convincing him I wasn’t stealing Dylan’s shirt when it looked like I’d nabbed it and taken off in a getaway car.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, shooting me a worried glance. “Was he holding you captive in his sex dungeon and this is your escape?”

I rolled my eyes. “He wasn’t holding me captive.”

“I notice you didn’t deny the sex dungeon part.”

I couldn’t help my half-snort/half-chuckle. “He didn’t have a sex dungeon. He lives on the second floor, for heaven’s sake.”

“You don’t need to be so literal,” she shot back, then turned serious. “Why the quick getaway?”

Leaning my head back against the headrest, I fought a new batch of tears. “Because he was on a video chat with his family in his room, and it would have been pretty awkward to poke my head in and say, ‘Hey, my ride’s here. Thanks for the amazing one-night stand. Can I borrow your shirt?’ Then wave to his very large Italian family and leave.”

“You know about his family?” She shook her head. “Girl, you do not know how one-night stands work.”

“I was out sick the day they covered that in health class back in high school, okay?” I said, exasperated. “How the hell am I supposed to know how to have a one-night stand?”

She made a face, keeping her eyes on the road. “I don’t know. It seems pretty self-explanatory to me. You sleep with the guy. You do your walk of shame the next morning, wearing your own clothes. No hasty getaways. No staying until past noon.” Her face lit up, and she turned to face me. “Now tell me what happened. Every detail. Start with last night.”

So I did. I told her about seeing Dylan at the bar and how he’d slid the heels onto my feet and then led me to the dance floor.

“Girl, you two were on fire,” she gushed, shaking her head. “The lady at the table closest to you was literally fanning herself.”

My face flushed with embarrassment.

“So he invited you over for a drink?” she asked with a wink.

“Nooo…” My face and chest grew hot, and my shoulders hitched up to my ears. “I asked him to take me home.”

She screeched the car to a halt in the middle of the street and turned to face me, her eyes as wide as donut holes. “Deeandra Bowers. You. Did. What?”

Horror washed through me. “I know. Shameful.”

“The hell it is!” she shouted, then threw her arms around me, hugging me tight. “I’m so stinking proud of you! You saw something you wanted, and you went for it.” She released me and sat back in her seat. “So you talked to Dottie and texted me, then went back to his place and he screwed your brains out?”

My face was on fire. “Sort of.”

A car behind us honked, and she threw an exasperated glance at her rearview mirror, then started driving again.

“Can I just take a single moment to celebrate the fact my best friend just got laid?” She shot me a glance. “Now explain what ‘sort of’ means.”

I shrugged. I wasn’t one to share details of what went on in the bedroom, mostly because I hoped my partner wouldn’t tell the embarrassing stories about me. But it seemed okay to give some information. “Okay. He did. Many. Times. Last night. In the middle of the night. This morning and this afternoon. In his bedroom. His sofa. On his kitchen counter. His shower. Against his living room wall…”

“Now you’re just bragging,” she said in mock disgust.

I supposed I was. “What about you and the guy you were hanging out with last night?”

“Nothing. He got embarrassingly drunk, and threw up on the shoes of the bride’s brother’s girlfriend. The brother punched my date in the nose, and then my guy fell on top of the wedding cake.” She scrunched her nose. “You know how much I hate cake icing. I certainly didn’t want to lick it off him.”

I stared at her in shock, wondering if it was Blue’s shoes that had been ruined. “Besides, it’s hard to take a guy who wants to build self-driving cars for dogs seriously.”

“I thought you didn’t want to take any man seriously,” I said. “I thought you wanted to have fun.”

“I do, but I’m not a teenager. A guy needs more than hot looks to capture my attention. Half a brain would be nice. And maybe I’m just being choosy, but I’d prefer if he wasn’t covered in buttercream frosting.” She glanced at me and then back to the road. “So why the text and the hasty getaway? Did he not want to take you home?”

“He didn’t know I was leaving.”

“What?” She screeched to a halt again, and the driver behind us laid on his horn. “Oh, my God!” she shouted, throwing her hands up. “I’m having a moment!” Then she pressed the gas pedal and continued forward.

“Maybe you should pull over.”

“I’m fine. I suspect I’m all out of shock. Now tell me why you snuck out.”

“I don’t know,” I said, close to tears again. “It seemed easier than saying goodbye.”

“So he made it clear that he didn’t want to see you again?”

I thought about standing with him in the bathroom right before he took his call. “No. I don’t know.”

“What exactly did he say?”

“About seeing each other again? Nothing. I think he was just thinking about what was going on between us at the time. Neither of us talked about the future.”

“So why the hell did you sneak out?” she asked, then turned to me. “Does he have toe hair? I bet it’s so long he has to braid it so it doesn’t get tangled in his socks.”

“What?”

“Well, I know he’s good-looking. I saw him. Oh! Is he one of those bodybuilder guys who likes to walk around without a shirt, flexing his arms, and watch his reflection in the window?”

He had walked around without a shirt quite a bit, but only because I kept taking it off him. “No. He isn’t like that.”

“What is it about him that sent you running, then? Don’t tell me he was a partner in the dog car venture.”

I laughed even though my heart was breaking. “No. Nothing like that.” I turned to face her. “He’s thirty years old, Sam.”

She waited a few seconds, then waved her arm in a hurry-up motion. “And?”

“And I’m thirty-eight!”

“I’m well aware of this fact since I’m the one who put candles with the numbers three and eight on your Boston cream pie for your birthday, and since we graduated together, I know you’re not eighty-three.”

“Sam,” I groaned. “Be serious.”

“I’m deadly serious.” She turned to face me. “Please don’t tell me you ran out of his apartment because he’s eight years younger than you.”

“Seven, but it doesn’t matter. Samantha, I can’t have a thing with a younger guy!”

“Why the hell not?” she demanded. “Haven’t you heard that cougars are hot?”

I didn’t answer, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

She turned down my street and pulled into the driveway. The car was safely in park, so at least we weren’t going to get into a car wreck. “Was he an asshole?”

“No. He was thoughtful. Sweet. He treated me better than Randy ever did.”

“So you walked away from a sweet, thoughtful, insanely good-looking man because he’s seven years younger than you.”

It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t confirm it.

“Dee.” She turned to me and cupped my cheek, her eyes glassy with tears. “I love you more than my sister, God bless her stupid heart, so I hope you take this in the loving spirit in which it’s intended.” Her eyes narrowed and her mom face took over her features. “Have you lost your ever-loving mind?”

“What?”

“You do not walk away from a good man because he’s younger than you!”

“But—”

“I have half a mind to drive you back over there!”

I gasped. “Don’t you dare!”

“Dee! Why are you sabotaging yourself like this?”

I stared at her, trying to comprehend her question. I wasn’t sabotaging myself. “I’m a mother, Samantha,” I said, pleading with her to understand. “I have two little boys who need their mother. I can’t be dating and hooking up with guys when they’re with their dad.”

“First of all, they’re ten and thirteen, and they’re no longer little boys. Second, you may be a mother, but you are still entitled to a life outside of your children. And third, if you choose to screw every single guy in a half-mile radius when your kids are with their father, that’s no one’s damn business but your own.” She shrugged. “And the men you’re screwing.” She made a face and shrugged. “Just make sure they cover it up.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, hell. Tell me he covered it up.”

Groaning, I said, “He covered it up, although he had to DoorDash condoms this morning from CVS.”

Her jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

I shrugged, then reached for the door handle. “I have to go inside and get ready to go to my meeting.”

“You’re still planning to go to that?”

“I may have had the best sex of my life, but the world still goes on.”

“Consider changing your mind,” she said. “Don’t throw a great guy away just because of his age. At least give him a chance to really turn you off. Wait for him to clip his toenails in bed. Or put almond butter on his pancakes.”

“I hate almond butter,” I said with a shudder.

“I know, you weirdo.” Then she gave me an understanding smile. “Look. We’ve both dealt with assholes most of our adult lives, so it’s hard to comprehend that we deserve something good.” She cupped my cheek again. “But you deserve something good, Dee.”

“I walked out without a word. Just a note. He’s going to hate me, Sam.” I shook my head. “No. This was a lesson. A stepping-stone to my new life. I need to learn from this and move on.”

Even if I felt like I was leaving my heart behind.

CHAPTER EIGHT

DYLAN

My mom went on and on about the baked ziti being off because Dad had picked up the wrong brand of pasta at the store. Then Nonna broke in to say it was her fault because the kitchen was a woman’s place, and she shouldn’t have encouraged my dad to help with dinner in the first place.

In the background, I could hear Matteo saying, “Oh shit, she went there”—which earned him a slap upside the head from our grandmother. She could tear any man a new one, but she didn’t believe men belonged within twenty feet of the kitchen, including famous Italian-American chefs like Emeril Lagasse. Dad said it was part of her Old World charm, but Mom and Tina didn’t find it so charming. Neither did my aunts. They were right, of course, but Nonna wasn’t going to suddenly change, any more than Tina was going to stop being Tina because our grandmother had finally said the right number of rosaries for her.

“Don’t we call it spaghetti truce for a reason?” I muttered. “I thought everyone was supposed to get along.”

“Oh, we’re not actually fighting, Dylan,” my mom said with a wave of her hand. “It’s just a discussion.” Then she cocked her head, studying me. “Nonna was wrong about the weight thing, but you do look different, honey. You look good. You look happy.”

I huffed a laugh. “So I looked like a sad sack when I lived at home, huh?”

“You said it,” Tina called out. “You might as well have had a thundercloud following you around.”

“Tina,” Mom rebuked, but her tone lacked any heat. Then she turned back to me, studying me like she was a forensic pathologist and I was a particularly interesting corpse. “You met a woman. I can always tell.”

It was then I heard it—the creak of a door closing. Something inside of me jolted, especially at the strange synchronicity of my mother’s comment and that sound. Had Deeandra left?

But she wouldn’t just sneak out like that, would she? If she’d wanted to sneak out, she would have done it last night.

She wouldn’t have stayed for grilled cheese and more sex, or worn my T-shirt in a way that spoke of possession.

The truth was, nothing that had passed between us had felt like a one-night stand. It had felt like the beginning of something special, the kind of something you wanted to stick.

So why didn’t she want you to see her house, Dylan? Why don’t you know what she does for a living?

She knew those things about me, but she’d skirted around most of the personal questions I’d asked her.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Mom said, her eyes full of victory.

My heart seemed to stutter within my chest. The window in the bedroom was at the opposite end of the apartment from the front, so I couldn’t look out to see whether she’d left. I’d need to cross the apartment.

“Mom, I can’t talk about this right now.” I knew I’d pay for it later, but I needed to get out of the room so I could prove to myself she was still there, snuggled into the couch in my jersey. Then we could sit down and have a real talk, the kind that would give us space to figure out where this connection between us could lead. “I love you. Say goodbye to everyone for me, okay? I’ll talk to you later.”

She opened her mouth to saying something, probably “no,” but I’d already started closing out the app.

I pocketed my phone and called out a soft, “Deeandra,” as I pushed out of the room.

But she wasn’t there, and given my apartment was all of four rooms, it didn’t take me long to figure out she wasn’t anywhere. Her dress was gone too. I whipped out the door without any shoes on, only to find she wasn’t outside either.

Tyrell stood on his porch, looking down at the empty curb before our building with a slightly glazed look.

“That bitch is crazy,” he said.

“Watch your mouth,” I said, even as my stomach sank. Because it didn’t require much imagination to figure out who he meant.

He gestured to the empty parking spot. “I think you got honeypotted, my man. She went home with you last night because she wanted your jersey. Her friend was waiting for her in a getaway car and everything. Now, that bit—woman is really crazy. Blond lady drove out of here like a bat out of hell, then came to a full stop not thirty feet down the road before zooming off again.”

Well, shit. She hadn’t just left—she’d made a getaway worthy of a bank robber. The kind of bank robber who’d probably get caught, but even so, the message was pretty clear.

If she’d wanted to leave, I would have dropped her off at home.

Hell, if she’d wanted to sneak out this morning, I would have understood.

But this?

No. This I don’t get. Because there was no way she’d faked the way she looked at me, full of warmth and sincerity and desire, any more than she’d faked anything else.

Except…she’d been upset in the shower, and I hadn’t known why. This had to be the reason. She’d already decided to leave.

Tyrell ambled over and patted me on the back. “Stay strong. I’ve seen other women coming in and out of your place. You won’t have any trouble finding a new piece. But I am sorry you lost your lucky jersey. That’s a tough break. Do you want to shoot some hoops?”

“Not right now, but thanks, buddy,” I said, mostly because I was at a loss for words. I also didn’t feel like explaining to a teenager why a woman stomping on your heart in stilettos felt worse than losing a piece of fabric. He’d find out the hard way, as likely as not.

I headed back inside because what the hell else was I supposed to do? Chase down Sam’s car? Because surely she was the blond lady Tyrell had described.

I found Deeandra’s note in the kitchen, sitting on the counter where I’d been inside her. Had she done that on purpose? Or had she been drawn to it without realizing why?

I felt a pulse of longing as I read through it again, and that feeling pissed me off enough that I balled up the note and threw it across the room.

For a few minutes, I paced the apartment, feeling a rush of pent-up energy, like I had the night Marisa had left, then I headed down to the gym—one of the only perks of this place—and worked until I was sweating and my muscles hurt. In the gym, I got no less than five texts from my family—three from my mom, who wasn’t thrilled at being hung up on when she couldn’t feasibly drive over and ambush me, and two from my sister.

Mom said you met a girl.

What the hell? Holding out on me, bro?

I stopped what I was doing for long enough to answer.

Looks like I got ghosted. Not ready to talk about it. Never would be preferable. Tell Mom I’m fine, but I’m going off the grid for the rest of the day.

Then I shut off my phone, because I wasn’t sure I could take my little sister feeling sorry for me. Again.

It wasn’t until I got back to my room to change that I found the shoes, those sexy-as-hell stilettos.

A laugh hammered out of me, even though it was more sad than funny that I really had been left with Cinderella’s shoes.

She’d want those back, or rather Sam’s cousin would. She’d told me this morning that they were loaners. There’d been a flash of vulnerability in her eyes, like she’d thought the magic between us might shrivel if I knew they weren’t her everyday shoes.

“I don’t normally dress like that, Dylan,” she’d said to me, her tone as serious as if she were telling a seven-year-old kid Santa wasn’t real.

“I should hope not,” I’d teased. “It would be pretty strange to wear an evening gown to the grocery store. Believe it or not, I don’t wear an all-black look every day. Some days I wear white too. Actually, don’t tell my nonna, but my favorite shirt is green. Worse, it’s a Celtics jersey. She thinks the little leprechaun is a demon.”

She laughed at that, but not because I was joking. I was pretty sure she knew I was serious. “I don’t believe you own such a thing. Proof or it didn’t happen.”

So I’d headed over to the closet and thrown the Celtics T-shirt to her.

She’d caught it and held it to her chest, the green bringing out the highlights in her hair and the green flecks in her brown eyes. Then I’d captured her to my chest and rolled her on top of me, eliciting a squeal.

“This is how I like you best. Wrapped up in my sheets. Or in my T-shirt.” And because I loved the way she laughed when I teased her, I’d added, “But the shoes don’t hurt.”

Shit.

No, the shoes hadn’t hurt, but this sure as hell did.

Still, she’d made her decision, and I wasn’t going to fight her on it. I’d gotten beyond the need to prove to someone I was worthy of their time.

Maybe she’d looked at me and seen an opportunity, not a person. Because it wouldn’t be the first time a woman had decided she wanted to go home with the “hot bartender,” only to realize in the morning that I was still just a bartender, with an apartment that had a water damage smiley face in the bedroom and a low balance in my bank account. I’d had a few one-night stands before, and they hadn’t gone down anything like this one, but maybe she did them differently. Or maybe she was so newly single she didn’t know how she did them.

Still, the shoes weren’t hers, and the polite thing—the Saint Dylan thing—was to get them back to her or the owner. But how was I supposed to do that when she’d left me a grand total of nothing to go on?

I had a flash of Dottie saying she knew Deeandra’s friend Sam. Deeandra knew Blue too, and Lee. But I barely knew Lee myself, and he wasn’t the kind of person I wanted to pull into my personal business.

Dottie, though…

The brewery was closed today, on account of a lot of the employees having attended the wedding last night, but I had Dottie’s phone number. She’d given it to me that first day and told me to contact her anytime, for any reason. Which had seemed overly friendly and flat-out weird to my friend Ray, but her immediate warmth had reminded me of my family—of the way my nonna could be rude as hell to my mother, then invite someone she’d met at the grocery store to spend Christmas with the family because Oh, the poor dear, her cat was run over by the neighbor, who was driving off in a hurry because he’d stolen her mail, or some other crazy-ass story that sounded made-up…until the woman of your dreams rode off in your Celtics shirt in a getaway car.

I turned my phone back on to call Dottie, and to my shock there was only one further message from Tina: You got it. But if you need little sister support, I’m on call. Love you.

Love you too. I paused, then added, Thank you. I may take you up on that sometime.

I started to text Dottie, but the truth was I didn’t know what to say.

So I called her instead.

“I was hoping I’d hear from you, dear,” she said, answering on the first ring.

Discombobulated by how quickly she’d answered, I said, “Um, I have something that belongs to that woman you know, Sam. Well, her cousin, I guess.”

Suddenly, I didn’t want to tell her about Deeandra. It felt too raw. Besides, Dottie was my boss. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing to confirm that I’d gone home with someone from the wedding, especially a crasher. Given that she’d encouraged us, I doubted she’d care, but that wasn’t to say someone else in the Buchanan family wouldn’t.

“Come over to my house for a little while, Dylan,” she said. “There’s something we need to discuss. A couple of things, actually.”

Then she hung up, as if she was so sure I was going to come that there was no need for any further back-and-forth. Or maybe she just knew there was a chance I’d bail if she let me.

A few seconds later, my phone buzzed with her address.

Since it had been hammered into me never to go over to someone’s house as a guest without bringing something, I picked up some flowers from the grocery store and headed to Dottie’s house.

