So Wrong It's Right (Love in Brazen Bay Book 3)
Date: 2019-08-25T18:30:00+00:00
Keywords: steamy romance; small town romance; alphamallow; workplace romance; pretend relationship; discipline; funny humorous; opposites attract; veterinarian; fake boyfriend
Description: What would you do if the boyfriend you totally made up to get your sister off your back showed up at your place of employment? Free-spirited Stella Stone has always been the wild child in her family, but even she is surprised at the amount of trouble she's found herself in this time. Christopher Lockwood was a random name she chose from the internet. How was she supposed to know he would end taking a temporary position in the veterinary office she manages? Now she somehow has to keep the uptight, tie-wearing, self-contained Christopher from figuring out that the whole town thinks they are dati

So Wrong It's Right

Love in Brazen Bay, Volume 3

Brill Harper

Published by Brill Harper, 2019.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

SO WRONG IT'S RIGHT

First edition. August 26, 2019.

Copyright © 2019 Brill Harper.

ISBN: 978-1393951100

Written by Brill Harper.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

About this Book

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Epilogue

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Further Reading: Don't Get Me Wrong

Also By Brill Harper

About this Book

What would you do if the boyfriend you totally made up to get your sister off your back showed up at your place of employment?

Free-spirited Stella Stone has always been the wild child in her family, but even she is surprised at the amount of trouble she’s found herself in this time.

Christopher Lockwood was a random name she chose from the internet. How was she supposed to know he would end up taking a temporary position in the veterinary office she manages? Now she somehow has to keep the uptight, tie-wearing, self-contained Christopher from figuring out that the whole town thinks they are dating, and somehow also keep the whole town from figuring out she’s a pathetic liar with a fake boyfriend.

Oh, and it doesn’t help that he’s a major hottie under those Clark Kent glasses and stern demeanor. In fact, something about his need for control brings out Stella’s inner brat, especially when he decides she needs a little discipline.

Too bad there’s no such thing as a secret in Brazen Bay. Not for very long.

Author’s Confession: This is the most opposite-y opposites attract book ever made even more fun by a fake relationship trope. Stella is a fan favorite and Christopher is the Alpha Nerd Hero you didn’t know you needed in your life. You are going to love the surprisingly dirty dude under the restrained and inhibited mask he shows the world. I mean unf, am I right? He’s the only one who could keep up with our deliciously nutty Stella and give her a worthy HEA.

*Previously published but no longer available by Brill under a different pen name with expanded content and new characters.

Chapter One

Stella

You know how they say you should learn something new every day? Well, today I learned that there is a big difference between baklava and bukkake.

One is appropriate for dessert at a wedding shower and the other is a word I’m not even sure why I know. (That’s a lie. The answer is porn.) But I offered the wrong one as a suggestion to my sister on the phone, and now Megan is listing all the reasons that I won’t be helping her plan our brother’s wedding even though I am the only person in our family who knows how to have fun.

Not that bukkake is my idea of fun, necessarily. But I thought she’d like the baklava suggestion since our grandfather is Greek. It was an honest mistake. Slip of the tongue.

We’ve moved on, and I’m only half listening to her as she yammers on about the upcoming wedding, which is still a month away, but which my entire family has been at DEFCON status for the entire engagement...in Megan’s mind only. I honestly don’t think Leo and Dixie, my brother and his sweet fiancée, care about the wedding. They just want to go on a honeymoon, but Megan is having a particularly problematic Saturn Return this year, and it’s hitting her like a mid-life crisis. Of course, she won’t listen to any of my astrological advice about it, but I did slip a rose quartz into a slice in her mattress to help her relax.

“Also, your breasts are a disaster.”

Well, that gets my attention. “Excuse me? What's wrong with my breasts?” I look down. I think they are rather impressive, actually. Megan is probably just jealous because she is built more like our mom, which works out pretty well for her most of the time. Being a size six, Megan has a classic beauty and lean figure. I, on the other hand, have been built like a brick house since the age of twelve. And it wasn't until I turned twenty that I learned how to use my curves to my advantage.

“The dress shop is having a really hard time getting your dress just right,” Megan says.

“Well, you should've thought of that before you suggested a plunging neckline. My breasts didn’t magically sprout after you chose the style.”

I will admit that I am sort of the family fuck-up, but I will not have my lovely lady lumps blamed for it.

She goes back to centerpieces, so I go back to web browsing.

“But I need to know who you're bringing, Stella.” I can picture her quite clearly right now. She’s in her car, probably on her way to a house showing. She’s not fixing her lipstick because her lipstick is always already perfect. She’s simultaneously planning her someday-wedding to Brad, how she’s going to convince her executive client and his wife that the five-bedroom house on the bluff is just perfect for them despite the fact that they are moving here to downsize and only need two bedrooms, and how she’s going to corral her little sister (me) into a woman of substance. At least for one day.

We all know the wedding will go off without a hitch, the exec will totally buy the house once his wife sees the water view, and her sister is already a woman of substance—just not very serious substance. Thank you very much.

Anyone with a passing acquaintance with Psych 101 can diagnose classic transference. She’s stressed about the fact that Brad hasn’t popped the question to her, so she’s obsessing about the wedding she can control. All because my brother’s fiancée didn’t know to say no when Megan offered to plan her wedding. I’m surprised Dixie hasn’t run for the hills already. She must really like my brother. We’ve already had an engagement party, but now we have to plan an additional shower.