The turquoise paint job suited her, I decided. She looked like the kind of person who should live in a house like this. It would have been weirdly disappointing if her house had been beige or some kind of cookie-cutter deal.

When I knocked, she called out for me to come in. I found her in the kitchen, bustling around in a way that made me think of my nonna again.

She turned to me with a radiant smile, like she was genuinely glad to see me, and even though she was like that with a lot of people, it didn’t feel any less special for it.

“Oh good, you’re here. And you brought flowers!”

They were daisies, not particularly special, but she plucked them out of my hands and carried on about them as if I’d gathered them from the Garden of Eden.

She gestured to the table, where she’d laid out enough food for probably half a dozen people. “I hope you’re hungry.”

I wasn’t, but I just nodded and sat. After putting the daisies in a mason jar, she plunked a bottle of beer down in front of me, along with a pint glass etched with the brewery’s old logo, and then served herself the same. Hers was Serenity, an old-school Buchanan brew River had brought back, and mine was Home Sweet Home, a spring beer that had won a couple of awards.

“If you’re trying to convince me to stay, Dottie,” I said with a small smile, “you already did. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m here. Mission accomplished.”

“And I couldn’t be happier you accepted my invitation, dear boy. This is where you belong.”

I lifted my brows. “Why are you suddenly so worried I’m going to leave?”

Then it struck me. She’d seen me and Deeandra together last night; then I’d called saying I had her friend’s cousin’s shoes. Dottie had spent twenty years working in a tasting room, and she knew how to read between the lines better than anyone else I’d ever known. Even the guy in the Marines who’d always known when another guy was going to drop an unholy stink in the bathroom.

“If this is about the woman I was with last night…”

“In a way, yes, Dylan. When I met her earlier in the evening, her spirit was as off-balance as yours was when I met you.”

“Off-balance?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. “You never told me that.”

“That’s why I gave you the painting, dear, so you could see.” She shook her head slightly, as if she couldn’t believe how obtuse I was being. “People are always saying to show, not tell. Didn’t you notice?”

In those abstract whorls of paint? “No, I can’t say I did. I thought it was just a housewarming present.”

“Well, yes,” she said, lifting her beer for a sip and giving a hm of pleasure. “But there’s no reason it can’t be both.”

“You were talking about our souls.”

“Yes, hers was off-balance at the beginning of the night, but I was delighted to see it was much better by the end of the evening. Yours, my dear, has been improving since I met you, and the improvement last night was simply remarkable.”

“She’s not my soul mate,” I said, because even though I could be obtuse, I’d been around the block and back enough to read between some lines myself.

“Be that as it may”—she said it in the way of someone who knew I was wrong and was humoring me—“you do have the lady’s shoes.”

“Her friend’s cousin’s shoes,” I muttered.

“And I have her address.”

I almost popped out of my chair at that. “You do?”

“I do. And I think most misunderstandings can be worked out quite easily in person, don’t you?”

I wasn’t sure if I did. Or if it would be appropriate for me to show up at Deeandra’s house after she’d made it quite clear she never wanted to see me again.

But the words from her note floated up from my subconscious. This has been the greatest fourteen hours of my life.

I rubbed between my eyes and took a swig of the beer, letting the lemony flavor wash through me. God, it was good, definitely up there with River’s best work.

“The thing is, Dottie, she walked out on me. I’m not sure that’s much of a misunderstanding.”

But those words of hers still hadn’t left my head. I couldn’t shake the thought that she hadn’t wanted to leave—that she’d maybe convinced herself she had to.

I put out my hands, palms up. “Who knows. Maybe she didn’t want to get involved with a guy who’s just a bartender. I wouldn’t hold it against her. A lot of women feel that way when you get right down to it.”

“But you’re not just a bartender, Dylan.”

“Look, it’s okay, Dottie. I don’t need pepping up. I’m fine with what I do. I’m grateful to be at Buchanan, and I have no intention of leaving.”

“You’re not just a bartender,” she said, holding my gaze. “I saw what you did with that young man when you came into the bar a couple of months ago. You did that as a guest. And I’ve watched you charm our customers and make them feel at home, and try to get Daniel, who does tend to be a bit lazy, the dear, into line. You’re always watching for trouble and stepping in to mediate it, to make our brewery a place people want to stay. I didn’t bring you here to be a bartender, Dylan. You’re my replacement.”

“What?” I asked, almost dropping the beer.

Her smile was so wide it had to be painful. “I told Beau”—Beau being her partner, who’d passed away about a year ago—“that we would take care of his grandchildren one day, and now they’re all here, running the brewery he started.” She grasped her hands under her chin. “In love with their partners. It’s a beautiful thing, and it’s just what he wanted. But my work is done. I’m ready for new challenges.”

Of course she was. A woman like Dottie Hendrickson wasn’t about to retire in a cabin in the woods somewhere.

“Have you told everyone yet?”

“No, dear,” she said, reaching out to give my hand a squeeze. “I wanted to tell you first. This”—she gestured to the food and our beers—“is our celebration of the changing of the guard.”

I scrubbed a hand over my face. “I don’t know what to say, Dottie. I’ve never been in charge of anyone before.”

In the Marines, I’d been a grunt. In my dad’s store, I’d been the younger brother. It had mostly felt like pity work, even though I’d been assured the store was as much mine as it was Matteo’s.

“It’s about time, don’t you think?” she said, lifting her bottle. And I drank with her, because maybe she was right.

“We’ll announce the change to everyone after River and Georgie return from their honeymoon.” She clapped her hands. “Now, there’s something else I wanted to discuss with you before I send you off with dear Deeandra’s address.”

Her expression turned stern. “You did a noble thing yesterday, promising to pose for Stella to get her to leave. But I’m afraid she won’t let you out of it. I’ve already tried. She wants you to come over tomorrow evening, after your shift at the brewery. I’ll come, of course, because you need a witness.”

What did she think Goat Lady Stella was going to do? She couldn’t be more than a buck twenty sopping wet. Then again, maybe that was the kind of question I’d do better not to ask.

“Uh, okay. Thanks, Dottie.”

“No, thank you,” she said, patting my hand. “Another job well done.”

Then she pulled a folded slip of paper out of her pocket, indicating she’d thought this out well before my arrival, and handed it over. “Now, you go see your woman.”

* * *

My heart pounded as I pulled onto Deeandra’s street in the south side of town. Most of the houses were little bungalows, several painted bright colors like Dottie’s, but there were a few new houses interspersed—tall, modern ones that looked as out of place as a crane would in a flock of bluebirds. There wasn’t much street parking, so I took a space a few houses down from the one that had to be hers. A dark green bungalow with lemon-yellow trim and a green lawn.

A car was in the driveway. I grabbed the shoes and was about to get out when a red Toyota Corolla pulled into the drive. Two kids got out, the older one about Tyrell’s age, followed by a smarmy-looking man with honey-brown hair and a slight paunch. The three of them headed to the door together.

Had I gotten the address wrong?

Then the door flew open, and Deeandra stepped out, wearing jeans and a T-shirt—although unfortunately not my T-shirt—and wrapped her arms around the kids, the love and joy in her expression unmistakable. These were her kids.

She said something to the man, and then the guy got back into his car and drove away, and Deeandra and the kids headed back inside.

If I’d felt gut-punched before, I felt eviscerated now. She hadn’t told me she had kids, but it made sense of a couple of the things she’d said or almost said.

She hadn’t told me because she hadn’t wanted to let me into her real life. She hadn’t told me because I’d only been a fantasy to her. She hadn’t wanted the real me any more than she’d wanted to give me the real her. The wedding had been nothing but a good time to her, and I’d checked all the boxes for a night on the wild side.

And the guy? Part of me wondered if she’d lied about him too, but I couldn’t make it square. She didn’t seem like the kind of person who was capable of that big of a lie. So he probably was an ex, dropping the kids off after his weekend with them.

But I still had her friend’s cousin’s shoes, and it was obvious I wouldn’t be sliding them onto her feet the way I wanted to, so I got out and left them on the front stoop. No one came to the door, which was for the best.

I needed to forget Cinderella.

CHAPTER NINE

DEE

“So you took time off to raise your children?” asked Beverly, the older woman across the desk from me. It was Monday afternoon, and I was at the interview I would have spent much more time preparing for if I hadn’t spent the weekend with Dylan.

Except that wasn’t totally true. I would have spent all of those hours stressing about it. Worrying and fretting. And instead I’d spent most of them happy, and I’d stayed up late last night trying to think of questions and answers that might help me today. This was one of them, but it was still a scary question, because this was when I usually got ushered out the door.

But this woman had a kind face, and her eyes lit up with understanding and possibly a bit of appreciation.

“Um…” I cleared my throat and decided that I should feel no shame for having chosen to raise my children. I lifted my chin slightly. “I did. It didn’t make much sense to spend most of my salary on childcare just so I could say I was out in the workforce. I knew the sacrifice I was making, but it made sense economically, especially after I had my second child. And it wasn’t like I was sitting at home watching soap operas or talk shows all day. I volunteered at my kids’ elementary school. I chaired the PTA’s major fundraiser for five years straight, increasing the donations between ten and twenty percent each year.”

She glanced down at my résumé, which she’d printed out and set in front of her—everyone else I’d interviewed with recently, and admittedly, there hadn’t been a lot, had used tablets—then back up, a frown creasing her forehead. “Why isn’t the fundraising on your résumé?”

I blinked. “I wasn’t paid. It was strictly in a volunteer capacity.”

Beverly picked up a pen from her desk and laid the paper down. “When were you in charge of the fundraiser?”

I blinked again. She probably thought I had dry eyes or a nervous tic. “I started when Liam was in elementary, but Oliver’s younger, so I kept doing it after Liam moved on to middle school.” I cringed. “Sorry. Those are my boys.” I did some quick mental math, but I was too nervous to pull up the actual years, so I just said, “I had to let it go this year, so for the five years prior.”

“You let it go this year?” she prodded.

“Yes, my husband left, and I needed work that paid…” Now I sounded pathetic.

“I see.” She bent over the paper and wrote down a few things I couldn’t read. When she glanced up, she smiled. “How long were you at your previous employer? Before you left to raise your family?”

“Seven years,” I said. “I got a receptionist job there right out of high school, and when I left, I was the office manager.”

She looked me up and down. “Which means you must have been in your mid-twenties. To move up that quickly in responsibility is impressive.”

Her praise caught me off guard. “Thank you.”

“I gather you learn quickly.”

I nodded. “I do.”

“Then you should move pretty quickly in our ranks too,” she said, her face beaming. “I’d like to start you in the receptionist position, but once you’re oriented we’ll start teaching you insurance coding. Are you up for that?”

It took me at least three seconds to comprehend what she was saying. “You mean I got the job?”

Her smile spread. “You got the job. I’ve seen enough to know you’re a perfect fit. How soon can you start?”

I tried to contain my excitement. It wouldn’t look very professional to hop out of my seat and jump up and down, shouting with joy. “I can start next week. My job doesn’t require any notice.”

She gave me a sympathetic look. “Your job as a telemarketer?”

The shame that usually accompanied that admission made my cheeks burn, but then my pride rose up. I’d taken that job because it was the only one I could find on very short notice. “It put food on the table for my kids.”

She started to say something, then stopped and leaned closer. “There’s no shame in doing what’s best for your family, Deeandra,” she said softly. “Whether that’s staying home with them or taking a job that provides for them. I have nothing but respect for that.”

I stared at her as though she’d just crowned me queen of Asheville.

“At our office,” she continued, “family is important. And we consider our employees family too. You do a good job and respect your coworkers and our patients, and we’ll treat you well in return. Would you like to hear about the benefits package?”

I nodded dumbly. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t real.

But it was. The pay was better than what I was making now, and while it still wasn’t great, if I excelled at coding, I could move into the position currently held by a woman who would be leaving Asheville in four months, and that job paid significantly more. After ninety days, I’d receive health insurance and even dental insurance, which would help pay for the braces Liam needed.

Beverly led me out of her office and introduced me to my new coworkers, from the other receptionist to the coders, the nurses, and even two of the five doctors. Everyone was warm and friendly, and I wanted to pinch myself, because this job was a dream come true.

When I left, I parked in the lot of a nearby coffee shop and called Sam. She’d barely answered when I said, “I got the job.”

“What?” she squealed. “That’s amazing! We need to celebrate! Bring the kids over, and we’ll all have dinner at my house. Come by at six thirty. My kids will both be home tonight, and they’ll be just as excited to celebrate with you.”

Her kids were teenagers, but they were close to their mother and to me. They would be excited.

Still, I almost tried to dissuade her, to tell her that I didn’t want to put her to so much trouble. But that was the old me talking. The old me that had always struggled with people putting me first. I was tired of putting myself second, or third, or at the end of the line. I was tired of making sure everyone else was happy at the cost of my own happiness. Maybe it was my new job that had spurred this feeling, but I knew better.

It was my fourteen hours with Dylan.

But I never would have met Dylan in the first place if not for the Bad Luck Club, and not just because of Bear’s do something that breaks the rules challenge. For months, he’d been trying to convince me that wanting something for myself wasn’t selfish. That it was actually healthy for a parent to have a life outside of their children. Of course, he both lived and worked with his son, Cal, so he wasn’t exactly taking his own advice, but I knew what he meant. I just hadn’t imagined wanting anything more, or reaching for it, before Dylan slid that shoe onto my foot. Bear had asked about my challenge yesterday at the meeting, of course, and I’d told him I’d completed it without offering many details. I could see the disappointment in his eyes. Not because he felt like he needed to know everything, but because he could tell I was upset. But I’d swallowed down all of that emotion, telling myself I had to focus on my interview.

“Yeah,” I said with forced enthusiasm, feeling a wave of melancholy at the thought of Dylan and the way we’d parted. Or more like how I’d fled. Looking back on it, I was ashamed, but there was nothing to be done about it now. He’d found out where I lived, and instead of knocking on my door, he’d left my shoes on my front porch. Or rather, Melinda’s shoes. They’d smelled a little like his cologne, light and not overpowering, but spicy and musky, and it had made everything inside me clench with wanting even as I realized what it meant. “We’d love that.”

“Why does it sound like you just accepted an invitation to a slug festival?”

“It’s not you, Sam. And thank you for the dinner. The boys and I will be excited for an evening of fun. It’s just that I was thinking about Dylan.”

“Have you come to your senses yet?” she asked.

“What?”

“Have you realized that you jumped the gun when you left? That you should have at least let him fall into a wedding cake before you cut him loose?”

I struggled to think of Dylan falling into a wedding cake, but for some reason the thought made me smile. He’d probably grin and then lick the frosting off his upper lip. Randy would have jumped up shouting, threatening to sue, even if he was the one who’d made the mistake.

“Yeah,” I sighed, covering my eyes with my hand. “I do now. But it’s too late to do anything about it. He stopped by my house sometime last night.”

“Wait!” she shouted. “Why didn’t you lead with that?”

“Because he didn’t knock on the door, Sam. He just dropped off my shoes. I mean Melinda’s shoes.”

“Could he have done it while you were gone?”

“No. I was home all night.”

“Oh.”

We sat in silence for several seconds before she said, “That’s okay. He was a rebound guy. You never want to hook up permanently with the rebound guy.”

But he hadn’t felt like a rebound guy. He felt like a forever kind of guy, which was ridiculous. He hardly knew anything about me. He didn’t even know I had kids, for heaven’s sake, and most guys his age didn’t want to be saddled with kids.

“Yeah,” I found myself saying. “You’re probably right. I’ll bring Melinda’s shoes when I come over tonight. Now what else can I bring?”

“Bring a bottle of wine. And maybe a dessert.”

“Done,” I said with forced cheerfulness. “We’ll see you at six thirty. And Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for everything.”

“That’s what best friends are for.”

I’d taken the day off, not wanting to explain why I was disappearing for hours in nicer than usual clothes, so I headed home and changed into shorts and a short-sleeved T-shirt, then sent an email to my boss saying Friday would be my last day, to which he immediately responded that I shouldn’t bother coming back. He said that I could pick up my personal belongings at the front desk the next day, but it struck me that I hadn’t brought a single thing to make that place mine—not even a picture of my boys—which meant I never had to go back again. The relief that swept through me lifted a fifty-pound weight from my back…until I realized I’d need new work clothes. A trip to the local thrift store was in my immediate future.

Liam came home from school, and Oliver arrived shortly thereafter. I shared my good news with them, and they both seemed excited I’d be home before dinner with my new job. Ollie started on his homework since we were going over to Sam’s, but Liam stayed with me and asked quietly, “Will you be happier, Mom?”

“Yeah,” I said softly. “I think I will.”

“Good.” He glanced down and shuffled his feet before looking up. “You deserve to be happy.”

I pulled him into a tight hug, realizing the top of his head was higher than my chin now. “I love you, Liam. Thanks for that.”

“Love you too, Mom.” Then he pulled away and headed to his room.

I made a cake to take to Sam’s, but it was dry and crumbled to pieces when I tried to frost it. I was never going to be a baker, but I decided that was okay. I’d just have to get my cakes from the bakery section of the grocery store.

The boys finished their homework, and we headed to the store to pick up the cake and a bottle of wine. I grabbed the wine first, a moscato since I was sure Sam would want to drink it with her cake. Then we headed to the bakery section.

“Pick out a cake, boys,” I said, then added, “You know what? Get two. One to take to Sam’s and the other for us.”

“Really?” Ollie asked, sounding surprised and excited.

I smiled. It took so little to make him happy. “Really.”

Liam cocked his head. “Anything we want?”

I studied him, trying to decide if there was some loophole that I’d regret missing, but we’d had few celebrations lately, and I decided it was all fair game. “The only rule is you both have to agree.”

“Done!” they both exclaimed, then raced off to the bakery case.

“No running!” I called after them with a laugh, but my mom tone wasn’t a force to be reckoned with tonight, because it felt like things were looking up for us for the first time in a long time, even before Randy left last fall.

Thoughts of Dylan popped into my head again, although, to be fair, I’d been thinking about him nonstop since I left his house yesterday. My heart was heavy with regret—not because I’d gone home with him, but because I’d left him in such a shitty way after everything we’d shared. I was new to all of this, but I was pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to feel like that after a one-night stand.

My skin began to tingle, and I instinctively looked up. As if my thoughts had magically manifested him, Dylan stood about six feet away from me, standing at the end of an aisle, pushing a shopping cart that was mostly empty. My eyes locked with those whiskey-colored eyes that I’d memorized after staring into them for so long the day before.

I opened my mouth to say something, but he spoke first.

“Did you find your shoes?” Then he quickly added, “Dottie gave me your address. I didn’t follow you home or anything weird like that.”

My face flushed as I nodded. “I wondered if you’d gotten it from Blue or Lee. And yeah, I got them. They’re in my car now. My boys and I are on our way to Sam’s house for dinner.”

He stiffened at the mention of my boys, and my heart sunk. The thought of kids scared him, and to be fair, he was young. He should have a family of his own. Not a ready-made one.

“Thanks for dropping them off,” I said, taking a step backward.

“We both agreed, Mom!” Ollie exclaimed as he rushed over with a cake container. “Like, we didn’t argue at all!” He held out his cake box as though it held rare jewels.

“That’s great,” I said.

“What kind did you get?” Dylan asked, peering at the transparent lid of the box. “I love cake.”

Oliver glanced up at Dylan, his eyes widening in surprise. “Sprinkle.”

He glanced from me to Dylan and back again.

“And I picked a chocolate cake,” Liam said, approaching me from the other side, but his tone was more cautious.

“Which one is for Sam’s house?” I asked, then kicked myself for prolonging this conversation. I should just say goodbye and get out of there.

“The sprinkle cake, of course,” Liam said as though it was the craziest question I could think to ask. “Chocolate is your favorite, and we’re getting it for your celebration. That’s the one we need to bring home.”

My heart swelled with love for my son, who hung between childhood and becoming a man and carried the baggage that went with that transition, including the fear that showing affection was a sign of weakness.

“Celebration?” Dylan asked. I nearly missed the wistful tone in his voice.

“Mom got a new job,” Ollie said, practically jumping up and down. “She doesn’t have to call all those people and try to get them to go on cruises anymore.”

Dylan gave me a look of surprise, and my face burned with humiliation. While I’d run out on the man, I’d hoped to let him think I was someone worth missing. Not a broke single mom with a slimy job.

“Dylan doesn’t want to hear about that,” I said, unable to meet his gaze. “I’m sure he’s a very busy man.”

“I could use the distraction,” he said. “I’m preparing to go pose for an artist who makes goat paintings, and I’m trying to put it off for as long as possible.”

A stab of jealousy caught me by surprise. Was he going to pose with his shirt off? If he were posing for me, I’d have him take his shirt off. What if he was posing nude? The stab sank deeper.

I reminded myself it was none of my business. Not to mention the artist was in her sixties. Still, I couldn’t help but wish I were the one who was about to see his perfect chest.

“She’s going to make you look like a goat?” Ollie asked in awe.

Dylan laughed. “That is a very good question that I will unfortunately find out sooner rather than later.”

Ollie grinned up at him. “I wish she would make me into a goat. Like those people who draw you with big heads. Maybe she’ll make you have a big head on a goat body.”

Dylan laughed again. “I wish, but I worry it’ll be something much worse.”

“Like she’ll give you a goat head on your human body?” Ollie asked in excitement.

“Exactly,” he said, chuckling.

I dared to look up and found him staring at me. His hair was slightly tousled, reminding me of the way it had looked Saturday night after I’d grabbed handfuls of it to hold him in place when he was between my legs.

No. I couldn’t think of that now. But my body refused to listen, and an ache filled my core as I struggled to catch my breath.

Focus, Dee.

I owed him an apology, but I didn’t want to get into it in front of the boys. “Liam, will you take Oliver over to the dairy section to get a gallon of milk? But come straight back here when you’re done.”

Liam narrowed his eyes, glancing from me to Dylan and back.

“But we’re going to Sam’s,” Oliver said. “It’ll get hot in the car.”

“We’ll just put it in Sam’s fridge,” I said with a tight smile. “She won’t mind.”

“But I thought you got two milks last time we went to the store,” Oliver protested in confusion.

Liam groaned. “Come on, doofus. She wants to talk to him alone.”

Then he hooked his arm around his brother’s back and dragged him off.

“I guess I wasn’t subtle enough,” I said with a soft laugh.

Dylan’s mouth lifted into a lopsided grin, but it seemed reluctant, like he still wasn’t sure how to act around me.

“I owe you an apology,” I said in a rush, worried the boys would come back at any second. “I didn’t want to leave like that, but Sam was there, and I had no idea how long you would be on your call…”

“I would have taken you home, Deeandra,” he said, his eyes bright with earnestness, but also with a longing that stole the breath from my lungs. “You didn’t have to call Sam for a ride.”

“I know you would have,” I said with a sigh. “I never doubted that. It’s just…” My voice trailed off as I tried to figure out how to explain myself in the least humiliating way possible.

“It’s just what?” he prodded. There was an edge to his voice, likely his lingering irritation that I left without a proper goodbye, but I mostly heard a hopefulness I hadn’t expected.

I dared to look up and hold his gaze. “Dylan, we both agreed that what we had was a fairy tale.” I gave him a sad smile. “You’re a single guy—a very hot, sexy single guy—who probably takes a different woman home every weekend. You’re in the prime of your life. But this is my real life.”

I gestured toward myself and my faded shirt and three-year-old shorts. “I’m a single mom with two rambunctious boys. Until this afternoon, I had a telemarketing job selling cruises. I’m about to lose my house if I don’t sell it ASAP. I’m thirty-eight years old and don’t have a 401(K) or an IRA. I’m just hoping to save enough to help my boys with college so they can graduate with as little debt as possible. My husband cheated on me and got his new girlfriend pregnant. I found out when she showed up at our house last fall, looking for him, shocked to find out that his wife wasn’t his ex the way he’d claimed. And as Randy walked out, he made sure I knew that his philandering was my fault. That if I’d been skinnier or prettier he wouldn’t have had to look elsewhere to get turned on.”

Tears stung my eyes, and I was beyond humiliated, but he needed to know the bullet he’d dodged. Then maybe he wouldn’t keep looking at me with a longing that made me wish for the impossible: another miracle after today’s job offer. “I’m a mess. An utter mess. But for fourteen hours this weekend, I felt like a princess, so thank you for that.”

His face was blank. I didn’t have the slightest idea what he was thinking. “Deeandra…”

“We got the milk,” Liam said, breathless and clutching the gallon to his chest. Oliver was panting and carrying both cakes, one plastic container on top of the other. It was obvious they’d either run or walked very fast. Liam didn’t want me to be alone with Dylan. I wasn’t sure whether to wring his neck or give him a hug. Maybe both. At the same time.

“We’ve got to go,” I said, taking a step backward. “Good luck with the goat portrait.” Then I spun around and ushered the boys to the front of the store. I needed to get out before I burst into tears.

Thankfully, there was an open register, so I made the boys hurry to put the cakes and milk on the conveyor belt. Then I grabbed my wallet with shaking hands and inserted my debit card.

The cashier gave me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but your card was declined.”

I stared at her in shock. “What?”

I had two hundred dollars in the bank this morning. There was more than enough to cover it. Why had it been declined?

“Let me cover it,” I heard a deep, achingly familiar voice say. Then Dylan handed the cashier two twenty-dollar bills. “Besides, it seems wrong that you’re buying your own celebration cake.”

I was mortified, and part of me wanted to protest, but to do so would make even more of a scene. So I remained silent as the cashier counted out his change and handed it back to him. The receipt went to me.

I finally looked up at him. “I’ll pay you back. I swear.”

“Deeandra,” he pleaded.

“Why are you calling her that?” Ollie asked in disgust.

Dylan stared at me in shock. Then anger filled his eyes. “So that’s not your name?”

Panic flooded through me, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why. Was it because he looked close to walking away? Wasn’t that what I wanted? Or was it because I didn’t want the boys to know anything about my weekend with him? That was definitely part of it. It wasn’t that I was ashamed of him. I just didn’t want to admit I’d spent far more time naked with him than clothed.

I grabbed my keys out of my purse and shoved them at Liam. “Take your brother out to the car.”

“Why?” Liam demanded.

“You know what?” Dylan said in frustration, shaking his head. “Never mind. Congrats on your new job.” Then he walked out of the grocery store, leaving his cart in the aisle behind the cashier.

“Why did that man call you Deeandra?” Ollie asked, sounding confused.

“Because that’s her name, doofus,” Liam grunted.

“Since when?” Ollie asked.

“Since she was born,” his brother scolded. “Don’t you know anything?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, his eyes widening. Then his face fell. “Nobody ever calls her that.” He glanced up at me with a worried look. “They call you Dee. I forgot.”

I finally got my senses about me and gave the boys a grim smile. “It’s okay. They’re both my names. Dee’s short for Deeandra.” And he was right. No one but Sam called me Deeandra, and rarely at that. “Let’s go. We’re going to be late to Sam’s, and I think she’s making her world-famous spaghetti and meatballs.”

Which, of course, would now remind me of Dylan and the spaghetti truce.

We headed out the exit, thankfully in a different direction than Dylan had gone, so we had little chance of running into him. We were almost to our car when Liam glanced up at me and asked quietly, “Mom, who was that guy?”

“No one you need to worry about.”

My heart broke into a million pieces because it was true. It was Dylan’s turn to flee.

CHAPTER TEN

DYLAN

“That, my dear, sounds a lot like fate taking the wheel.”

I’d agreed to pick up Dottie before our visit to Goat Lady. I’d intended to pick up something to bring to Stella’s place—because it would have felt weird to go empty-handed, even though I was doing this under duress—but that had fallen through for obvious reasons. According to Dottie, it was for the best. Any sort of token gift would only encourage Stella, and if I’d brought food, there was a fifty-fifty chance the goats would end up eating it, and apparently each of them was on a different strict diet. I had to wonder again what I was getting myself into, but it was hard to care.

My mind was stuck on Deeandra. Or whoever she was.

I hadn’t meant to tell Dottie anything, but she’d taken one look at me after climbing into the car and said, “It’s obvious something happened, and we have a long enough drive for you to tell me everything.”

So I had.

I wasn’t really surprised she’d called it fate. Hell, it was embarrassing to admit it, even to myself, but it had felt like fate for a brief glimmering moment.

The night before, when I’d left the shoes at her place, I’d told myself that was the end of it. I’d spent enough time looking in the rearview mirror back in North Adams to know I wasn’t interested in making a habit of it. But then I got back to my apartment and that balled-up note caught my eye. I’d picked it up to throw it away, then found myself unfurling it and smoothing it out. Studying it like it held all the answers to the universe, or maybe just to one woman’s heart.

It was then I’d called my sister. She didn’t answer, but my phone rang two minutes later with a FaceTime call from her.

I picked up, surprised to see Matteo next to her. They were outside in the garden, sitting on the bench covered in creeping vines, both of them grinning like they’d gotten away with something good.

“Mom’s been on a warpath since you hung up on her earlier,” Tina said. “We had to come outside to call you, or she would have ambushed us. She thinks we’re going to Matty’s house to grab some grappa. Says she needs it after her middle child stomped on her heart.”

“What’s going to happen when you go inside without it?”

“Well, obviously we’re still going to get it,” Matteo said, waving a hand. “We’re not total pazzos.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, still thrown off-balance because Matteo was there, and he wanted to talk. “I’m starting to think I am. Crazy that is.”

“You’re not thinking of coming back, are you?” Matteo asked, just as Tina said, “It’s about time you admitted it,” the smile on her face assuring me it was a joke. Mostly.

Shit. I hadn’t meant to give my brother false hope.

“No,” I said. Then, for reasons I couldn’t comprehend, I reached for the note. Holding it in my hand, I felt a surge of strength. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’m going to come back to stay. I just found out I have a good opportunity here—a manager position—and I’m going to take it.”

I’d expected him to swear at me, or to storm off the way he had when I’d told him I was leaving. Dad’s a proud man, he’d said, but you’re breaking his heart, leaving again when you just got back. Taking a shit job when you have a good one in our family business. What will people say? Nonna almost had a heart attack when she found out you’d been shot, and now you’re moving ten hours away?

In a lot of ways he’d been right, but in one key way he was wrong: it had never been about leaving them—it had always been about finding my own way. Every decision I’d made since the end of my marriage was about figuring out who I was now that the future no longer looked like I’d thought it would. About chasing down a role for myself that fit. The Marines had given me purpose, but it had slipped away after I was discharged. I’d felt like I was treading water again, living from one day to the next just to get through it. Then I’d come here, and Dottie had seen in me something I’d never seen in myself.

She hadn’t just seen Saint Dylan, the peacemaker. She’d seen someone who could be a leader.

But Matteo was already shaking his head on the camera. “No, man. I…look, I’m sorry I reacted like I did, but Tina and Angie”—Angie being his wife—“have talked some sense into me. You did the right thing, and you have my support one hundred percent. We could all tell you weren’t happy living back here, seeing that puta—” Tina hit him. “Just…well, shit, we miss you.”

“I know,” I said, feeling a strange burning in my eyes. “I do too.”

He grinned. “Now, that’s not to say Dad isn’t going to knock your block off the next time he sees you, but he’ll come around. He always does.”

“I hope so.”

“Now tell us about the secret woman who may or may not have ghosted you,” Tina said, leaning closer as if she wanted me to whisper it in her ear. “Because this is the first time you’ve ever hung up on Mom, and you can’t fool me. That means something.”

So I found myself telling them much more than I’d expected to, glossing over the many times we’d had sex—although I relived them all in my head—and finished by sharing the bit about leaving her shoes.

“Holy shit!” Tina said. “You lived a real-life Cinderella story.” Then her face creased with a frown. “Only you shouldn’t have left the shoes without trying to talk to her. That would be a bummer if it happened in a movie.”

Matteo huffed a laugh and gave her a little shove. “It was probably a bummer for him when he did it.”

She tilted her head as if to concede the point. “Still. I think you’ve got her all wrong, Dylan. She wouldn’t have written a note like that if you didn’t mean something to her. I’ll bet she convinced herself you wouldn’t want to date someone with kids. She probably thought you’d throw her to the curb once you found out, so she figured she’d leave first. You should talk to her. Try to figure it out.”

There was an awkward moment when they looked at each other, then at me. After a moment, Matteo shrugged. “She might be right. Most thirty-year-old guys aren’t in your situation.” Another shrug. “But Dylan, man, I’ve never heard you talk about a woman like this.”

We’d hung up a little while later, after I told them about Dottie’s job offer and Matteo shared some news about his kids. But their words had stuck with me. What if they were right? What if I was giving up too easily?

Then I’d gone to the grocery store to pick up some sort of hostess gift for the woman I’d reluctantly agreed to pose for, turned a corner, and there Deeandra was, standing across from me as if she had been delivered by a universe that had decided, for once, to take pity on me. She’d been dressed in a simple outfit—shorts and shirt—that reminded me of what she’d told me in bed. I don’t normally dress like that. She’d sounded self-conscious when she said it, but she looked beautiful this way too—her makeup minimal, her skin glowing, and her hair piled up on her head. And before she saw me, she looked happy too, in a way that suggested she hadn’t spent a mostly sleepless night turning everything over.

And yet, there was something in her eyes when she looked at me. Something like hope and need.

Her older kid, Liam, had a protective vibe that I respected, and the younger kid was sweet in a way that reminded me of my little cousins back home. And then she’d sent them away and dropped all kinds of truth bombs on me, ones that were so strangely close to Tina’s read on the situation that I was tempted to tell her to interview for that phone psychic gig she’d told me about, the one that would break our grandmother’s heart. (Given how often people in my family said that, Nonna had dozens of broken hearts.)

For a moment, I’d had a glimpse of a different future. One that might involve me having a family, although in a way I hadn’t expected. Which was pure madness given that I’d known her for next to no time at all, and she’d run away from me. But maybe I was crazy, because part of me liked the thought. And because it turned out Cinderella and I had even more in common than I’d realized.

But that feeling of possibility, of hope, had slipped away when her kid had revealed she hadn’t even given me her actual name.

“Fate works in mysterious ways,” Dottie pressed, yanking me back to the present. “Turn right.”

I followed her instructions, my mind still reeling. “Maybe so, but give me a break, Dottie. I have some pride. She didn’t even give me her real name.”

She turned to look at me, her scrutiny intense enough that I could feel it. “What’s my name, Dylan?”

It felt like a trick question, but it would also be rude not to answer. “Dottie.”

From my peripheral vision, I could see her head shaking, her pink hair rustling with it. “My name is Dolores. My mother called me Dottie when I was a little girl, and it stuck. Turn left, dear, we’re almost there.”

Something sunk in my stomach. “So you’re saying she has a nickname? Do you know this for a fact?”

“Yes. Actually—although I don’t think she was aware she was talking to me—I booked a couple of cruises through your Deeandra for Lurch and Josie. To keep them from showing up at the wedding.” She made a dismissive gesture. “It turned out that I would have done better focusing my attention on Stella, but everything worked out as it should.”

Hadn’t Deeandra said the cruises were a rip-off? Something told me she would be mortified if she found out she’d sold a couple of packages to Dottie.

“As it happens, Lurch and Josie ended up on a Pikachu-themed ship that only stopped at two ports in the Caribbean for forty-five minutes each, but there was an open bar, and they were quite happy with it, all in all.”

A laugh slid out of me. “That sounds awful.”

“Quite. But I’m happy they enjoyed themselves. My point, dear, is that she goes by ‘Dee,’ according to Blue. Dee for Deeandra, I assume. But if you asked River what my first name was, I wager he’d tell you ‘Dottie,’ just like her son probably knows her as Dee.”

Something settled inside of me. Because even if I never saw my Cinderella again—even if our day together was just that, a moment stolen out of time—I hadn’t wanted to believe she would lie about something so simple as her name.

“Thanks, Dottie. You’re maybe the most intuitive person I’ve ever met.”