Oh, hey. Maybe Leo will let me plan the bachelor party.

Shit. Megan is still talking. “I have to know if he is going to sit at the wedding party table with us, or if he will be sitting at a guest table.”

What she means is: Will he be good enough to sit at the family table at this ridiculously formal wedding she’s planning for two people who hate formal things?

And the answer is most likely not.

I love my sister. I just love her more when she’s not acting the part of Bridezilla in another woman’s wedding. I am so, so tired of talking about this wedding. About dresses. Cakes. Flowers. Chair covers. Bows. Tulle. All of it.

Except maybe bukkake. I could probably talk about that for a little while longer without being bored.

One more month. If I don’t kill my sister before August, it will be a miracle. She goes back to analyzing the deeper meaning of centerpieces, so I go back to web browsing. I resume half-listening status and pull up another veterinary clinic’s website to research.

Dr. Anderson, my boss, wants to revamp our own veterinary clinic site, so I’m comparing our clinic to the closest metropolitan ones. I have a pretty good idea of how I want the site to look, but it never hurts to check out the city offerings. More people are moving to Brazen Bay and commuting—like the house-hunting exec—for better or worse. We want them to feel comfortable bringing their pets here rather than Seattle. Or Hamilton. Hamilton is a college town nearby and just kinda gross.

“Also, he needs to wear a suit and tie. Not Dockers and a T-shirt.”

“Who does?”

“Oh my God, Stella. Your date. Your date for my wedding,” she screeches. “I mean Leo’s wedding,” she adds a little quieter.

She’s really losing it.

“About my date...”

“Can you maybe bring someone who isn’t in a biker gang?”

One time. I dated a biker one time. “Noted.”

“And maybe someone whose IQ is larger than his shoe size.”

My track record with men isn’t great. Actually, it’s awful. I tend to skip over the cerebral types in favor of eye candy with personality issues. And sometimes I like the big dumb ones. And the one time, a biker. In my defense, Sons of Anarchy was really popular.

I don’t date for conversation—that’s what my friends and family are for. It’s a problem that I understand when I’m not in the presence of a hottie. But when they are around, I usually fail to see the problem. I only see their pecs. And their forearms. And their quads. If my libido is in charge, I like them big and stupid. I’ve been told it’s because I have commitment issues, so I’m attracted to men I would never be able to really care about.

So I tried commitment last year and it was a disaster. He ended up being the definition of toxic masculinity. Unfortunately, Devon still has a lot of people in Brazen Bay fooled. Including my sister. It doesn’t matter anyway because now I’m on a self-imposed break from all men.

Including bikers. And personal trainers. And hot pizza guys.

All of them.

“Hey, Megan. I need to get back to work. Can we talk about this later? I’ll call you tonight and you can tell me all the things that are wrong with my breasts and my taste in men then, okay?”

Because the conversation is going to happen whether I want it to or not, but I can at least show up armed. Wine and fuzzy slippers are the preferred armor when it comes to Megan, but even just being home would be an improvement.

I let my attention drift back to my monitor. According to the website, Dr. Rivers, one of Dr. Anderson’s friends in the city, took on a new vet. I wish Doc would be like her friend and get some more help around here. Another vet would sure take some of the pressure off her. As it is, I pretty much handle her personal life scheduling or she’d neglect to have one. Leann Anderson is a fabulous animal doctor, but she totally sucks at things like eating regular meals and getting her hair cut. I have resorted to filling her Netflix queue and forcing her to take time for relaxing.

She wasn’t always like this, I’m told. Back in her twenties, she was the drummer in my dad’s band, Ironwing. But when they came home after their one and only world tour, she went off to veterinary school when my dad went to law school. The entire band is all boring and parental now.

I make a mental note to send a message to Dr. Rivers to ask her to talk to my boss about taking on a new vet. This guy Dr. Rivers brought on... Christopher Lockwood, DVM...is an interesting character. The picture is grainy, so maybe he isn’t as dorky as he appears. But, wow, look at those glasses. Thick, black frames...Clark Kent would be jealous.

“What about Devon? I bet he’d be your date,” Megan asks, not ending the call as I’d hoped.

“Have you suffered a blow to your head recently, Megan? Devon and I broke up.” For many, many good reasons. He has the requisite quads, but he also has the tendency to hit things that anger him. Walls mostly, but since he had me pinned up against the wall the last time he punched a hole in it, I’m not counting out the possibility that his violence is limited to inanimate objects.

He was always kind of an asshole, but he got a lot worse when he inherited money.

“Well, he’s still friends with Brad. I’m sure you guys could get along for one day. Besides, maybe you could patch things up. Wouldn’t that be romantic? Getting back together at my wedding. I mean, Leo’s wedding?”

“No!” I don’t mean to yell, but hell-to-the-no.

Devon is not in my get-your-life-together-Stella plan. I am more than six months into the Year of Stella and the return of Devon would be a serious step backward. Also, I never told Megan about the hitting thing. She knows we argued, but she never saw my apartment. Nash, my landlord and friend, fixed the wall without a word, and then I heard that he and my brother had a little chat with Devon in which Devon peed his pants.

“Devon was horrible for me.” Devon is horrible for the entire female population.

“Well, there is something to be said for bad boys.”