Another glance. “It takes one to know one, Dylan. I’m very happy to know you’ll be carrying on my work at Buchanan Brewery.”

The way she said it suggested that I was taking on a more important task than overseeing a few bartenders and ensuring the customers stayed happy. She said it like what we did mattered in a way most people wouldn’t see. And from my brief time at the brewery, I knew she was right. Maybe I wasn’t making a difference here the way I’d done in the Marines, but what we did was important. People came to us for an escape. They came to us because they wanted a piece of joy. Of relaxation. Of comfort. And it was up to us to make sure they got it.

Deeandra—Dee—had wanted an escape too—just like I had. But I couldn’t help but think we’d found the potential for something more. Did I really want to walk away from that?

“You do need to talk to her,” Dottie said, giving my hand a little pat. “But not right now. We’re here, and as I told you, Stella does not take rain checks.”

I parked on the curb next to a house painted a jaunty yellow, surrounded by a white picket fence. There was an extensive wooded lot next to it, encompassed by the fence, and I felt a prickle of misgiving as I opened the door for Dottie.

“This is kind of isolated, huh?”

“Oh, yes,” Dottie said flippantly. “It’s better because the animals do sometimes scream and make a fuss.”

I’d encountered much more dangerous situations in the Marines, of course, but this was possibly the weirdest scenario I’d willingly entered into.

But when in Asheville…

“All right, let’s go.”

She led me into the woods, toward a warm glow down below. That glow proved to be a gazebo, the floor covered in a tarp. Goat Lady Stella waited inside of it, with three goats tied to one of the posts of the gazebo. One of them was straining to take a bite out of the huge canvas propped on an easel, and another was pulling toward a chicken that wandered the tarp, pecking randomly as if seeds had been thrown on it. And maybe they had been. There were a few finished paintings arranged on the floor around the gazebo—one of a cluster of chickens chowing down on what looked suspiciously like a goat’s skull, and another of three goats attacking a fourth. After that, I decided it would be best if I stopped looking.

If Tina found out about this, she was never going to let me live it down. Worse, she’d figure out a way to buy the painting or a print of it, and hang it up in the house. Probably convince our mom I was famous because I was in a painting and suggest not-so-subtly that she should show it off to anyone who came by.

Thank God I’d thought to specify that I’d only do it clothed.

Stella licked her lips as we stepped into the gazebo.

“You’re one minute late,” she said. “I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t show up.”

“Oh, Dylan is a man of his word,” Dottie said, patting my back. “But you must also be a woman of yours,” she added, her tone a bit sharper. “Dylan told you he wouldn’t pose nude, and we’re going to hold you to that.”

It was almost laughable that she felt the need to say it. It wasn’t like Stella could physically rip my clothes off, or heat up the gazebo to the point where it was so physically uncomfortable I took my shirt off, but it was clear she had a deep belief in Stella’s powers of persuasion.

Stella huffed, rolling her eyes. “Yes, yes, but I don’t need him to take his clothes off. I have plenty of imagination.”

“No one could doubt that,” Dottie said with a nod. “I saw the one you did of Lurch with the dancing rats.”

Stella returned the nod, as if they were sharing some great secrets available only to artists. “It was hard to get them to pose, but I threw tiny pieces of cheese all over the tarp. They went crazy for them! One of them bit Lurch’s toe, but the expression of agony only added to the effect.”

Great. She was going to feed me to the chickens, or maybe Dee’s son was right, and she was going to paint me with a goat body or a goat head. That made me smile, and I had the thought that I’d have to show him a picture of the painting if it ended up looking like he’d imagined. But there was the whole problem of me not having Dee’s number.

Except…

When had I ever let something like that stop me? I’d joined the Marines. I’d moved to Asheville just because someone had asked me to. Sure, things might not work out with Dee, but didn’t we at least owe it to ourselves to have a conversation?

I could get her number from Dottie, probably, given that she knew Dee through Blue and Sam.

“Oh yes, you will do quite nicely,” Stella said, and I registered that she’d started walking around me, surveying me like I was a cow at a 4-H fair.

“Um. Where would you like me to stand?”

Which was how I ended up crouched between two goats, chickens pecking at my feet.

I wasn’t sure how long I stayed like that as Stella whisked around with a paintbrush, paint flying across the tarp, on the chickens, and on the goats, with Dottie standing behind her and making noises of appreciation. At one point, she laughed and said, “Oh, you do have a wicked imagination,” which hadn’t made me feel great about what I was going to see on the canvas. Then a flash of headlights could be seen through the trees, and Dottie perked up.

“The food I ordered must have arrived. Dylan, would you be a dear and go get it?”

Stella looked inclined to object, but my knee was twinging from crouching for so long, so I got up, holding one of the supports of the gazebo for leverage.

“You ordered food?” Stella asked in disbelief.

I was thinking the same thing. Dottie was the queen of making everything herself. It seemed like she never went anywhere without at least three Tupperware containers full of food. In fact, she’d put two big Tupperware containers on ice in the back of the car.

But I didn’t stick around to ask for an explanation.

“I’ll be back,” I called behind me, heading up through the woods.

I knew it was her before I saw her face. It was shadowy, but her curvy figure was unmistakable. I’d spent hours touching that body, tasting it, worshipping it with mine.

She stood next to an old beater of a car, her posture indicating some sort of indecision as she looked at the house. Her back was to me, and I didn’t want to scare her, so I softly said her name.

“Dee.”

She whirled around, pulling something out of her pocket as she did, and I found myself staring down a container of pepper spray.

“I come in peace,” I said, lifting my hands and smiling. Because as soon as she registered that I wasn’t some random pervert walking along a country road, waiting for people to park their cars, a look of horror came over her face. It was obvious she hadn’t known I would be there.

And equally obvious that Dottie hadn’t ordered any food—this was clearly some sort of machination she’d cooked up with Dee’s friend Sam.

“Oh my God, Dylan. I…I didn’t know you would be here. I swear. I’m not stalking you. Ollie dropped the sprinkle cake right in front of Sam’s house, and he was really upset, especially since he really wanted to bring the chocolate one home for me, and she told me that she knew someone who could bring us dessert, and I just had to pick it up at this address. So I came here, but—” She waved a hand to me, then to the little yellow house and the whole lot of nothing around us.

“They set us up,” I said, “Sam and Dottie, I’m assuming.”

She started nodding, and it was like she couldn’t stop.

“The good news is that Dottie brought two big Tupperware containers with her, so there’s a very good chance you’ll still get dessert out of this.”

Her cheeks had gone a deep pink again, like in the store. “I’m so embarrassed, Dylan. About what happened earlier. And the boys…I should have told you about the boys. I just—”

She was still nodding her head, a nervous tic now, so I lifted a hand to her cheek, cupping her face. “You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about, Dee. You could have mentioned your boys earlier, and it wouldn’t have mattered. I like kids. I’ve always liked kids.”

“You called me Dee,” she said softly, not attempting to pull away. Something glinted in her eyes as she looked at me, some of the shock turning into a softer emotion. And I remembered what she’d said in the store. How she’d acted like she might not be good enough for me, when up until yesterday, I hadn’t had much of a prospect of being anything more than a bartender.

“Dottie told me it’s your nickname.”

Another slight nod. “But I like it when you call me Deeandra.”

“So I will,” I said, lowering my hand. “Seems to me we have some things to discuss, Deeandra.” I gestured to the steps leading up to the house. “Will you sit with me?”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

DEE

Dylan dropped his hand from my face and the first thing that hit me was an incredible sense of loss. Like something important was missing, but then he opened the gate and recaptured my hand, linking our fingers as he tugged me to the porch steps.

Without releasing my hand, he maneuvered us to perch side by side on the steps.

We sat like that for several seconds before I said, “I’m so sorry I ran out like that.”

“You already apologized,” he said, turning to face me. “Dee, I’m not the kind of man who needs endless apologies after a disagreement. One heartfelt one is enough for me.”

My heart tripped at that because it was so different than what I got from everyone else. Randy would give me the silent treatment until I’d apologized countless times. Even my mother required multiple apologies before she’d let something go.

I glanced around. “I’m looking for cameras, because this has to be some kind of prank show.”

A frown creased his forehead. It was obvious he was irritated, but I could tell it wasn’t directed at me. “Despite the half a dozen goats roaming around in the woods down there, it’s no prank. Why would it be?”

My face flushed with embarrassment. I tried to pull my hand free, but Dylan’s grip tightened.

“No, Deeandra. No running away this time.”

I stopped pulling and stared up at him, surprised to realize that this was exactly what the adrenaline pumping through my veins was telling me to do. “I’m sorry.”

The corners of his mouth ticked up slightly as his gaze swept over my face. “No apology necessary. But I’m not a threat to you. You don’t have to run to escape me.”

I squeezed his hands as I stared up into his whiskey-colored eyes, and his words sank deep into my soul. “No,” I whispered, “I can see that I don’t.”

He brought our clasped hands up to his mouth and kissed the back of my hand, his eyes never leaving mine. “My turn for an apology. I’m sorry I just dropped the shoes off on your porch without saying anything. You’d run out, in a getaway car, no less—Tyrell was impressed—and when I realized you hadn’t told me about your kids, I was hurt…and well…I didn’t react the way I should have.”

I’d assumed he was upset about the boys, but from the way he said it…my brow shot up. “You were hurt?”

“Dee, what we had…it meant something to me. I thought it meant something to you too.”

Panic filled my head. “It did. I’m sor—”

His free hand lifted and he pressed the tip of his index finger to my lips. The moment he touched me, a fire sparked to life in my gut and my breathing hitched. His eyes hooded, and he inhaled sharply, and I realized I wasn’t the only one affected.

“No,” he said in a husky tone that sent an electrical current skating over my skin. “No more apologies.” He slowly removed his finger, just as I was getting over my astonishment. Just as the compulsion hit me to kiss it or—I really was going crazy—suck on it.

The feeling of loss had returned, leaving me feeling a little empty and cold, but the heat in his eyes burned out any chill.

“Why did you leave, Deeandra?” he asked, his voice low and quiet. “Was it your boys? The age difference? Help me understand.”

“It was both of those things and more.”

He gave me a look that suggested what he wanted was an explanation, not an apology, so I took a deep breath and looked away. Staring into Dylan’s eyes was counterproductive to deep thoughts, because I found myself wanting to fall into him and forget everything else.

“My boys were a huge part of it,” I admitted. “Most men your age—”

“Okay,” he said, squeezing my hand. “I think we need to address that one first, especially if your other objections extend from that.” He gently cupped my chin and turned my face back until he was looking deep into my eyes. “Do you know what I see right now?”

His intense gaze made me squirm, and I started to look away.

“No,” he said, deeper and more commanding than I was used to hearing from him. “Don’t look away. Don’t hide from me, Deeandra.”

Something about the warmth and pleading in his last sentence pulled my gaze back to his. “I see a beautiful woman—inside and out—who is obviously an amazing mother and a good friend. A woman who is sexy as hell and, at the risk of scaring you off, helped me see a light at the end of what has been a very long and dark tunnel. You may be seven years and three months older than me, but—”

I couldn’t hold back a laugh. “That’s pretty exact.”

He grinned. “I would have had it down to the day, but you never told me your actual birthday.”

I grinned back. “February 25.”

His smile spread. “And mine is May 2. Get back to me when I can think straight, and I’ll give you the day count.”

“You can’t think straight?” I asked in a whisper.

It still seemed so impossible that I could affect him like this. Randy’s words, and the cruise ship telemarketing job, and my mother’s good-natured nagging…it had all worn me down until I saw myself as Randy had seen me: as sexy as an old sneaker. But Dylan saw something else, and it was obvious it went deeper than the borrowed dress and heels. I’d asked him enough times.

“Confession,” he said, still staring at me like I was a slice of sprinkle cake, “I’m trying hard to not kiss you right now so we can have this conversation.”

I licked my bottom lip before I realized what I was doing, and his gaze instantly dropped to my mouth. “I want you to kiss me too. Like…so much.”

He released a low growl and shifted on the step. “Not helping.”

I laughed, amazed that this man could make me feel this array of emotions. “Sorry.”

His brow lifted playfully. “What did I say about apologies? Besides, I suspect you’re not really sorry at all. I hope you’re not.” Then he turned serious. “I think there could be more between us than just sex, Cinderella, but we need to lay our fears out on the table and address them. A relationship only works when two people are totally honest with each other.”

“I think you know a couple of my hang-ups,” I said. “Our age difference. It’s a big deal, Dylan. You’re going to want a family, and I can’t have any more kids.”

“That’s not an issue,” he said with a sad smile.

I was about to tell him that he was young enough to change his mind, but he was already shaking his head.

“I can’t have kids. My first wife and I wanted to have a big family. After trying for a few years, we went in for testing. We found out that I’m the problem. So no children running around with half of my DNA. She left me the next week.”

My heart lurched. “And then you joined the Marines.” I paused, hurting for him. In one moment, he’d lost his hopes for the future and his wife. “Dylan. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m over it,” he said, then half-shrugged. “Well, mostly. Being in the Marines was good for me. Until it wasn’t.” He waved to his knee. “But it wouldn’t have worked with Marisa anyway. She cut and run at the first sign of a problem. She didn’t even stick around to discuss our options.”

I opened my mouth to apologize again, because crap, I’d done the same thing. But he gave me a look like he knew exactly what I was thinking, and I bit my lip.

“The thing is, Dee, I can’t have kids, but I still like kids.” He sucked in a breath and pushed it out, running his hands through his hair. “I’m not explaining this right. What I’m saying is I don’t care that you have kids, Deeandra. If we give this a try and we work out, then I see your kids as a bonus.”

I shook my head. “It’s not that easy, Dylan. In two years I’ll be forty. You’ll be thirty-two”—I gestured to him—“looking like that.”

He grinned and cocked his head. “I could always stop going to the gym.”

“Don’t you dare!” I protested, then hastily added, “Unless you want to stop.” Before I could stop myself, I touched his bicep, and an electrical current raced down my arm, zipping all the way to my core.

“What else?” he asked, his voice husky. “What else are you afraid of?”

“Isn’t that enough?” I asked in dismay.

“Deeandra,” he said, reaching over and covering my hand with his. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. All I know is that I really, really like you, and I think you like me too.”

“I do,” I admitted.

“And yeah, you’re going to turn forty sooner than I will, but I don’t care about that. Let’s give this a chance and see how it goes.” He gave me a hopeful look. “Can we do that?”

“The age thing is still going to be an issue,” I said, mostly because it felt like I had to. My mother had always tsk-tsked loudly at this and that starlet, for dating a man who was born when she was already of childbearing age. And sure, that wasn’t true of me and Dylan, but Mom would still—

Why the hell was I letting my mom play any part in this decision?

“And I still have kids,” I finished weakly.

“And we’ve established that I like kids,” he said. “I like them a lot. What else?”

“I haven’t dated in a long, long time,” I said. “I’m not sure I remember how to do this.”

He laughed, and the rich sound warmed my insides. I liked that he laughed so easily. I liked that he actually wanted to talk about my concerns.

“What about you?” I asked. “Do you have any fears or concerns?”

He grinned. “I’m worried I won’t be able to keep up with your libido.”

I gasped, my eyes bulging, and he burst into laughter.

“Are you saying I should find someone else to take care of my needs?” I asked in a smug tone.

His smile instantly fell, and he wrapped one of his glorious arms around my back. “That won’t be an issue.”

His mouth lowered to mine, and I sank into him, still marveling that we were here together. That theme Nicole had written that I had picked out of a fishbowl at Bad Luck Club had, in some circuitous way, brought me here, to the steps of a stranger’s house, to this gorgeous, sweet man who looked at me like I was chocolate lava cake. Talk about luck of the draw.

He leaned back, staring into my eyes. “So where do we go from here?”

My heart stuttered. “I don’t know, but I feel like maybe I need to take this slow.” Some of the sparkle faded from his eyes, and it was obvious he thought this was a prelude to me running again, or pushing him away. So I reached up to cup his cheek. “I want this, Dylan. More than I can say. But my boys…”

A soft smile filled his eyes. “Deeandra, I understand. I appreciate that you want to see how we work out before you introduce me to them.”

I laughed. “That ship has already sailed. Ollie asked me a million questions about you in the car.”

“I’m sorry that I left like that,” he said with a frown. “I should have given you a chance to explain.”

“Given the way I left your apartment, I guess we’re even,” I said.

“I’m not keeping score,” he said. “That’s not the kind of man I am.”

My heart warmed. “I’m not like that either.”

“We both made mistakes,” he said. “Maybe we should start over.”

“I like the sound of that.”

My phone dinged in my pocket, and I heard Dylan’s phone go off too.

“What do you want to bet it’s Dottie?” Dylan asked as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He read the screen, his face lighting up, then turned the screen toward me.

Once you two have worked things out, you should retrieve the Tupperware containers from Dylan’s back seat. I’ll hold off Stella.

“Told you there’d be dessert. God knows what she’s doing to hold Stella off. But I’m pretty sure Ollie was right, and I was painted onto a goat’s body.”

“I think I’d like to see that.”

But my mind pinged to Ollie. To Liam. The boys would want to know where I’d gone and why I wasn’t back yet.

“I’m supposed to be getting dessert for our celebration dinner at Sam’s, and although I realize Sam sent me here, I really should get back to my boys,” I said with a sigh, getting to my feet. “But I don’t want to leave you again.”

He got up and took my hand. His palm was warm and reassuring, and I felt like we were exactly where we needed to be, a feeling that sank deep into my bones. I couldn’t get over how right he felt.

“You’re not going to lose me this time,” he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he held up his phone. “Thanks to Dottie, I’ve got your number. It looks like Dottie included us in a group text.”

I laughed and we walked to Dylan’s car. He retrieved the two containers out of the back seat. The smaller one had a yellow square Post-it on it that said, Reconciliation, and the larger one had a note that said, Hope. He glanced through the side of the second container and handed it to me. “I think this might be what you’re looking for.”

I popped open the lid and saw a small white frosted cake covered with sprinkles. My mouth dropped open in shock as I looked up at Dylan. “How did you know Ollie would drop the sprinkle cake?”

“I didn’t,” he said, holding his free hand up in surrender. “Dottie put the containers in my car when I picked her up.”

“What’s in that one?”

He peeked inside the lid, then opened it all the way. “Looks like a piece of key lime pie.” A sly grin spread across his face. “Big enough for us to share.”

I smiled at the Post-it note. Sharing seemed to fit the reconciliation theme. “I think I have time to eat some before I go.”

He bent down and reached into the back seat, then stood back up with two spoons in his hand. “Figured they’d be here. Dottie thinks of everything.” Taking my hand again while still holding the spoons, he said, “She has food for every occasion, and somehow she knows exactly what people need or want. Same with beer in the tasting room. She could serve people blind and get them the right beers. Just wait until she serves you tiny cakes, but watch out for the red ones. She says they’re for emotional cleansing, but really they’ll just burn a hole in your palate.”

I laughed a little—“duly noted”—as he led me to the steps and we sat down. I set the larger container on the step above us, then dipped my spoon into the meringue, getting a spoonful that included a full cross section, down to the flaky crust.

“So you got a new job?” he asked.

I told him about the new job, from the family-friendly work environment to the possibility for advancement.

“That’s great, Deeandra! I have some work news too. I’m going to be the tasting room manager at Buchanan.” Pride filled his eyes, but he also looked defensive. “I know it doesn’t sound like much, but it pays surprisingly well, so I won’t have to live with Tony anymore.”

“Tony?” I asked, raising my brows. Was there some roommate I hadn’t met? A resident rodent? The thought made me shudder.

He laughed. “I hope this doesn’t run you off, but I named the water stain in my bedroom. It kind of looks like a face.”

“It kind of does.”

“Anyway, with the new job…as crazy as it sounds, I feel like I can help people.”

“That doesn’t seem so crazy to me,” I said with a warm smile. “I think you’ll be amazing at it. You have a knack with people.” Then I blushed like crazy.

“I don’t make a habit of bringing them home,” he said, touching my cheek. “I only introduce Tony to people I really like.”

“I feel privileged,” I joked. Although I did. Dylan and I still didn’t know each other well, there was still so much to learn, but it felt like we fit in a strange way. I wanted to learn more about him, and I wanted to share myself with him too.

“Say,” I said, “it seems to me that you need a celebration too.” I gave him a coy smile. “What do you think about coming back to Sam’s with me? I don’t want the boys to know we’re planning to see each other…” My voice trailed off, and my face burned.

“Carnally?” he suggested and a shiver ran down my back.

I bit my bottom lip.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I’ll be tempted to sweep you away so we can do some celebrating in private at my place.”

Heat spread throughout my body.

“But as tempting as that is,” he said, scooping out another bite of pie, “you need to go back to your party. And if you want me to come as your friend, I can respect the boundaries of friendship. It will be a good way for the boys to get to know me without the pressure of me being your boyfriend.”

I stared at him in disbelief. Was this sexy, gorgeous, kind, and thoughtful man truly interested in me?

“Stop right now,” he said, quietly pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “I can see the wheels spinning in your head. Yes, I find you sexy as hell. Yes, I want to get to know you better. And yes, we’re still brand new, but I know there’s something here. So I would love to go introduce myself as your friend so Liam and Ollie can get to know me better. And I’d like to officially meet Sam. But only if you’re okay with it. We can take this in baby steps if you’d prefer.”

“How are you so perfect?” I whispered, dumbfounded.

He let out a hearty laugh. “I’m going to tell my brother and sister what you just said. They’d totally disagree. In fact, I’m pretty sure Tina would launch into dozens of stories, starting with the way I lost the babies for her Pony Surprise and replaced them with army figures. I was only six, but she has a long memory.” His smile softened. “I’m not perfect, Deeandra, but I’m willing to put in the work to see what happens. So what do you say?”

I stood and reached for his hand, pulling him to his feet. “I say let’s go have some cake.”

“I never say no to cake.”

“That’s only because you’ve never had mine,” I teased. “I’ve made more than my fair share of disasters.”

He grinned. “Duly noted. Never let you bake a cake. I’m a decent baker, so I’ll take on that task.”

“You bake?” I asked, then cocked my head. “I guess there’s a lot for us to learn about each other. I can’t wait to get started.”

He pulled me into an embrace, my body flush with his. My breath stuck in my chest. I wanted nothing more than to be in this man’s arms, possibly for the rest of my life.

His mouth hovered over mine. “I think that can be arranged,” he said in a husky tone that sent shivers through my body down to my toes. “As long as part of what you’re learning is with my clothes off.”

I laughed, loving that I’d laughed more with him than I had in years. “I think I can live with that.”

A noise that sounded like a distressed goat came from the grove of trees next to the house, quickly followed by the bleating of more goats. Then a woman who sounded like Dottie shouted, “A promise is a promise, Stella. He sat for your painting.”

“I’m not finished,” another woman pouted. “I plan to make a series of paintings, not to mention I haven’t even gotten him to take his shirt off yet. If only you’d stop interfering, I could get him to drink some of my punch. I might even get him to join my harem.”

Dylan’s eyes flew wide in panic.

“Is she talking about you?” I whispered in alarm, scared to tip her off to Dylan’s whereabouts.

He nodded.

“You’ll do no such thing!” Dottie protested. “I’m all for live and let live, but I’m afraid I can’t stand by and let you take Dylan’s agency from him.”

Dylan’s hand squeezed tighter around mine.

I stared up into his face as my own panic set in. “Run!”

And so we did. Only this time, we ran together.

EPILOGUE

DYLAN

“I was right,” Ollie said softly, with something like awe.

Liam was too doubled over in laughter to tell him that he was only sort of right. They were both looking at my portrait, which now hung on the wall of the Buchanan Brewery tasting room. Dottie’s final act as tasting room manager had been to buy it and hang it up, and she’d done it so proudly, at the beginning of this party she was holding in my honor, that I could hardly tell her I’d rather not display a portrait of me as a centaur. Even if her granddaughter Adalia had painted a fig leaf over the centaur’s dick.

“I like it,” Deeandra said. “I almost wish Dottie hadn’t bought it so we could hang it up at home.”

“Yeah, I’d rather not look at Dylan’s…fig leaf over my cereal,” Liam said through gales of laughter.

Some people thought we were moving too fast, namely Deeandra’s ex, but we’d moved in together as soon as her divorce was made final in September. With our combined salaries, we were able to make the mortgage payments, and it was a lot better than trying to find another place, where we might be stuck with another Tony or worse. But it was the house Deeandra and her ex had lived in together, and there were plenty of memories attached to that, so we’d decided to do a major, Property Brothers-inspired renovation. A couple of Deeandra’s friends from the Bad Luck Club—Cal and his father, Bear—were house flippers, and they’d agreed to help free of charge. Given that I had the club to thank for her decision to crash Georgie and River’s wedding, I was doubly grateful to them. Liam, who’d been wary of me the first few months of our relationship, had offered to help, and already things had changed between us. Both kids had taken to playing the occasional pickup basketball game with me and Tyrell, from my old building.

We hadn’t gotten far with the renovation yet—we’d just framed out the new sunroom—but it already felt different. It already felt like ours. Dottie would probably have something to say about the energy shifting, and maybe she had a point.

I glanced over and, sure enough, she was still in deep conversation with my nonna. I wasn’t sure if I should be worried or amused. Maybe both.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Deeandra asked in a hushed voice.

“Nonna’s probably saying something about all of our souls being damned. I wonder what we did this time?” Tina said, walking over to us. “Nah,” she said, her face transforming with the force of her laughter, “it’s definitely Dylan who’s the focus of her praying this time. He’ll be first in her nightly rosaries for months because of this painting. I mean, he has cloven hooves. That beats my high heels any day. And then there’s the fact that he’s living in sin.”

She clapped Deeandra on the back. “No offense, Dee. Boys. I live in the twenty-first century.”

“What’s living in sin?” Ollie asked, his nose scrunched up. “Dad mentioned something about it the other day.”

Liam ushered him off, although not without an eye roll. “Come on, let’s get you one of Dottie’s ‘joyful’ cupcakes.”

“Tina,” I said with a groan, “behave yourself, or you’ll be the first in my nightly rosaries.”

Deeandra laughed. Which was good, because I’d seen the glint in her eyes when Ollie revealed Randy had been flapping his mouth about us living in sin, when he still hadn’t made good on his marriage offer to Sheree. I privately thought she’d be better off if they broke up, baby and all, but the less I had to do with Randy the better. I might want to give him a beating for the things he’d said to Deeandra, for the way he’d made her feel, but he was the boys’ father, and I needed to treat him as such.

“As if,” Tina said. “I’m sure you don’t even have one.”

“We all have one. Nonna gives them out like Dottie gives out crystals.”

“And crucifixes,” Dee added. “Don’t forget the crucifix.”

We’d hung it up prior to their visit, but Ollie had been so afraid of it, he’d started coming up with ways to avoid the hallway where it was hung, so it had come down as soon as Nonna left.

My whole family had come down for the official changing of the guard, something that had been months in the making. There’d been a lot for Dottie to teach me. My dad had reacted with bafflement to that statement.

“I don’t get it. It’s gonna take her months to teach you to pour a beer? You’ve known how to do that since you were a teenager.”

My mom had shoved him, said something mildly delusional about when she thought I’d started drinking, and ended with, “I’m sure there’s more to it.”

And she was right. Dottie had taught me a lot about how she read people—what they wanted versus what they said they wanted, who was going to make trouble (something I was already pretty good at spotting), and how to stop it before it reached the point of violence or ugliness. A lot of my training had also involved making food, which was pretty funny, since we didn’t sell any in the tasting room. But she’d always brought in gifts and small items for regular customers, and she’d suggested it was a tradition I should maintain. I agreed. There was something to be said for mixing tradition with progress, the old with the new. It was a balance I’d found in my own life, and one that seemed to be at the core of Buchanan Brewery.

“Where’s Dad?” Tina asked, glancing around. Matteo and his wife were deep in conversation with River, and Mom had joined in on the Nonna and Dottie conversation. Matty’s kids were younger, probably too young to be at the brewery, even though it wasn’t open to the public, so Sam had offered to take them on an adventure.

“Does this adventure involve being a getaway-car driver?” I’d asked.

She’d rolled her eyes and said, “You got your jersey back, didn’t you? Dee’s not very good at making getaways. We’ll need to work on that.”

“He’s over there,” Deeandra said, pointing to a corner of the room, where Dad stood with Bear. They were having an animated conversation, Dad’s arms flying everywhere, so either they were on the verge of having a fight, or Dad was about to invite him to be an honorary member of our family.

“Fight or family?” I asked Tina.

“Oh, definitely family,” she said knowingly.

“You guys are odd,” Deeandra said with affection. “But if he and Bear get along, all the better.”

“Hey,” Tina said, looking in both directions before she spoke. “Whose wedding did you crash, Dee? It was one of these couples, right?”

She nodded toward where River and Matty were talking. “Them.”

“Do they know?”

“They do,” Dee said, grinning at me. “It was pretty embarrassing, but we told them after they got back from their honeymoon. River says we should name our first child after him.”

“Which I agreed to for obvious reasons,” I said as I pulled her closer, stooping to kiss the side of her head.

“Ugh, you guys are too cute,” Tina said, shaking her head as if our affection might be a communicable disease. “Maybe I’ll go on a random vacation with a friend and then just stay.”

“Keep it to the East Coast. You don’t want to actually drive Nonna into an early grave.” I gave her a look. “Or you could think about moving here. Daniel’s going to grad school next year, so you could have his job. Or if you’re ready to move next week, you could take my old spot.”

Deeandra swallowed a laugh, glancing at Daniel, who had a plate with no less than four slices of pizza on it.

My attention was on Tina. Because I really did want her to consider it. I knew what it was like living at home, and although there were definite upsides, I had a feeling it weighed on her a bit, like it had on me.

“Maybe,” she said with a shrug. “But I’m not going to decide any time soon. I don’t want to give Nonna an actual heart attack.”

“Fair enough.” I glanced at Deeandra, who was looking across the room at the other members of her club. They were standing around the statue of Beau Buchanan, which Dottie had moved to the tasting room a while back after dressing him in merch and removing the infamous pink crystal dick, which was apparently still in her possession. Okay, I’d seen it. She kept it in a place of honor in her house.

Blue and Lee were with the others, laughing at something someone had said. It turned out that Lee had seen Deeandra at the wedding, and only processed who she was later. So they’d known before Georgie and River.

Dee had graduated from the Bad Luck Club a couple of weeks after we got together. Bear had announced she didn’t need it anymore. Not because of me or her new job, but because she’d gotten her confidence back.

They’d held a Bad Luck luau for her, which was apparently the new tradition for graduates. But she still saw her friends from the club fairly often, and they’d all come, except for one woman who’d left the group under very strained circumstances.

“Let’s go mingle,” I said, taking her hand. “We should talk to your friends.”

She gave me a look as if to say it was no big deal, she could go over there herself if she wanted to, and anyway, my family wasn’t here often—to which I responded with a look that said I wanted to celebrate together, with her friends and mine.

“Oh my God, you’re doing that creepy silent conversation thing Mom and Dad do,” Tina said, stepping back.

“Damn straight,” I said, and because I’d already traumatized Tina—and the boys were over by the food bar, watching in amazement as Daniel stuffed slice after slice of pizza into his mouth—I kissed Dee.

The little sound she made in the back of her throat was something I’d never get enough of.

“Ugh. Gross,” Tina said, but in a voice that suggested she didn’t much mind, and wandered off.

“I’m proud of you,” Deeandra said to me when she broke away. “So proud.”

“I’m proud of us,” I said. And I was. I was proud of what we were building together, and how damn far we’d come in a few short months.

We went to talk to the former and present members of the Bad Luck Club, hand in hand, and we were still in conversation with Blue and Lee when Dottie stood up and cleared her throat.

She really did have magic powers, because the whole gathering suddenly went as silent as the grave.

“As many of you know, we are having this celebration for our wonderful new tasting room manager, Dylan DiVirgilio. I am so thrilled to pass on the torch.” She lifted something from the ground, a long stick, it looked like, with a pile of rags attached to it.

Before I could get out my “oh shit,” she had removed a lighter from her pocket.

River was on her so fast it was like he had supernatural powers. He put an arm around her, his eyes wide with alarm, while Georgie pocketed the lighter.

“What a great symbolic gesture!” River said loudly.

Dottie seemed a little piqued that they’d stolen her, well, fire, but she recovered quickly enough, hoisting the makeshift torch into the air. Dee gave me a little push, like she expected me to leave her and go over there by myself, but I pulled her with me.

I took it from Dottie, smiling a little at her air of gravity. The thing was, it did feel like an important occasion. A real changing of the guard. And when I looked at my parents, I saw my mom was wiping a tear from her cheek. Nonna actually gave her a handkerchief, and kept one for herself. My dad gave me a slight nod, filling my heart with pride. Matty and Tina were grinning at me. They were all okay with this. They’d made peace with my decision. I looked for the boys in the crowd, and they both saluted me, making my smile spread wider. My gaze ended at Dee, who looked up at me with eyes full of love, and I felt like the luckiest man alive.

“Thank you,” I said to Dottie, meaning it with all my heart. She and the Buchanans had given me a place here. They’d given me a shot. And without them, without Dottie, I never would have met Deeandra. I’d still be floating along, unsure of what I wanted in life but knowing it wasn’t what I had.

“I couldn’t be leaving you in better hands, my friends,” Dottie continued, patting a hand over my heart. “I knew from the moment I met Dylan that he would be the one to take over my role in the brewery. My dear Beau would have agreed with me, and he would have been so very proud of all of the progress that has been made at the brewery. Of the changes that have made it more than it was, and also of all that has been kept the same. Because this has always been, and will always be, a place where love and family are celebrated, as well as the joy that can be found in drinking and eating. So I hope you continue to do plenty of both today.” She smiled at me and then panned her smile over the crowd. “I would also like to announce my new business venture.”

There were several gasps, probably because Dottie was over eighty, not at an age when someone usually started a business. But even though Dottie hadn’t officially announced this to anyone other than her close family yet, and me—it was part of the reason for all the baking we’d been doing—the people who knew her well didn’t look surprised.

“I’ll be opening a new tea shop, Tea of Fortune, next month. Please come by for a lovely visit, and for a cup of wisdom.” She beamed at the assemblage before turning to me again. “Now, I cede the floor to Dylan.”

Not knowing what to do with the would-be torch, I was about to drop it when Deeandra gently took it from me and set it in the hand of the Beau Buchanan statue.

Shockingly, it fit.

Dottie nodded slightly in approval.

“I’m not here to replace Dottie,” I said, “simply because there’s no replacing Dottie.” There were lots of murmurs of approval and nods at that. “But I hope to continue all the good work she’s done, both for this business and for the community. Buchanan Brewery will always be a special place, and I am so grateful to have found a home here.” With Deeandra pressed to my side, the warmth and reassurance of her, the joy and contentment in her beautiful eyes, I found myself adding, “And if it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t have met Deeandra, the love of my life.” Looking down into her eyes, I said, “The day I caught you crashing a wedding was the very best day of my life.”

“You’re welcome!” River called out.

Deeandra laughed a little, but she was glowing with happiness.

“Someday soon you can crash our wedding and return the favor,” I called out. Her eyes widened, but there wasn’t any fear in them, just joy, the same joy I felt pulsing through me.

“You mean we’re not going to invite him?” she asked in a small voice, laughing. “His aunt did just give you her job.”

“Fair point.” Then I tipped her slightly, like on the dance floor at the wedding, and I kissed her, gasping a little into her when I saw her shoes. She’d changed them at some point during the party, and I’d only just now noticed beneath her flowy silk skirt.

Her Cinderella shoes.

When I pulled back, she winked at me. “You liked them so much, I got a pair. I may not wear them every day, but I’m very happy to bring them out for special occasions.”

“Every day with you is a special occasion.”