“Bad boys, yes. Mean boys, no. Besides, what do you know about bad boys? Brad is like saltine cracker boring.”

“I don’t even know what that means, but Brad is not boring. And I just don’t want you to end up alone.”

What Megan doesn’t want is for me to embarrass her. But she’ll never get her wish because no matter how I try not to be, I have always been an embarrassment to Megan. I tend to “draw attention” which is code speak for “spectacle.”

For most of my life, I wanted to be like Megan. Hell, I wanted to be Megan. Megan is classy. Poised. Stylish. She manages to live her life without a hair out of place, a broken nail, or a bead of sweat.

I am the opposite of her in every way. I can’t contain myself the way Meg does, to my sister’s utter chagrin. And the harder I try to be “normal” the more I stick out and embarrass us both. She’s better at enumerating all my misdeeds, but her list probably starts with the time I tried to steal her high school boyfriend, my first crush, with a love note from a “secret admirer” on the back of my spelling test. Not only was my identity no longer a secret, but I misspelled “flower” by adding a “u.”

Also high on her list—the time I sneezed and farted at the same time at Grandma’s funeral during the moment of silence. I was sixteen.

She also probably has some things to say about the way Santa Claus terrified me well into my teens...okay, I’ll be honest. Santa Claus still terrifies me. But I no longer kick him in the shin at the mall and run away.

She also never likes the perfume I wear, my clothes, my hair, the things I did to her Barbie and Ken dolls, and the way I sometimes break into song for no reason. She thinks all my beliefs in the metaphysical are woo-woo cult things. And, of course, my taste in men is always a contention.

“What you need to do is find a boyfriend. You know if you just—”

“Don’t start, Megan.” I’m so tired of conversations that start with “if you just.”

“I want you to be happy. Snagging a man isn’t brain surgery, you know. You’re a great girl. If you just—”

Desperate to cut her off, I blurt out, “I’m seeing somebody!”

Chapter Two

Stella

Why did I say that?

Goddess, now what? Damage control is key here. Because Megan is a cunning opponent in the game of wits. Like any good salesperson, she knows her prey better than they do.

“It’s new. I haven’t told anyone yet because we’re ...trying to...uh...take it slow. You know, nurture it a little.”

I want to hit my head on the desk. Why can’t you control your mouth? Stupid. Stupid and nothing good this way comes. I know Megan won’t let it go. She is going to be all over me like her sorority sisters at a Juicy Couture outlet store.

“Who is he?”

I crumple paper over the mic on my phone. “What? What? Megan, you’re breaking up. Are you going through a tunnel?”

“Nice try.”

Think, Stella. “I told you that we’re keeping this on the down-low for now. He’s just out of a bad relationship, too.” That seems plausible, right? For this guy who I’m completely making up to be nursing a broken heart?

“At least tell me his name.”

I look around the reception area for a lifeline, my eyes settling on my monitor and Dr. Rivers’ website. “Christopher. His name is Christopher.”

“Oh, I like that name. Where did you meet him?”

Fantastic. She likes that name. That must mean he’s a good boyfriend if Megan likes his name. “The internet?” That isn’t a lie exactly.

“The internet? Seriously, Stella?”

Goddess it’s like my sister is stuck in the ‘90s. “Yes, the internet. It’s this thing where you can communicate with people all over the world through a little box in your house or sometimes even your phone.” Wait until I tell her about the dating apps. The idea of swiping will horrify her.

“Funny. What’s he like? Where is he from?”

I look at the fuzzy picture, tilting my head sideways and then back. I can’t tell her that he’s grainy or grayscale. “He’s kind of serious.” Nobody else would look that earnest in thick glasses. “But he’s great with animals.” Probably. “He lives in the city.”

“Well, he must be a vet then, if you know he’s good with animals.”

“Or maybe, Nancy Drew, he’s just an animal lover.” I check the time, lunch is almost over. “I really have to go. Appointments start soon.”

“Okay...but call me later.”

“Right.” Right after I get that lobotomy I need.

I’M ATTEMPTING TO OPEN a cantankerous bottle of wine when I hear the knocking on my apartment door. I’m not expecting anyone but am thrilled to see my best friend’s face through the peephole.

I open the door wide and thrust the bottle I’m holding, corkscrew and all, into Perry’s hands. “Thank Goddess you are here. I thought I was going to have to resort to drinking cooking sherry.”

Perry rolls her eyes and takes the bottle into the kitchen. “Just so you know, I’ll open this, but I am mad at you.” She pierces me with a look edged with grit. “What the hell, Stella? I thought I was your best friend?”

“You are my best friend.” My often bitchy best friend, but she’s not usually mad at me. “Don’t stop with the bottle but tell me what you are talking about.” I get down two glasses and ignore her attempt to intimidate me. I’m well used to her grit, and it doesn’t bother me. “I’ve had the Ron Jeremy of long days.”

She shoots me another look like she’s forgotten that I’m not afraid of her. So I shrug. She looks at the bottle in her hand and screws up her face as she examines it. “What the hell did you do to this poor cork?” she asks, honestly perplexed at its state of uncorkiness despite still being fully lodged inside the neck of the bottle. “I thought we bought you the screw top kind of wine?” So this wouldn’t happen she leaves off because I’m not nearly as good at opening wine as I am consuming it. Corkscrews are weird.

I take the now opened bottle, bless her heart, and begin pouring. “We did. But I ran out, and I had this bottle in the cupboard or cooking sherry left.”

“You literally live above a bar.”

“I know, but Nash looks at me funny when I wear my fuzzy slippers downstairs, and I was in no mood to put real people clothes back on.” I take a healthy, unclassy swig. “Now, why are you mad at me again?”

Perry grabs her own glass and settles onto my couch, pushing away all the sequined pillows with an exaggerated huff until they tumble to the floor. Mind, I didn’t choose the sequined pillows, she did. Not to say I don’t like shiny things. I do. My mom calls me a magpie. I’ve been squirreling away things that glint in the sun since I was in diapers.

I join Perry, setting the bottle on the end table next to her and plopping my slippered feet onto the coffee table. “You have side bangs today,” I notice aloud. “I thought you were growing them out.”

“Don’t distract me. I’m mad at you.”

“So you keep saying.” I would kill for hair like Perry’s. Though, to be honest, Perry is willing to spend a whole lot more money on hair product than I am. She’s a lawyer with no dependents. I’m a receptionist with a crystal collection. A very out-of-control crystal collection.

She lets out a beleaguered sigh meant to guilt me into submission. It would probably work on other people. Just not me. “Imagine my surprise when I opened Facebook to see Megan posting something that was not about Dixie’s wedding.”

“That is weird.” I muted my sister’s Facebook posts in an effort to not strangle her with a wedding veil, so I haven’t seen what Megan’s been putting down for three months or so.

“Right? Her update was instead about how happy she is about her baby sister and her new beau. What the hell, Stella? And who calls men beaus?”

Unease settles itself on my shoulders, tightening all the muscles around my neck into bands of stress. What part of “keeping it on the down-low” does Megan not understand? She’s posting about my fake boyfriend now?

I quickly open the app on my phone to see what kind of damage she’s wrought.

Perry huffs at being ignored. “Explanation, please. I thought we discussed way back in middle school that BFF trumps sister when it comes to boy news. There was a pinky swear involved and now you hurt my feelings. Why don’t I know about this new boy? I thought you were not dating because this was the Year of Stella or some damned thing.”

“It is and I’m not.” I read the update. Megan didn’t post particulars. She referred to Christopher as “C” and was coy about answering everyone else’s queries. Which, of course, is making them more ravenous for details. Which, of course, was Megan’s goal. Which, of course, means I am screwed. “Goddess, she’s vaguebooking.” I meet Perry’s scrutinizing gaze. “I don’t even know what to say. I don’t suppose we can just drop this and pretend it didn’t happen.”

Perry isn’t so mad that she doesn’t refill my glass. “No, I don’t suppose we can.”

I sigh. “She was being unreasonable.”

“Megan? That’s so...surprising.”

I nod, catching the sarcasm but not commenting on it. “She wanted me to ask Devon to be my date for the wedding.”

“Gross.”

“Right? So, I just wanted to throw her off track to buy some time. I don’t even know how or why I said it, actually, but I told her I met someone.”

“But you haven’t.”

I shoot Perry a “seriously?” look. “I’m not even going to dignify that.” I drum my fingers on the glass. “Let’s just ignore the Facebook thing. It will go away on its own. I’ll break up with Christopher before the wedding and everything will be fine.”

Perry executes a perfect hair flip. I do not know why. It’s not like there are any eligible men in the room to hypnotize with the power of her hair. “You named your fake boyfriend Christopher?”

“I was looking at some guy’s picture at the time. He’s a new vet for Dr. Rivers. His name is Christopher. If I’d been looking at the movie listings, I would have named him Thor.”

Perry settles into the cushions and fixes me with what she thinks is a calm stare. Except it’s more like the gaze of a serial killer right before she warms up the fava beans. “What does he drive?”

“My fictitious suitor? What do you want him to drive?”

Perry purses her lips in thought. “I think he drives a Ferrari.”

I laugh. “The man in the picture is definitely more of a sedan guy. Probably beige. With excellent mileage.”

“How did you meet him?”

“Oh, the internet.”

“Nice. Maybe I should make up a boyfriend, too. Get Mummie off my back.”

“Good plan. Maybe they can be friends. Christopher and Roger.”

“I don’t want to date anyone named Roger.”

“Roger is a very nice man. You should give him a chance.”

“Whatever.” We finish the wine. All of it. And the cooking sherry as well. So I send Perry downstairs to grab a ride home from Nash or his girlfriend, Tru.

As I get ready for bed, I add “break up with imaginary boyfriend” to my to-do list for some time in the next couple of days and reassure myself that everything will be fine. Nobody pays that much attention to Megan anyway.

I’m going to pretend it’s totally normal that I drew the Tower card from my Tarot deck again. It doesn’t mean my life is about to come crashing down on me. Just because I’ve been drawing it once or twice a week lately. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

Chapter Three

Christopher

I see stars. Everywhere I look, glittery, sparkling stars.

The reception desk at Dr. Anderson’s veterinary clinic looks like it is possibly manned by a teenage girl. Every accessory on her desk is bedazzled with something shiny. There are paper stars hanging from the ceiling with pictures of well-loved pets in the center of each. A bulletin board sparkles with star-shaped push pins. A pen cup is surrounded by a dusting of glitter on the counter below it. Even the paperclips have...shapes and sequins.