Tina had drifted close enough to eavesdrop, and I heard a distinct comment about “cheese,” which, fair enough, but Deeandra brought it out in me.

Soon we were drawn back into the party, but I felt the warmth of Deeandra by my side, and the knowledge—like sitting by a warm hearth—that we would be together through everything. It was too soon to ask her to marry me, living in sin or not, but I would ask her, and soon. I could see a new future splayed out before me, and it was even more glorious than the one that I’d thought I wanted. Because it was with her.

BONUS EPILOGUE!

DYLAN

“You win, Dylan,” my little sister, Tina, says. “I’m moving to Asheville. Is that invitation to stay in your spare room still good?”

Since this is the first time she’s mentioned the possibility in nearly two years, I’m not going to shout “Rah! Rah!” like I would’ve if I were still in the Marines. And no, I won’t be buying a party hat.

I may live hundreds of miles away from my childhood home in western Massachusetts, but there’s no escaping the DiVirigilio family gossip. Hell, even when I was stationed in Afghanistan, I knew about Matteo’s secret smoking habit and Tina’s addiction to buying shoes. So, yeah, I know what’s been going on back home.

Last I heard, my sister was pretty serious about the guy she was dating, although she’s kept uncharacteristically quiet about the whole thing. No one in the family has actually met her boyfriend. My parents ranted about Mystery Guy for a good hour on our video chat last Sunday—Dad is of the opinion that only someone without “proper respect” would pick up his daughter from his house without at least introducing himself first, and my brother, Matteo, agreed. Mom pitched her voice low, or low for her, and said she was worried the guy was married. Nonna, not to be outdone, expressed her hope that he wasn’t Irish. Given Tina was present when they said all of those things, rolling her eyes in the background, I’m not surprised she decided to bite the bullet and finally move out of our parents’ house, but this?

Tina’s not the kind of person to change her entire life on a whim. Case in point: she still lives with our parents. Then again, there’s a little voice in my head that reminds me that I wasn’t that kind of person either, before my ex-wife left me. Sometimes life requires us to change or break.

Mystery Guy, whom I’ve given the benefit of the doubt up until now, must have done something stupid, and the thought of this possibly disrespectful stranger hurting my sister makes my jaw clench. Sure, Tina can stand up for herself, and often does, but I’d like to have words with him all the same.

“What happened?” I say, struggling to keep the growl out of my voice.

My wife, Deeandra, emerges from the hallway leading to the back bedrooms, her eyes wide. Here’s the thing—it usually takes a lot to piss me off. Mess with my family, though, and I’m 0 to 60.

“Everything okay?” she mouths.

For a second, I can only look at her, because she’s wearing those silver strappy shoes and that pink silky dress. And yeah, they’re not the exact same ones she had on the night we met—those were loaners—but she bought a nearly identical pair. She was beautiful to me then, as the near stranger who’d lost her shoes, but tonight...

“Beautiful isn’t a big enough word to describe you,” I say, rising from the couch.

“How ’bout bewitching, resplendent, ravishing,” Tina says in my ear.

Oh yeah, I’m on the phone. “I’m pretty sure ravishing and beautiful are equally long,” I tell her, walking toward Deeandra with purpose. “But you’re right,” I add, just to tease her, “ravishing is the perfect word for her.”

Ignoring Tina’s fake puking, I put a hand on the curve of Deeandra’s hip, savoring her intake of breath, and dip her.

Before I can kiss her, Liam calls out, “Oh, come on!” from the hallway. “Can’t you two at least wait until you go out? We talked about this. No lovey-dovey stuff in the common spaces. Ollie might be away on his school trip, but I’m not leaving for Dad’s for another hour.”

I can’t help but laugh, because Tina’s still fake puking in my ear, and my stepson looks like he’s on the verge of real puking.

“They can’t cut us a break, can they?” I say to Deeandra.

“Never,” Liam and Tina say at the same time.

Deeandra just smiles. We both feel lucky for this life we’ve carved out together, cock-blocking teenagers and all.

I keep an arm on her waist as Liam heads into the kitchen, shaking his head as if he’s the adult and we’re canoodling teenagers. “I’m putting you on speaker,” I say to Tina. “Deeandra’s here.”

“Yeah, duh, I got that part,” Tina says, as I shift the phone and press the button. “Hey, ravishing sister-in-law.”

“Back at you, Tina,” Dee says. She glances at me again, her brow furrowing—she always knows when something’s wrong—and asks, “Everything okay?”

Tina heaves a sigh. “It will be. I was just telling Dylan…I’m ready for a change. I want to move to Asheville. Would it be okay if I stay with you guys for a while?”

Dee’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. We have a spare bedroom now that the addition’s finished. We’d love to have you. Stay for as long as you like.”

We hear a choking sound in the kitchen, like Liam chugged too much soda. I’ve had a suspicion for a while now that he has a crush on my sister, but when I tried to talk to him about it last week, he nearly broke his ankle trying to run away. Literally. We were out on a hike, and he bolted. He claimed he was practicing for track tryouts, but Matteo ran track in high school, and I’m pretty sure training doesn’t involve randomly bursting into a run on a mountainside full of loose rocks.

“You haven’t answered me, Tina,” I say, some of the growl creeping back into my voice as I try to imagine what the fool might have done to her. Was Mom right? Is the asshole married?

Except I don’t really believe that. Tina’s not the type to mess with a married man, at least not knowingly.

“You’re very astute. No putting anything past you, bro. Good for you.”

“Uh-huh.”

Another sigh. “I don’t want to talk about it yet, okay? But to satisfy the Sicilian in you, I will confirm he didn’t do anything worthy of sleeping with the fishes. Pinky swear.”

“You’re not here to do the pinky swear, which means it’s null and void.”

Deeandra gives me a little shove that’s undermined by her smile. “Leave her alone. She’ll tell us when she’s ready. She never keeps secrets for long.”

“See. See! Your wife has sense. Thank you, Dee. You’re ravishing and a genius. Actually, I have a little surprise for you two.” Tina pauses. “Call it a late wedding present. And yes, you got married months and months ago, so it’s really late, but good things come to those who wait, and all that. You’re going to try to say no, I can already hear you trying, but don’t. I need you to say yes instead.”

She’s asking me to take a lot on faith today.

Dee glances at me, letting me take the lead since Tina’s my sister. I shrug, and she says, “We’ll take it under advisement.”

Tina laughs. “You’ve been spending too much time with our peacemaker.”

Given my middle child status, keeping the peace between Matteo and Tina was always my role growing up. Come to think of it, I spent a fair bit of time peace-keeping with my parents and my nonna too, and diplomacy is essentially my job now, as tasting room manager at Buchanan Brewery. If people try to fight or talk shit in our taproom, I’m the one who needs to talk them down. Or, if all else fails, physically remove them from the bar. It occurs to me that might be why Tina wants my help. Something’s going on with her, and she needs me to protect her while she figures it out. Which only makes me more determined to be there for her.

I can practically hear Tina clucking her tongue at me and calling me Saint Dylan, the nickname my buddies in the Marines gave me.

I glance at Dee, feeling another swell of gratitude for her. Because she would never stand in my way when it comes to helping family. Because she’d be the first to offer our support.

“We gotta go, Tina,” I say. “You come see us whenever you need to, okay? I won’t even say anything to Mom and Dad, although I can guaran-damn-tee they’ll be calling me before long.”

I’m not looking forward to that conversation. There’s nothing quite like being on the receiving end of my mother’s temper. Or my nonna’s, for that matter. My buddy, Ray, who served with me, would say the same.

“Thanks, Dylan. Dee. I was hoping you’d say that. I love you guys, even when you go too far with the whole lovey-dovey thing.”

The call disconnects, leaving me with a hell of a lot more questions than answers.

I pocket my phone and glance at Dee. I meant to ask for her thoughts about the call, but her lips have a slight sheen that draws my gaze, and I can’t stop myself. I lean in and kiss her. It’s a soft kiss—I haven’t forgotten Liam’s in the kitchen, and I respect the boys’ boundaries—but that dress she’s wearing, those shoes…they stir me.

“Oh, come on,” Liam says, leaving the kitchen with a plate of teetering sandwiches.

I pull back, lifting up my hands. “Don’t worry, we’re leaving.”

But he lingers, his gaze on the sandwiches as if he’s worried to look up at us.

“Aunt Tina’s coming for a visit?”

“Sounds like it,” I say, thinking back to his near miss with a broken ankle. I’m going to have to ask Deeandra to try to talk to him. Or maybe Ollie.

“Cool, cool, cool,” he says, his tone anything but. He heads toward his bedroom before glancing back, then gives us a genuine smile, something that’s become infrequent as he nears fifteen. “Have fun tonight.”

“You too, sweetheart,” Deeandra says. “Call Dad or Sam if you have any trouble.”

Deeandra’s best friend, Sam, would be just as likely to help him get into trouble as save him from it, but I know better than to volunteer that opinion. Besides, I have it on good authority that she’s busy tonight.

Liam rolls his eyes. “I’m almost fifteen, Mom. I can take care of myself for an hour. You call Sam if you need help.”

“We’ll be fine as long as your mom keeps her shoes on this time,” I say, shooting a glance at Deeandra.

It’s not our anniversary, but it’s something like it.

We got married last fall at City Hall, just us, the kids, my whole family (of course), plus Deeandra’s mother and her friend Sam. Both of us had done the big wedding thing before, and we didn’t want to wait. We’d agreed to take a honeymoon, just the two of us, later.

But there’s one celebration that doesn't have to wait. We met at a wedding at the Arboretum nearly two years ago, and we’re going to crash one tonight. Just like Deeandra crashed Georgie Buchanan and River Reeves’s wedding the night we met.

Only this time, a different acquaintance is getting married. Luke “Lurch” Dotson is marrying Stella Turnbull, also known as Goat Lady Stella.

It’s probably nuts to crash the wedding of the woman who once painted me as a naked centaur—a moment that I’m unlikely to ever forget given the painting still hangs in the taproom of Buchanan Brewery, my place of employment—but I can attest that love makes you do crazy things.

Look at Lurch. He’s signing up for a lifetime of love with Stella, whose idea of a good time is painting chickens murdering goats. She’s also made it very clear to everyone that they intend to have an open marriage. In fact, Dottie Hendrickson, my predecessor at Buchanan Brewery, showed me the invitation when she dropped by the tasting room last Thursday, something she still finds time for at least once a week. There was an asterisk next to “wedding,” and at the bottom of the invitation, it said We love everyone, and although we are making a commitment to each other, we look forward to enjoying intimacy with others too. Please email joinourmarriage69@lukeandstella.com for more information. Pictures appreciated! ;-)

I’d die before I’d let some asshole touch Dee, or any other woman put her hands on me, but I’ve lived in this town long enough to learn when to smile and nod.

We spend the drive to the Arboretum discussing Tina—mainly, what in the hell could have happened to drive her out of my parents’ house now, after living there for twenty-eight years, and when she might show up on our doorstep.

Deeandra suspects it’ll be this week, but I have a very thorough understanding of Tina’s shoe collection. It’ll take her at least three weeks to pack.

When I pull through the gates to the Arboretum, Dee shoots me a glance. “This is crazy,” she says, but there’s an excited glint in her eyes. “We’re totally going to be seen. She painted you, for God’s sake, and there’s no forgetting your face, Dylan. Seriously.”

I laugh. “You don’t think my beard is enough of a disguise?” I grew a mustache for Movember last year, and I let my beard grow in afterward. I’ve kept it maintained, but Tina teases that I’ve gone full mountain man. Deeandra thinks the beard’s stuck around because I’m sick of being recognized from the centaur painting, and she’s closer to the truth. Hopefully that will work in our favor tonight.

“Nope,” she says. I feel her gaze on me, radiating heat as if her fingers are actually traveling up my chest. “She’ll recognize the rest of you.”

“Dottie and River are going to be there,” I say. “They’ll help us pull it off.”

River is Dottie’s great nephew. He and his wife had a baby boy not that long ago—Beau, named after Georgie’s grandfather and the founder of Buchanan Brewery—and although Georgie flat-out refused to come to the wedding for fear the baby would be bitten by a goat or fed edibles, she encouraged River to escort Dottie. From what Dottie told me last week, he’d agreed. Reluctantly.

Dottie is actually officiating the wedding, just like she did for River and Georgie the night Dee and I met.

I turn into the parking lot, choose a space at the end, and park the car.

As soon as the engine stops, I glance at Dee and catch her biting her bottom lip, something that instantly sends a rush of blood down south.

“You know, I’m not going to make it through the night if you keep doing that,” I say, unbuckling my seatbelt.

“Is that a promise?” she asks, her voice suddenly husky as she unbuckles hers.

“Damn straight it is.”

She leans toward me a little, and I can’t help myself. I lift her up over the gearshift and onto my lap. I capture her laugh in the kind of kiss that would give Liam an actual fit, and she shifts so she’s straddling me, one leg on either side, those heels glinting.

My nonna’s sisters playing pinochle. Swimming in a cold river. Nonna’s giant crucifix.

Yeah, that’s not working great given she’s still on top of me.

“Come on, Deeandra,” I say, pulling back a little. “Not here. We have to go.”

There’s a plan, and this isn’t part of it.

“We don’t,” she says, rocking against me a little to drive me crazy. Looking up at me with an expression that makes me groan. “By the time we get home, Liam will already be at his dad’s. We won’t have anyone to traumatize, which means we can do. Whatever. We. Want. Wherever. We. Want.”

Shit.

Right now, I can’t think of anything I’d prefer to do, but if we’re back too early, my surprise is toast.

Which means I have to pretend I want to crash Goat Lady Stella’s wedding more than I want to take my wife home and have my way with her.

Simple.

Running through my erection-wilting thoughts again, I say, “Deeandra, I expect we’re going to have enough stories from this wedding to entertain Liam and Ollie for years. Hell, their children will be asking us about this wedding.”

She shrugs, because we both know it’s probably true.

“We don’t have to stay long,” I continue, “and I absolutely want to reenact everything we did that night.”

She lifts her eyebrows. “Even removing my shapewear?”

“Oh, you know it, baby,” I say, giving her a little squeeze.

Then, because I excel in torturing myself, I open my driver’s side door, shift her so she’s in my arms, and climb out.

“Ready to crash a wedding?”

* * *

I remember that first glimpse of Deeandra like it was yesterday—her body encased in a silky pink dress like the one she’s wearing now, her feet in those shoes that caught the light and drew my attention to her curvy legs. And, later, her wearing those shoes and nothing else. She’s my wedding crasher. Only this time I’m crashing with her.

I put my arms around her, holding her as we stand at the back of the ceremony, hopefully far enough from the happy couple to avoid notice.

“You’re using me as a human shield, aren’t you?” she whispers over her shoulder.

“Busted,” I say, squeezing her hip and making her squirm. Of course, given she’s a half foot shorter than me, she wouldn’t make much of a shield.

“Hey,” River complains from his position next to me. “Who am I going to hide behind?”

“You don’t need to hide behind anybody,” I say. “Even Stella knows better than to mess with your aunt.”

From what Dottie and River have both told me, it’s mostly true. Although Stella doesn’t necessarily behave where Dottie’s concerned, she draws the line when it comes to making a move on River. Although, come to think of it, she is getting married in the same location as he and Georgie, down to the amphitheater, where we’re gathered now.

The differences between the two events are already obvious, given there is currently a goat strolling toward the bride and groom.

River flinches and mutters, “I’ll be honest. This is hitting a little too close to home.” Which, fair enough—one of Stella’s goats nearly caused a fire at his wedding.

This time, the most damage they’ve done (they, because Stella already walked one goat to the altar) is to munch on the embellishments on her simple white dress. The goat that’s approaching them now has a pouch of sorts on his back, presumably with the rings, but he’s in no hurry. As everyone waits and watches, he stops a couple of times to snack on the grass by the path, and once to make a grab for a woman’s straw clutch.

Maybe it’s because my mind’s on Tina and her sudden wish to move to Asheville, but I hear her old refrain: only in Asheville.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the goat arrives next to Lurch, who pats it fondly and removes the buttoned pouch.

Dottie takes it from him, beaming, and turns toward the audience, her gaze ending on our group. “We’re here today to join this couple in a goddess-blessed partnership,” she says, “but first, they have requested to exchange their own vows. You’re in for a treat, friends. They’ll be decorating each other’s faces to look like their spirit animals.”

I glance at Deeandra, eyebrows raised, and she lifts her hand to her mouth to hide the laughter trying to sputter out. Which only makes me feel a rumble of answering laughter. River’s grunt suggests he’s right there with us.

We all hold it in and watch as Stella draws a startlingly accurate rendition of a goat on Lurch’s face with a marker, and he then reciprocates by drawing a barely recognizable wolf on her face.

“Their wedding pictures are going to be keepers,” Deeandra mutters.

Dottie, of course, looks utterly delighted by the whole thing.

“Does anyone object to this union?” Dottie asks, which almost makes it sound like she’s hoping for trouble.

Deeandra jolts against me when two men instantly stand up in the audience. They were sitting three seats apart, and they exchange a wide-eyed look, apparently surprised by each other’s existence, before storming separately onto the stage. One has snowy white hair and a beard, giving off a serious Santa Claus vibe except for his white linen suit and Chacos, and the other is dark-haired with sallow eyes.

Stella preens in a way that suggests she’s enjoying herself very much.

“You can’t marry this man,” Santa says. “We were together just last week. You said I was your muse!”

The other man gives him a dark look. “She said I was her muse.”

“Now, now,” Lurch says, looking completely unfazed by the whole thing. “There’s plenty of inspiration to go around. Most of the time Grumpy here is Stella’s muse—” he waves at the goat, who is chewing on a piece of fabric that he got who knows where, “—and she’s not about to run off with him.”

River swears under his breath. Probably he feels bad for Lurch, who’s been a family friend since the early days of the brewery, but the guy seems strangely happy with Stella. If he’s been brainwashed, he’s enjoying the Kool-Aid.

“To each their own,” I mutter, clapping River on the back.