I shake my head.

How does anything get accomplished in such a chaotic atmosphere?

Dr. Anderson insists that Stella Stone is a treasure. That she couldn’t run the office without her.

I have some serious doubts about that. Reception is an area I don’t know much about, but it is supposed to run efficiently. It’s the first thing clients see, so it should be professional and understated. It should help calm any agitated pet owners with a sense of competence.

But Dr. Anderson sure sings Stella’s praises, all but yelling “hallelujah” and “amen” at the end of every sentence when her name comes up. Something about not eating if Stella didn’t remind her to.

Everything else about the clinic is exactly the way I like it: orderly and neat. There are only two small exam rooms, but a good-sized surgical area. There are no other veterinary offices in town, but a different, mobile veterinarian takes care of most of the livestock in the area. He and Dr. Anderson refer cases to each other based on animal size.

I am a little surprised that Dr. Anderson prefers paper charts to the much more efficient digital charts like those I use in the city. I can certainly make do for a week, though. It isn’t as if there are specialized departments here like the other clinic. In addition to cardiology, dermatology, oncology, neurology, and internal medicine, my boss, Dr. Rivers, employs an acupuncturist and dog psychologist. I am looking forward to a week of getting back to the basics here in Brazen Bay.

But the city is where I belong. It’s easier to blend in. Life in a small town must be a lot like living in a fishbowl, and that is not for me. I prefer simple, professional relationships not complicated by a personal life. Which makes me boring, perhaps, but happy.

I date occasionally but am very upfront that I have no desire to enter into a deep, meaningful romance at this time—not that any woman has argued for it. People make me uncomfortable, generally, which is why I am a veterinarian to begin with. My parents, of course, have other plans for me. Plans that include grandchildren, at least that’s what they say every time I visit. As an only child, I am their one shot at them. But they must be used to disappointment in me by now. I’ve never been the son anyone could have wished for.

I suppose I’ll marry someday. Someone sensible. Someone who doesn’t expect romance and hoopla and a crazy courtship. Someone who would prefer a serious discussion about compatibility rather than a proposal on bended knee. Because that is the one thing I promised myself I’ll never do. Again.

I pick up the pen cup and wipe the glitter dust off the counter before replacing it. I have a feeling about this Stella Stone already. And it isn’t a good feeling. Impractical people are difficult to deal with for anyone, but especially me.

I shake off the negative feelings. I’m happy to spend the week on the bay. I’ve been wanting to take advantage of kayaking and hiking in the area but haven’t taken the time to visit here since I was a kid. Brazen Bay is the kind of small town I didn’t know still existed. One bar, one bank, one grocery store. Dr. Anderson is still in her office wrapping up her emergency travel plans, so I meander toward the kitchen/break room. Through the glass of the back door, I can see a woman in the brightest red coat I’ve ever seen struggling with the door. Judging from the dangling stars on her ears, I assume she is the infamous Stella.

She is grimacing at the door, and my eyes are drawn to her bright red lips. Paired with the bangs and a poofy hairstyle, she looks like she is going for that retro-‘50s housewife look—though she swears like a sailor at the jammed door and has a tattoo sleeve down one arm. The light glints off the diamond stud in her nose like she called it to her.

She looks up at me just as I turn the knob while she’s giving a mighty heave. Those bright red lips form an exaggerated ‘O’ of surprise as the door swings open and she tumbles into my arms.

I try to keep us upright, but she has a lot of momentum behind her, so I have to squeeze her to my body or we’ll end up on the floor.

All curves. She’s made up of soft, wonderful curves made to cushion a man and she smells like cherries. I’m upset with myself for noticing, but it only makes my instinct to pull her closer even stronger. This woman is trouble, of that I have no doubt. She is too loud, her clothes, her hair, her body. It all screams “look at me” when all my life I’ve tried to blend in seamlessly, quietly.

But for one glorious minute, in an awkward dance across a kitchen, I am more aware of Stella Stone than I’ve been of any woman in my life.

Including the one I’d asked to marry me.

Stella

BOY, DO I KNOW HOW to make an entrance.

The wall of man that breaks my fall lets out a hearty “oomph” when I barrel into him, but he recovers quickly, gripping me tightly to keep us both upright. I grab his firm, wide shoulders and look him in the eye. He is either Superman before the phone booth or possibly...a burglar. I should determine which, but the words get stuck in my throat.

Do I know him? I know pretty much everyone in Brazen Bay, and he does look familiar. But I can’t quite grasp how, why, or what he would be doing in the office kitchen half an hour before the clinic opens.

His muscles bunch under my hands. Nicely. He is solid and well-built. And too put together to be a townie. Townies don’t wear ties except to funerals and weddings, and not always then either. It is sad that I am enjoying the proximity of a stranger so much. Apparently, the Year of Stella is taking its toll on my hormones.

While I am at a loss for words, the man doesn’t seem to be doing much better. We’ve stopped moving, but he hasn’t let go. And neither have I. We sort of just...stare at each other. His forehead wrinkles above the bridge of his nose as if he is consternated, a look I am well used to from my family, but his grip doesn’t loosen. No, the arms banded around me hold strong, and my heart does an uncharacteristic flip.

Goddess, I hope he isn’t a burglar.

His tan-colored tie is slightly askew, but I have a feeling that’s due to our impromptu tango and not his usual state of dress. Tall, check. Dark, check. Handsome, double-check, though not my usual type. His wavy hair seems a little too tame, and I want to muss it up. But when those eyes behind his glasses lock on mine, all thoughts float out of my head on cartoon clouds. His eyes seem to look right inside me, liquefying my bones and sending a zing of awareness right to my lady garden.

“You must be Stella.”

His lips. My Goddess, his lips. I suddenly feel achy and hollow, waiting for a kiss from those firm lips.

Wait. He said something. Answer him, dummy. I inhale and try to form actual words, but then his eyes zero in on my mouth and his expression changes, and I can’t stop my tongue from wetting my lips. His nostrils flare...just a little...and he swallows hard.

He squeezes a little harder and every nerve ending where our bodies are touching skips a joyous hopscotch. This stranger is going to kiss me, and I am going to let him.

“I see you’ve met Stella.” Like an alarm clock dragging me into consciousness, Dr. Anderson’s voice penetrates the sexual haze around us.

He blinks once, then lets go abruptly, stepping back and putting me off balance. I grab his tie to catch myself, knocking his head into mine with a sharp crack.

“Ouch,” and “shit,” are replied simultaneously. I, of course, am the one with the potty mouth. Holding a hand against my forehead, I take another look at him, startled by the way he glares at me.

“Sorry?” I say. Even though it wasn’t my fault. Not really. Was it? He was the one that was manhandling me from the start.

I shift my attention to my boss. “Hey, Doc. How are...” I’ve seen Doc Anderson after days of little or no sleep, but she’s never looked so pale. The purple crescents under her eyes stand out like the paint on football players before a game. And she looks...smaller. “Leann, what’s wrong?”

“My dad had a stroke last night. He’s in the ICU in Portland. Dr. Rivers is lending us Dr. Lockwood for the week so I can go right away.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” I rush across the room to pull her into a hug. “What do they know about his condition?”

Doc Anderson returns the embrace. “Not much, I’m afraid. I would have called you, but I need you in top shape to run the clinic while I’m gone, so I didn’t wake you last night. Brandon McKendrick is driving me to the airport to catch a flight this morning.”

I squeeze her hand. “Of course. Don’t worry about things here. I’ve got it under control. We’ll whip Dr. Lockwood into shape in no time.”

As I give her another quick hug, something inside my brain snaps to attention, knocking at the small knot already on my forehead. Dr. Lockwood...Dr. Lockwood...how do I know that name...? ...I gasp. Loudly.

“Are you all right, Stella?” Doc A asks.

Oh, no.

There is suddenly no air in the room. I cast a glance at Tall, Dark, and Groper and gasp again as everything starts clicking in my brain finally.

“I’m fine,” I answer my boss automatically. “You just worry about your dad. We’ll be fine here.”

I am possibly never going to be fine again.

That fuzzy, grainy picture from the internet, Christopher Lockwood, DVM, my imaginary boyfriend, in the flesh and in my place of employment for a week. I’d conveniently forgotten to break up with him and now he is here. Really here. And looking at me like I’m crazy.

Well, I really am.

Of course Dr. Anderson would call her friend Dr. Rivers when she needed to borrow a vet. And of course her friend would send one. The newest one in the office. But honestly, how could this happen? Does this kind of thing happen to everyone? I try to imagine it happening to my sister and realize that, no, this kind of mayhem is reserved for people like me. My life is a bad comedy premise.

I unbutton my coat and fake smile to them both. “I’ll just get the coffee started while you finish up.” I open a cabinet and get out the pain relievers, turning to offer my boyfriend two acetaminophens. “For your head,” I say.

He takes them warily, as if he were afraid I am trying to poison him. “Your dress.”

Strange segue, but okay. I look down, pleased to find I hadn’t misbuttoned the bodice or spilled anything on it. “What about my dress?”

“It’s...it’s very loud.” He shakes his head and follows Doc out of the room.

Loud? I look down again. That was kind of rude. Who does he think he is?

The dress is colorful, yes. White with red cherries and a turquoise sash. Because I am loving the combination of cherry and turquoise lately. They are so fun and cheerful together. But loud? I roll my eyes. Is he the fashion police?

I turn my attention back to the coffee. How am I going to handle this? I do a quick rundown. Only Perry knows the fake boyfriend’s full name and that he is, well, fake. My sister knows his name is Christopher and she suspects that he is a vet. That might be a problem. There are other people in town, including my mom, who only know that Meg knows I am seeing someone named “C.”

I might have embellished some things in subsequent conversations with my sister. Because, well, because it was fun. I thought I’d done a pretty good job of talking him up, but he is even better in person. Those dark eyes...the firm lips...the...I pause scooping the grounds into the basket...I’ve embellished some rather intimate details about Dr. Lockwood’s other parts to my sister. I close my eyes and imagine what it would feel like to be skin to skin, wrapped in those strong arms as we rolled around in...

“Stella?”

I jerk and whirl around, the coffee grounds flying everywhere.

Christopher raises his eyebrows at me. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I brush the coffee out of my bangs. “No, my bad. I was lost in Stellaville. I get a little better after I actually drink the coffee instead of throwing it all over myself, though. Usually, Doc and Carlita don’t speak to me until I’ve had a cup.” I sweep my hand down my “loud” dress. “I’m sure you’ll get used to that.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and studies me. There is something about his gaze that infuriates me as well as flusters me.