Suddenly, Stella’s gaze flicks up and lands on me. Her eyes widen, and it’s obvious the beard isn’t much of a disguise at all. I’d duck, but that seems ludicrous. If she’s angry we crashed, it doesn’t show. In fact, she gives us a wide smile, revealing the points of her canines.

“Yes,” Stella says, still looking at me, “It would seem many of my muses are present tonight.” Her gaze flicks back to the two men on the stage. “If you’d been invited, you’d know that Luke and I aren’t bound to convention. We’re going to have a true open marriage.”

“But you can stay on the stage if you’d like,” Lurch says, pounding Santa on the back as if they’re old buds.

Only in Asheville.

Here’s the thing. The guys actually do stay down there, as if they’re in the wedding party. Santa has a sulky look, but the other man, the one with the sallow eyes, perked up at Stella’s reminder that it will be an open marriage.

The ceremony finally wraps up, and Dottie claps her hands. “It’s time for the goat roast! Stella selected all of the ingredients herself.”

Deeandra looks back at me and makes a face. “Do you think—”

“Yes,” River says from next to us. “Yes, they were absolutely Stella’s pets. Trust me. I have some experience with this sort of thing.” He checks his phone for what has to be the hundredth time. I catch a glimpse of the wallpaper photo—a picture of his infant son, Beau, with his wife. Before I met Deeandra, seeing that might have made my airway cinch tight. But the old feelings of worthlessness and grief aren’t there anymore. Or at least they’re not there in the same way. It’s my privilege to help raise Liam and Ollie. To be another dad to them.

I give Deeandra another squeeze, because she made that possible for me. She’s made so many things possible for me. “Ready for the goat roast?” I tease.

“Absolutely not,” she says with a grin that lights up her eyes.

Still, while the happy couple pose for photos with their marked-up faces—Santa and Sallow Eyes actually join Lurch and Stella for one of them—we head back toward the bar. We grab a couple of drinks, River joining us, then linger near a back table by a copse of oaks.

“I might need to hide behind one of those,” I whisper in Deeandra’s ear.

She looks me up and down. “Nope, no hiding you.”

“She has a point, dear,” Dottie says, joining us. She dyed her hair bright yellow this spring—not to be confused with blond—and somehow it suits her, just like the silver kaftan she’s wearing. “Besides, Stella already saw you. She was very pleased to learn you were here. I must say, she’s taken it as encouragement. She thinks you might want to apply to be part of their open marriage.”

“Apply?” Deeandra asks in horror.

I was too deep in my holy shit moment to ask the question.

“They have a box on the gift table.” Dottie gestures to the gift table, where a goat is eating page after page from a stack of papers. No one is attempting to stop her. Maybe because they feel bad about the whole goat roast thing. “Guests are encouraged to apply if they’re interested in helping Lurch and Stella honor their open marriage.” She shrugs. “I must say it isn’t my cup of tea. My Beau and I were very devoted to each other, but Stella does have a strong case of artistic temperament, bless her.”

“Is that what you call it?” I mutter. Then, louder, “Why did I think this was a good idea to crash this wedding?”

“Beats me, man,” River says, pounding me on the back. “I guess it worked out for you well enough last time.”

Deeandra beams at me. “You suggested it because you’re a hopeless romantic.”

“Not so hopeless.” I pull her closer. “Besides, it seemed like a good opportunity to get you to wear that dress and those heels.”

“I claim partial credit for getting you two together,” River says, even though he didn’t know about the whole crashing thing until after the fact. “Just like I’ll claim partial credit for saving you now. Stella is on the move. Repeat: she is on the move. This is not a drill.”

“Yes, I’m sorry to say you’d better be on your way, dears,” Dottie says, pressing her lips together in a thin line. “I did hope you’d be around for the interpretive dance after dinner. Lurch and Stella and the goats have practiced it for weeks. There’s going to be audience participation.”

I’m both sorry and not sorry we won’t be present for it. We say our goodbyes, then I take Deeandra’s hand and lead her deeper into the trees just as I see a flash of a white dress headed our way.

“Crashing was a lot easier when I wasn’t with a six-foot-three man,” Deeandra murmurs as we duck behind a tree and then a bush.

“Yeah, but was it as fun?”

“I was with Sam,” she says, grinning at me.

“Sam is fun,” I agree. “But I’m reasonably sure she’s never made you come three times in one night.”

“Take me home, Dylan,” she says, staring into my eyes.

I can’t help but grin because it’s the same line she used that night. I’d misinterpreted her meaning at first, thinking she wanted me to take her back to her house because I’d upset her, only now her house is my house.

“With pleasure.”

* * *

It’s hard as hell to get back to the house. Because Deeandra rests her hand on my thigh and leaves it there, her fingers sending buzzing awareness back to my dick.

But we do make it back, and as soon as I round the corner and catch sight of our house, I suck in a breath.

Because there are two cars in our driveaway, where there should be none. One belongs to Sam, who was supposed to play her part in my plan and then leave, and the other is an old VW station wagon that looks suspiciously familiar.

“What’s Sam doing here?” Deeandra asks, snatching her hand back. She looks like she’s going to be sick, and I realize what she’s thinking. Liam was supposed to call Sam or his dad if he had any trouble.

I throw my hands up. “I’m about ninety-nine percent sure this has nothing to do with Liam.” I grin, because busted. “I arranged for Sam to help me out, but she should be gone by now.”

My gaze shoots back to that familiar car, which is when I recognize the bumper sticker. If God Had Intended Us to Follow Recipes, He Wouldn’t Have Given Us Nonna. I swear under my breath. “Looks like you won your bet.”

“What?” Deeandra asked, her hand pressed to her chest.

I don’t need to answer, because Tina and Sam come out the door together. They both have a slightly guilty look, as if they’re teenagers who got caught sneaking out.

Or ruining my surprise.

Deeandra’s eyes widen, but her shoulders sag a little with relief. “Well, I expected to win,” she says, “but I didn’t expect it to happen so soon.”

“What can I say? You’re always right.”

She laughs, and she’s still laughing as I get out of the car and come around to open her door. I lift her down, and she gives me a quick kiss before I set her on her feet.

“I’m sorry,” Tina says as they reach us. “I might have been on my way already when I called you.”

Sam shrugs. “I couldn’t not let her in. She’s your sister. Plus, she offered to let me borrow her vintage heels as a bribe.”

I hug Tina, because I can’t not hug her, but my mind is working overtime. What the hell did Mystery Guy do to my sister? It must have been all the way bad for her to hop into a car and move. And given I haven’t heard from my parents yet, they don’t even know she’s gone.

Something tells me I’m the one who’s going to be smoothing all of this over—Dylan the peacemaker, and all that—but I don’t ask her questions yet. I’ve learned it’s best not to talk about important things outside. Everyone says older ladies live for gossip, but in my experience they’re not the only ones. The older man next door writes nearly daily posts on Nextdoor about other people’s business. Either his hearing aids give him super hearing, or he has surveillance equipment planted up and down the block. To be honest, I’m not sure which explanation I prefer.

I’ve tried to talk to him about it, but he shrinks back from me like I’m a street tough who wants to shake him down for money. Deeandra told me it was my fault for still working out as much as I did in the Marines…and then asked me not to stop.

Tina hugs me back, holding on maybe a little too hard, which makes me feel another pulse of worry.

“I’ll tell you everything soon, Dylan,” she says in a small voice. “I’m not ready yet.”

“Okay,” I say. “It’s going to be okay.” I’m not quite sure how. It’s completely possible our entire family will be beating down our door by morning, but I’ll protect her.

And I know I’m not the only one.

As if she can hear my thoughts, Deeandra steps in and hugs her too. “I’m glad you’re here,” she says. “It’s about time we have another woman in this house. There’s enough testosterone and dirty socks in here to drown a person.”

“Hey!” Sam says, mock offended. “I’m a woman.”

“And you’re honorary family, but you don’t actually live here,” I say.

She considers this for a moment before shrugging.

We head inside together, Deeandra and me in our formal wear, Tina and Sam in sweats.

“Let’s sit at the table,” Deeandra says. “I can make everyone some tea, and Dylan and I can fix you some food if you’re hungry.”

This fits with my plan, or what’s left of it, so I steer her toward the table, my hand on the curve of her hip.

She gasps when she sees the setup, which Sam actually finished, thank God. Except…that’s not the envelope I prepared, sitting beside the cake and the bouquet of flowers. It’s a different size, and it has Tina’s handwriting on it. I shoot a look at her, but she just gives a small shake of her head, and then Deeandra throws her arms around my neck, laughing, and my attention is arrested on her.

Some of her silky hair has tumbled down from her up-do. She looks radiant. And happy. So happy.

I’m still worried as fuck about Tina, but I can’t help but feel some of that reflected shine. It’s what Deeandra has always done to me.

“Since we’re replaying our first date and all, I thought it was only appropriate,” I say.

The cake is decorated with a Celtics jersey, exactly like the one Deeandra ran off in after our first night together.

The flowers are a similar style to the ones River and Georgie used at their wedding.

“I love it,” she says into my ear. “I love you. If only I’d known, I could have worn your jersey tonight.”

I have a flash of her wearing that jersey and nothing else, like she has a few times, but that’s not the kind of thought I want to be having with my sister and Sam hovering near us.

“To the wedding?” I ask, pulling back slightly. “Then we definitely would have been noticed.”

She smiles. “Did you miss the part where we were noticed anyway? I’m glad our crashing days are behind us.”

“Never say never,” Tina says. “Now, open the envelope,” she adds, drawing my attention back to it. “Please.”

I shoot her a what are you up to now look, but she gives me her best expression of innocence. The same one that I remember from childhood. Usually it preceded some sort of disaster, like when she cut up Mom’s best cashmere scarf to make blankets for her dolls, or when, as a teenager, she’d tucked pamphlets about women’s empowerment into Nonna’s bible.

That envelope can’t be good news.

Deeandra gives it a quizzical look as she pulls it to her. She’s not as familiar with Tina’s writing as I am—Nonna watched us sometimes when we were kids, and her favorite punishment was to have us write lines of scripture over and over. Tina wrote a lot of them. Still. Deeandra knows it’s not my writing.

She cracks it open and pulls out the folded sheets of paper, then gasps, turning to me with wide eyes. I take the contents from her and examine them, feeling a bolt of shock all the way down to my feet.

“Tina, what is this?”

“It’s your wedding gift that I forgot to give you,” she says. “I did tell you about it earlier.” She tucks some of her long hair behind her ear. “It’s about time you brought Dee on a honeymoon. She made an honest man of you long ago.”

“We were going to take a honeymoon. That was kind of the point of the other envelope. The one that you—”

“Confiscated,” Sam says with a sorry, not sorry shrug. “Good news. We looked while you were gone. You can get a 100% refund on that cottage.”

“Come on, Dylan,” Tina says, taking up the torch. “What did they tell you in the Marines? Semper Fi, not Semper I. You can accept help.”

I’d arranged for Dee and me to stay at a bed and breakfast in Maine for a week and a half later this summer. Even checked with her work to make sure she could take the time off, and—a more difficult task—talked to the boys’ father about taking them for that time. I’d wanted to bring her somewhere right after the wedding, but we’d just gotten finished with the addition to the house, which had been more drawn out and expensive than anticipated.

This is too much, and I have no idea where Tina, who’s a bartender and odd jobber, could have gotten the money. My parents do well with my dad’s sporting goods shop, but this didn’t come from them. If it had, I would have been called at least half a dozen times about this detail and that. I would have known.

My mind flashes to Mystery Guy, and I don’t for a minute like the thought that he might have something to do with it.

“We can’t accept a gift this large,” I say.

Deeandra, who looks understandably confused, turns to Tina for an explanation.

“Dylan was going to take you on another trip.” She shrugs. “A nice one. But this…this is the trip of a lifetime. My…ex and I had already made these arrangements for Italy. Non-refundable. They did, however, allow me to change the names for a fee.” A grin tips up her lips. “Liam checked your passports. He talked to his dad about changing the dates of the vacation, and the jerkwad was surprisingly cool about it.”

Huh. So maybe Liam’s been acting weird because he knew her secret, not because he has a crush on her. Or it could be a little bit of both.

We only have the passports because I know how much Deeandra wants to go to Europe. It’s number three on the bucket list of things we want to experience together, something we put together after our wedding.

1. Learn tantric yoga

2. Try at least fifteen positions of the kama sutra

3. Go to Europe.

We wasted no time getting through the first two and now we have our chance to knock out the third. The envelope Tina left out for us—it’s an itinerary for a two-week trip to Italy, complete with first class plane tickets. I’ve never once ridden first class, and the same is true for Deeandra.

“You broke up with Mystery?” I ask, although I already know the answer. That’s what all of this has been about, after all.

She nods solemnly. “We’re no longer together, but he gave me the trip. He knows you two are going. It’s all settled.”

“I’m sorry, Tina,” I say, pulling her into a side hug. I have the flitting thought that it feels good to have them both in one place, Deeandra on one side, my little sister on the other. I’ve missed her. “But…”

I want to go, obviously. It’s Italy. I haven’t been since our family vacation when we were kids, but Nonna has told us so many stories about the “Old Country”—some fact and many fiction—that it feels like it’s part of me. That’s something I want to share with Dee, and from the conflicted look on her face, she wants to go too. Still, it’s on the tip of my tongue to say no. To tell Tina that we couldn’t possibly accept a gift like this, and she should go on the trip with one of her friends. Another part of me wants to point out that she and Sam have both been a bit presumptuous—that I had a plan, and it wasn’t a half bad one. But there’s this look in her eye. Almost as if—

A tear trails down her cheek.

“Oh, Tina,” Deeandra says, coming around to hug her, so we’re in this three-way hug that should be awkward, but isn’t—even when Sam circles her arms around all of us to join in, because it’s the Sam thing to do.

“Please,” Tina says, and I’m pretty sure it’s the only time I’ve ever heard her beg for anything. It’s not something I’d like to hear again. “I want to do this for you. I need to do this for you.”

“You don’t need to do anything for us,” Deeandra says. “You’re always welcome to stay here. Always.”

“You know that,” I add. “You should go on this trip yourself.”

“Let me do this for you,” she says. “I need you to let me. If you don’t…it will feel like it was all for nothing. It’ll break my heart.”

I hear the unspoken again.

And I can tell how much she needs us to say yes.

Deeandra looks at me then, her eyes swimming with tears, because this beautiful woman truly does consider my sister her family, and I know there can only be one answer.

“Yes.”

Sam starts jumping up and down, and Tina’s tears dry up, replaced by a grin. Almost as if they’d planned the whole emotional show to get us to agree, only I know my sister. The tears were real, just like I know this smile is too.

“You’re going to Italy,” Sam shouts, hugging Deeandra now.

Deeandra has a disbelieving look on her face, like she can’t quite wrap her mind around how our night has ended. I can’t either.

“Hell yeah, you are,” Tina says, then she tugs Sam back. “But Sam invited me over for a sleepover so we can watch romantic movies and throw candy at the men. We don’t want to interrupt your weird—” She motions to the table as if she thinks we have a weird sex thing planned with the cake, which we don’t, of course, but the table…

It’s not a bad idea.

“But we wouldn’t object to taking some cake with us,” Sam says. “I did play a role in the theft of the jersey, after all.”

That story has a place in our family lore now, so Tina doesn’t react with confusion. She nods adamantly, and Deeandra bursts into action—getting them Tupperware, cutting them huge pieces of the cake.

Then they’re giving us goodbye hugs and leaving, and suddenly it’s just Deeandra and me, and this bomb that went off in our living room.

She turns to me, worry in her eyes. “Is it okay, Dylan? I didn’t know what to say. But it seemed like she needed us to say yes.” She bites her bottom lip, giving me thoughts that have nothing to do with Tina’s current life drama. “I’ll be honest…I wanted to say yes.”

“So did I,” I say, pulling her to me and capturing that bottom lip lightly in my teeth. Then I kiss her softly. “We’ll find out what’s going on with Tina. We’re going to help her, and part of that is accepting her gift, because if we don’t, I think it really will break her heart.” People in my family throw that phrase around a lot, for sins as minor as refusing an extra helping of spaghetti at Sunday lunch, but she obviously meant it. “For now, this is what she needs from us. And as a side perk, we get to cross off number three on our list.” I lift her into my arms, loving the way her eyes fly wide and then hood with lust. “Now, I think I have some shapewear to remove.”

Her laughter fills the air around us as I carry her to our bedroom.

Oh, this life we’ve built. Laughter is a big piece of it. Family too. And I’m about to enjoy another piece of it—the pleasure of unwrapping my wife like the gift she is.* * *

If you love Tina like we do, check out the completed Bad Luck Club series! Tina’s in the first book, Love at First Hate, and she gets her own story in Fraudulently Ever After, a hilarious fake relationship caper. Read on for a sneak peek!

Come join Angela and Denise’s Laughing Hearts Facebook group. We’ll have giveaways and inside information about our books.

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FRAUDULENTLY EVER AFTER

SNEAK PEEK

“We’re doomed,” Harry says, slumping onto our worn sofa as if someone poisoned him. Actually, the last potential roommate we interviewed did bring her own homemade iced tea, but if it had arsenic in it, I’d be the one slumping over. Harry doesn’t make a habit of eating strangers’ food. I’m less discerning. I’m already cursed; what’s one more mistake?

Still a mistake, it turns out.

The tea tasted like mulch smells, except with a hint of spoiled berry on the back end. I won’t be recommending it to my boss, Dottie, at Tea of Fortune, as Potential Roommate Number Twelve suggested. I admire a good hustle as much as the next girl—I have many of them—but making tea blends is not the woman’s strong suit.

“She wasn’t so bad,” I say, pursing my lips, but a smile bursts through. “I mean, she did want to move into Molly’s old room with her boyfriend, three dogs, and a ferret, but the more the merrier, am I right?”

“No, you are not right,” he says with a moan. “This house is precisely eleven hundred eighty square feet. Having that many beings in here would unleash total mayhem. Edward would never leave his shell again.”

Edward is his pet turtle, but Harry needs to lighten up, so I say, “Are you sure you’re talking about Edward and not your dong?”