“So, Lockwood, tell me about yourself.”

“Excuse me?” he wanders into the room

“You work with Dr. Rivers...how do you like the clinic? She and Doc are great friends.”

I go back to the coffee so as to stop staring at him. He actually doesn’t look all that different from the grainy internet photo, so I’m not sure why all of the sudden “awkward” is completely hot to me. But wow, awkward is totally doing it for my hormones.

“I grew up in Bellevue.”

“Fancy. Let me guess. Your dad works at Microsoft.”

“My mom, actually,” he almost growls. “May I ask why this is so interesting to you?”

The growl makes my tummy flutter because there is something seriously wrong with me.

“Just making conversation.” I shrug. “Do you...know anyone else in Brazen Bay?”

“No. Just you and Dr. Anderson so far.”

I stifle my sigh of relief. He doesn’t know anyone and he is pretty standoffish about personal chitchat. Chances are good that he won’t talk to too many people about his personal life—which means good things for me and my closetful of lies. Though, some guys might thank me for the glowing report I gave about his bedroom skills. I look at Mr. Serious again. No, he won’t appreciate that at all. Especially my assertions of his...girth.

If I can relax and stay focused this week, I might be okay. I reach for my black tourmaline touchstone for comfort and realize I left it at home.

I’m in deep bukkake here.

Chapter Four

Christopher

I escort Dr. Anderson to the waiting car, reassuring her that everything will be fine.

Though I have some serious doubts that Stella can handle putting stamps on envelopes efficiently, much less run the office on her own.

She is so...quirky. As a rule, I don’t like quirky. I never know how to deal with people like her. I prefer women who are serious and don’t draw unnecessary attention. Even in high school, I didn’t have patience for the girls who smacked their gum and giggled. I’ve always been more attracted to the quiet ones who studied hard...and who most of the time were not interested in dating high school boys who got picked on by the jocks any more than the gum-smackers were. I was bullied for many years.

Luckily, I found an ally in an unlikely source—my PE teacher.

Rather than single me out for not being athletic, Mr. Smith brought me into his office and told me some facts of life. Fact one: Physical education was a required course that carried a letter grade. A letter grade that could affect my transcripts. Fact two: scrawny boys get more swirlies than muscular boys. Fact three: Muscular boys get more girls than scrawny boys do. Fact four: Training the body is not just a physical endeavor—the mind is a huge component to fitness. And a healthy body learns better and faster. Fact five: Muscular boys get more girls than scrawny boys do—in case I hadn’t heard that one the first time.

Together, Mr. Smith and I developed a training program that brought up my PE grade, kept me off the bully radar, really did improve my mental health, and sadly, didn’t do as much for my love life as I’d hoped. I got more attention from the giggly girls—but those quiet ones eluded me until college.

And then...well, that hadn’t worked out well, either. But I still enjoy being fit.

In any case, Stella Stone is definitely a gum-smacking giggler.

Which confuses me when I think of the way my body reacted to her abundant curves and that intoxicating cherry scent of her hair or perfume, or probably both. She is nothing like my usual type, and the idea of dating her is ludicrous, no matter what pheromones she’s putting out.

I don’t have to date her, but I do have to work with her, and she is going to drive me crazy with all that color and sparkle and the way she talks in circles. My temples throb in agitation and I’ve barely been in the same room with her this morning.

Perhaps it is the other throbbing that is causing my agitation

After the morning surgeries, Carlita, the vet tech, leaves for lunch and I’m hoping Stella will go, too. I open the fridge in the break room to grab the salad Dr. Anderson told me was in there for me.

There must be twenty or thirty salads...and all of them in Mason jars.

What the hell? Who cans salad?

“Oh, hi,” comes a voice from behind me.

Of course.

Stella cans salad. Of course she does.

“Staying for lunch?” she asks as she reaches around me to grab a jar. A jar of salad. “There are three kinds this week. Each one is labeled. I make them all on Sundays. There are always extra in case someone stays late for emergencies.” She keeps rambling as she pulls out a bowl. “I get the recipes on Pinterest. Anyway, if I didn’t have something ready to eat in there, Doc would starve or exist on Cheetos, so I try to keep her stocked on healthy lunches and snacks.”

She moves easily through the kitchen, and I am uncharacteristically mesmerized by her hips. The skirt of her cherry dress hugs them tightly like a showcase. Like the round shape of her is expertly packaged for inspection. Her curves make me slightly uneasy and I have no idea why.

It doesn’t occur to her to mind that I’m not participating in her conversation. “Once a month, I cook a bunch of freezer meals for her also. You’re staying in her house, right?” Without waiting for my answer, she continues, “They are all labeled, and there is a binder on her kitchen counter that has instructions for heating each meal. They are in alphabetical order. The ingredients are on each page, too, in case you are allergic to anything.”

She shakes her jar, opens it, and dumps the contents into a bowl. “The dressing is already on the bottom of the jar, so they really are ready to eat—and much better than the MREs—Meals Ready to Eat—my cousin tells me about. He’s Army. Well, he’s not really my cousin. It’s complicated. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

I’m still standing in front of the open fridge, the edges of my frown cutting into my forehead. She asked me something...what was it? “No. I am an only child.”