He rolls his eyes. “Both, but in case you haven’t noticed, there hasn’t exactly been a parade of men in and out of my room lately.”

“Mine either,” I say with a sigh, although I’m pretty sure neither of us wants a parade—just one guy who doesn’t suck. Our friend Molly found one, which is the reason for our current predicament. Molly was the best roommate in the world, other than her out-of-control PDA with her boyfriend, Cal, and then Cal decided to up and give her a house for Christmas last month.

Seriously. A house!

It’s a grand gesture right out of a rom-com. I’m happy for her, but I also miss the hell out of her, especially since she’s currently at a no-phones-or-internet-allowed writer’s retreat in Vermont and will be gone for the next month. (She went to this willingly!) I also can’t help but feel a little twinge of…

Well, shit, I guess it’s jealousy. I’ve been reading romance novels since I was ten—probably enough to build a house out of them—but every time I pursue a relationship, it ends in disaster.

I don’t tell a lot of people this part, mostly because I’m sick of getting you’re crazy looks, but I’m cursed. Yes, really. When I was nineteen, I broke my boyfriend’s heart because he wasn’t romance-novel material, and big-mouth me told him so. I may have also let it slip that he was a momma’s boy who couldn’t heat up a jar of sauce on his own, let alone save a woman from a fire, an arranged marriage, a crappy job, or a lost belief in Christmas, like in my favorite books.

Tony blabbed to his momma. Who blabbed to his Sicilian grandmother, Nonna Giovanni. She called me—I imagined her using a rotary phone, but let’s be honest, it was probably a cell phone—and told me, You want smut instead of my Tony, putana? I curse you! You will live in those books, yes, but you will never, ever find a happy ending.

I shit you not, lightning struck the tree just outside my window at that exact moment.

I wanted to believe it was just sour grapes, but you don’t fuck with a Sicilian woman—something I know from my dealings with my own ninety-year-old nonna—and it’s become pretty clear she wasn’t messing around.

Ever since I broke up with Tony, my love life has been a series of romantic tropes gone wrong. I mean this literally. My exes include a second-chance romance with a guy who was secretly making meth in his parents’ basement; a forced-proximity fling with a ski instructor who turned out to be married; an entanglement with a reformed bad boy who turned out not to be so reformed; and—most heartbreakingly—Rory, a billionaire who found out he had a secret baby with his ex. These aren’t things that happen to normal people, or at least they shouldn’t all be happening to the same person.

You might ask me, Why don’t you pull on your big girl pants and apologize?

Because Tony’s nonna died ten years ago. I did apologize to Tony, but his immediate response was to try to kiss me, and I pulled away and stomped on his foot with my heel. He wasn’t pleased, and in all honesty, it might have made things worse.

I also got my nonna to do the counter curse for malocchio, the evil eye. She prayed over a bowl of water and then dribbled olive oil into it, just like her mother had taught her, but it didn’t seem to help.

Maybe Nonna’s heart wasn’t in it. After all, she spends at least half her pre-bedtime routine saying rosaries for my soul, for sins ranging from wearing high heels to believing men are capable of housework. She probably agrees with Tony’s grandmother.

Harry can’t possibly know what I’m thinking, but I still get a full-body shiver when he says, “I feel like we’re in an episode of The Twilight Zone.” He sits bolt upright, his eyes widening. “Are we in an episode of The Twilight Zone?”

I give it an honest-to-God second of thought. “I don’t think so. The original show ended in 1964, and the reboot… Well, let’s be honest, we’re not paying for any premium services. I don’t know a damn thing about the reboot.”

“Don’t remind me of our financial situation,” Harry says melodramatically. “We’re both cursed. You’re…you, and I might never find another job. Who would want to live with us anyway?”

Harry knows about the curse. I mean, of course he does. If you’re convinced you’re cursed, the most sympathetic ear you can find belongs to someone who believes the majority of the conspiracy theories he’s heard. Besides, we’re the kind of friends who know each other’s shit. Like how I know the real reason his old employer, Swordfish Insurance, went belly-up last month, a few weeks before Christmas. His bosses were scamming elderly people out of money, and Harry didn’t suspect a thing. Given he’d spent years trying to overcome his paranoia—and, for the most part, succeeding—he blames his lack of foresight on his improved mental health. The super shitty thing is that he lost all of his retirement benefits along with his subpar salary.

He’s going through a bit of regression on the whole conspiracy theories front, to be honest. Just yesterday, I caught him watching So You Think You’re Safe on YouTube, which is like So You Think You Can Dance except it pairs normal people with survivalists and gives them challenges related to living off the grid. It doesn’t help Harry’s peace of mind that he’s still searching for a job, his savings dwindling every day.

Given I survive on a part-time job at Dottie’s tea shop and a few odd jobs where the pay ranges from zucchini to homemade jam, we can’t afford this place without a third roommate. My brothers would step up in a heartbeat, even though one of them has two stepkids and the other has two little girls, and my parents would cut us a check before we finished explaining the problem. Of course, they’d double down on nagging me to move back home to Massachusetts. (When I was there, they couldn’t stop complaining about having their unmarried daughter around, and now? To hear my mom tell it, I abandoned them.) Harry’s mom has also offered him money, but we’ve agreed we’re too prideful to take handouts from our relatives. We’d rather be poor.

“Who would want to live with us, you ask? Twelve people I can think of off the top of my head.” I wink at him. “It may be your lucky day though. My phone pinged when Maple Leaf was here. What if it’s Potential Roommate Number Thirteen answering our ad?”

He gives a full-body shudder, then pulls his beanie off and scrubs his buzzed head. “We’ve had enough bad luck, Tina. Don’t call them that, call them Potential Roommate Number Fourteen, like when hotels skip over the thirteenth floor.”

I huff. “They might call it something else, but I have news for you, bud, it’s still the thirteenth floor. Besides, thirteen’s considered a lucky number in Sicily.”

“We live in Asheville.”

He casts a longing look at the salt sitting out on the kitchen table, like he wants to cast some over his shoulder to dispel the bad juju I just unleashed on the house, or maybe he’s pissed at me for leaving the container out. Probably both.

I make a big show of pulling out my phone, only to see it’s a group text from a few pals I’ve nicknamed the Greek Chorus, mostly because I think it’s funny. They’re my own personal self-help group, devoted to either breaking the curse or proving it’s not real—the answer varies depending on who you ask.

Nicole: Tick, tock, Tina. We may not have rules, but consider this your warning. YOU ARE RUNNING OUT OF TIME. I expect results BY MONDAY.

I don’t have to ask what she means. It’s Thursday evening, so I suppose I really am running out of time if she’s serious.

“So?” Harry asks. “What psychopath are we going to meet this time?”

I swivel the phone so he can see it. A small smile lifts his lips. “Well, she is a psychopath.”

Harry and Nicole know each other from the original Bad Luck Club, a self-help group started by Molly’s not-sucky boyfriend and his equally not-sucky dad. Their goal was to help down-on-their-luck people turn their lives around, and given the whole curse thing, I was naturally interested in the concept—until I learned about all the rules.

I don’t do rules, just like I don’t do full-time jobs. Which is why my interest was piqued when I heard Nicole was starting her own version of the Bad Luck Club. Nicole is not a person who venerates traditions and rules. She’s kind of an asshole, actually, all pink hair and attitude, but my sister-in-law knows and loves her, despite agreeing with the first part of this sentence, and Nicole has an undeniable track record of success. She helped Molly’s straight-laced big sister, Mary, sort out her life in all of a month, so I’m hoping she can do something for me.

Actually, Mary volunteered to help me too, along with my boss, Dottie. I guess my luck must be pretty shitty if I need three mentors to set things right, but I’m not complaining. Even if I do joke that they’re my Greek Chorus, narrating my doom. Or, possibly, pushing me toward it. Because the Bad Luck Club, both the original version and my very watered-down offshoot, are all about issuing challenges to the unlucky person.

Molly said she wanted “a piece of the action” too, but Nicole refused, saying she knew me too well to be part of the process.

My phone buzzes again. The screen is still facing Harry, and he laughs.

“Was it Dottie or Mary?” I ask.

“Dottie.”

I swivel the phone around to see her response.

Dear, I have a very soothing sedative tea. My intuition tells me you might need it.

I laugh. “Her intuition and the blood vessel that’s probably popped in Nicole’s eye.”

A few dots pop into view on the screen, then Nicole writes, She doesn’t need a sedative tea; she needs to do her fucking challenge.

Dottie’s response is immediate. I was talking to you, dear. Your red energy is transferring over the phone.

That’s when Mary steps in. Don’t drink anything she gives you, Nicole. Dottie, you need to stop experimenting with sedatives. You could get into legal trouble.

She’d know; she’s a lawyer. But if I was hoping even-keeled Mary would step up to my defense, I was sorely mistaken.

Mary: It’s been nearly three weeks, Tina. Didn’t you get the latest link I sent you? That looked like a really solid option.

I convey their messages to Harry, because he’s obviously depressed, and I’m okay with being the entertainment.

“Why don’t they just give you a new challenge if you’re not up for this one?” he asks, running his hand over his hair again. He gave it a fresh buzz cut after losing his job. Maybe not the best idea in January, but I understand the impulse. When I was dating Rory, the billionaire who became someone else’s baby daddy, I had long hair, so after I moved to Asheville to stay with my brother Dylan and his family post-breakup, I cut all of mine off in the bathroom. I did it on impulse, the way I make most of my bad decisions, and I panicked until my sister-in-law took me to her friend’s salon to clean it up.

She gave me a pixie cut that looked a hell of a lot better than my hack job, and afterward, I kept running my hand through it, feeling weirdly free.

I sigh, pocketing my phone, and slump down onto the couch beside Harry. “Huh. Slumping feels pretty good.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” He gives me a look. “So? Why aren’t they moving on?”

Another sigh slips out of me. “This is apparently the only thing they agree on. They’ve all been sending me ideas for situations that would fit. I guess the flip side of not having to follow any of the original club’s rules is that Nicole doesn’t need to follow them either.”

Meaning she doesn’t have to accept no for an answer.

Nicole, Mary, and Dottie have decided that instead of passively falling into romance-novel scenarios, I need to seek one out. My challenge is to knowingly slide into one so I can flip the script and take control. Mary thinks it will help me realize that I’m emotionally damaged, not cursed, although she has a nicer way of putting it, and I’m pretty sure Nicole just wants an up-close-and-personal seat when everything goes to hell. Dottie refuses to explain why she agrees with them. She’ll only say that she’s read my tea leaves enough times to know what’s good for me.

I love Dottie, but it’s a little baffling the way she’ll tell a stranger within five minutes that they’re about to have the best (or worst) sex of their lives, yet she still won’t confirm that I’ve been cursed. That’s why I sought her out in the beginning. My brother knows her pretty well, having worked for her before her fortune-telling tea lounge became a thing. After I moved to Asheville to get away from the whole Rory thing, he suggested that I connect with her. In fact, one of the first things I did in Asheville, after the hair hack job, was visit Dottie at Tea of Fortune. But she refused to comment on the whole curse situation. Instead, she offered me a job. Apparently, she has a personal stake in ensuring the DiVirgilio kids are employed. My mother can’t decide whether she’s grateful or pissed.

Harry turns to me. “So what are you waiting for? Get out your laptop, and let’s take a look. This is much less depressing than trying to find another roommate.”

“For you,” I mutter. I enjoy adventure as much as the next girl, but I’ve been dragging my feet with this challenge. Why knowingly walk into trouble? I do a good enough job of stumbling into it. But I agreed to let them help me, and they all think this is the way forward… So I grab my shitty laptop, and Harry and I start sifting through the ads they’ve forwarded along.

Nicole sent me a bunch of personal ads from Craigslist that don’t exactly exude romance. Then again, I’m pretty sure she’s never read a romance novel.

“This one’s definitely a murderer,” Harry mutters, skimming an ad from a man who wants to whisk someone away to a cabin, no phones allowed, for twenty-four hours of forced proximity.

“Either that or he won So You Think You’re Safe.”

He gives a rueful twist of his mouth and moves on to the next one—a widower looking for a nanny for his three children. Fifty-two-year-old doctor seeks a woman under thirty to watch my children and cook and clean for us. Must be trim so you can keep up with the kids! Send full-body photos.

He makes a face. “This guy doesn’t want a nanny. He wants an arranged marriage.”

“Yeah, right?” I say. “I’m pretty sure Nicole only sent me that because she wants me to puncture the guy’s ego by acting like a nutcase, but even so.”

We move on to Mary’s most recent recommendation. She sent me an ad for a pottery class taught by a father-son pair, but Harry takes one look at the guy’s picture and pronounces he’s gay.

“How do you know?” I ask, unconvinced. “You can’t just tell from a picture.”

His brow furrows. “It’s not his picture. I went on three-and-a-half dates with him. He said I was the inspiration for one of his vases, but then he invited me over to his apartment, and he had an enormous clay model of a spider in his living room.”

I shudder dramatically. “Hence the half date?”

“Needless to say, I left,” he says, throwing his beanie on the coffee table, only to reconsider, fold it, and put it in the drawer of the side table. “You definitely don’t want to go out with a guy who has a spider fetish.”

“Or one who’s gay.”

“Fair enough. What did Dottie come up with?”

I laugh. “She hasn’t sent me anything, believe it or not. She says the perfect situation will come to me when I’m ready. Whatever that means.”

Truthfully, I wonder if she’s just absorbed in the tea shop. Tea of Fortune keeps getting busier and busier. Even though Dottie seems very young for her age, she’s still over eighty. I can’t imagine this is what she anticipated when she started the shop.

“My turn,” Harry says, commandeering the laptop.

“Oh, come on. Three mentors are enough. I don’t need you joining them.”

He raises his brows and gives me a holier-than-thou look. “Do you really think they can internet better than I can?”

If nothing else, I suppose his paranoia will help ensure I don’t find myself the subject of cautionary tales.

Lifting my hands, I say, “I stand corrected. I’m going to make us some dinner.”

“Anything but spaghetti,” he says. “You always make spaghetti when it’s your turn.” I give him the stink eye, and he laughs. “Your mom will never know if you branch out.”

“She already holds a grudge against me for moving here. If I move past spaghetti, I’ll be dead to her.”

He snorts. “And you’re dead to your nonna because you’re living in sin with a man.”

“It’s not my fault she doesn’t believe you’re gay,” I say, getting up and heading into the kitchen. “You can lead a ninety-year-old Sicilian woman to the truth, but you can’t make her drink. And if you tell her I said that, I will end you.”

But he’s not listening; he’s already absorbed in trying to find me some fantasy romance situation I can sour. Fast-forward forty minutes, and I’m setting the table with dinner—penne and sauce, because I only sort of felt like listening to Harry—when he looks up at me with a troubled expression.

“What?” I ask.

“This is a little harder than I thought. I found something that would fulfill your challenge and help us put off our roommate problem, but I’m not sure how I feel about it.”

“Well?” I say.

“Come see for yourself. The ad was on the Asheville Gazette’s website, so there’s a minimal chance you’ll be murdered, but…well, you’ll see.”

So I go look.

Want to be my fake date to a fancy party Saturday night? If so, there’s money in it for you (and no, before you ask, this is not a Pretty Woman scenario—the only thing I expect you to do is pretend to be my girlfriend). A little about me: I’m thirty-two, good looking, wealthy, and I like to cause trouble. I’ll be interviewing candidates on Friday afternoon at the Grand Bohemian Hotel. Go to the attached Google form to reserve your spot!

Forced proximity again, though this guy’s less creepy. It sounds kind of fun, actually, like the sort of thing Molly would have done back when she was a dating blogger, and even if he doesn’t pick me, I might be able to get the Greek Chorus to shut up if I snag an “interview.”

Interview…

“The guy sounds like a douche. He’s probably a doughy, middle-aged, balding man. That’s what happened to Molly the third time she got catfished.”

Harry scrubs his receding hairline. Oops. “That’s not what I’m worried about. I don’t like the bit about causing trouble. Seems to me that we have enough trouble. And what if he expects you to pull off a heist? Like steal a microchip from one of his rich relatives and bury it in your—” He mimes boobs. “It might not be worth the risk.”

“But he’s rich, or at least he says he is. And he’s probably stupid.” I think about it for a moment, tugging on my earring. “Harry, this is either the best or worst idea we’ve ever had.”

Read Fraudulently Ever After now! Or start with the first book in the series: Love at First Hate

ALSO BY A.R. CASELLA AND DENISE GROVER SWANK

Asheville Brewing

Any Luck at All

Better Luck Next Time

Getting Lucky

Bad Luck Club

Luck of the Draw

All the Luck You Need by A.R. Casella

Bad Luck Club

Love at First Hate

Jingle Bell Hell

Fraudulently Ever After

Matchmaking Mischief

Bringing Down the House (prequel) by A.R. Casella

Highland Hills

Matchmaking a Billionaire

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A.R. CASELLA loves writing romcoms, particularly with the lovely Denise Grover Swank. Their co-written series include the forthcoming Highland Hills series and the completed Bad Luck Club and Asheville Brewing series. A.R. also writes the Fairy Godmother Agency series. She lives in Asheville, NC with her husband, daughter, and two geriatric dogs. Her hobbies include herding her daughter toward less dangerous activities, stress baking, and marathon watching TV shows. 

You can find out more about her at www.arcdgs.com.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DENISE GROVER SWANK was born in Kansas City, Missouri and lived in the area until she was nineteen. Then she became a nomad, living in five cities, four states and ten houses over the course of ten years before she moved back to her roots. She speaks English and smattering of Spanish and Chinese which she learned through an intensive Nick Jr. immersion period. Her hobbies include witty Facebook comments (in own her mind) and dancing in her kitchen with her children. (Quite badly if you believe her offspring.) Hidden talents include the gift of justification and the ability to drink massive amounts of caffeine and still fall asleep within two minutes. Her lack of the sense of smell allows her to perform many unspeakable tasks. She has six children and hasn’t lost her sanity. Or so she leads you to believe.

You can find out more at denisegroverswank.com

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