She rambles on about a sister and a brother who is a captain at the fire department who is getting married to a girl he met sexting. I decide I’m not ready for a jar of salad and opt for just coffee. The cupboard reveals even more brightly colored mugs. None of them match each other. Which is kind of a pet peeve of mine. All my dishes at home are white.

I glance at Stella and notice her mug is red and turquoise blue. “Stella, do you always match your crockery to your outfit?”

“Just my coffee cups. Whenever I buy a new dress, I try to find a mug that matches.”

Of course she does.

She smiles at me and damn if my eyes aren’t drawn to those red lips again. She’s left traces of her lipstick on the mug and I think about where else she might leave traces of her lipstick on my body and I know deep in the marrow of my bones that this woman is going to be trouble.

Chapter Five

Stella

It’s Friday afternoon, and I’m tidying up the kitchen and making a list for Sunday’s salads when Megan pops in the back door.

Damn it. I almost made it. Doc is coming back on Tuesday—if I can just keep up the ruse a few more days, I swear I’ll break up with Christopher.

“Meg, what are you doing here?” I edge closer to the door, hoping to keep her contained to the entryway so she won’t make herself too comfy.

Because my life has the potential to become an I Love Lucy episode really fast.

“I wanted to apologize.” She pushes right past me and heads for the coffee pot. As usual, Megan looks gorgeous in her little coral Calvin Klein dress and matching pumps.

Wait, what?

Did she say apologize?

“I...thank you?”

Megan finds the plain white coffee mug in the cupboard, the one Christopher tends to favor, and pours herself a cup. “I was pretty bitchy on the phone again last night. I don’t really think you have big boobs solely for the purpose of screwing up the wedding.”

I join her at the coffee maker. “You’re right, I don’t. I have big boobs solely for the purpose of screwing up your life, not just Leo’s wedding.”

“Ha-ha. I’m serious. I don’t even know what is wrong with me. I start every day with a positive mantra about how I will not lash out at people around me and I will try to enjoy the wedding planning and not let it stress me out, and every day I turn into a total bitch and I’m sorry.”

I put my arm around her shoulders. “You’re just under a lot of stress. I love you anyway.”

Megan hugs me back, careful not to mess up her make-up or hair. “Thank you for being so gracious. I hope you’ll let me plan your wedding someday. I’ll find an Elvis impersonator to marry you and just the right harmonica player to play the Wedding March.” She pulls back. “Hey, did you talk to Christopher yet?”

“Talk to me about what?”

Lucy, I’m home...

Be cool, Stella.

Christopher is sporting an honest-to-Goddess pocket protector on his white doctor coat today. I want to start calling him Eugene or Poindexter. I also want to scale his body like a tree and lick him from head to toe. I’m feeling quite conflicted about this very strange man I’m sort of dating. “Um, hi, Dr. Lockwood. Did you need some coffee? I can bring it to you.”

He looks behind him. Like there might be cameras. “You told me you don’t do coffee bringing.”

Because he’d pulled that crap day one. And I’d had to set him straight.

If I could pause time, just once, I’d like to muss him up. Untuck his shirt. Smudge his glasses. Unpart his hair. And then start time again just to watch him freak out about hair number 6,789 being incorrectly positioned. “I’m just trying to be nice,” I say through my teeth from a smile as artificial as aspartame.

He opens the cupboard, sees his cup gone, and shakes his head. Meanwhile, Megan looks like she is trying to do an Algebra problem in her head. This is about to spiral out of control.

Be cooler, Stella.

“Do you want some coffee?” he asks. In addition to being Mr. Control and Mr. Last Century Ideas About Female Office Administrators, he is also Mr. Emily Post. Yes, he thought I should run and get him coffee whenever he asked, but yes, he does always offer to get some for me when he is in front of the pot.

I should say no, but I do want a cup of coffee. I might as well have a well-caffeinated descent into the level of hell my sister is going to make my life when she discovers I made up a fake boyfriend. I also can’t wait to see Christopher’s consternated expression when he realizes I’ve brought him along with me into that hell. “Yes, please. Thank you for asking.”

He sizes up my dress and pulls out the daisy mug.

Huh.

“Stella, are you planning on introducing us?” Megan asks.

I’m still trying to figure out what it means that he matched my mug to my daisy dress and is preparing my coffee the way I like to take it, two creams, one sugar, when I remember that I need a handbasket and an ice machine. Because surely, I cannot keep this ruse up much longer.

“Yeah, sorry. Where are my manners?” Where is my meteor crashing through the sky to strike me dead so I don’t have to live out the next ten minutes of humiliation? Because surely I cannot keep this ruse up much longer. “Dr. Lockwood is subbing for Dr. Anderson this week.” I take the coffee he offers. “This is my sister, Megan.”

They do a round of polite how do you dos. In which Christopher so helpfully offers his first name.

The delight on Megan’s face is priceless. And by priceless, I mean it’s going to cost me. “Stella has told me so much about you,” Megan enthuses.

I hold my breath.

“She has?” Christopher answers, looking askance at me. Which has been the only way he’s looked at me since about Tuesday, so I’m used to it.

“Of course I have,” I say, picking at a nonexistent piece of lint on his sleeve, trying to make it look like I touch him all the time. Which earns me another quizzical look from him, but an “aww” from my sister.

“Yes! She has. And I really want you to come to the wedding. Two weeks from tomorrow.” Judging from the beaming, Megan thinks Christopher is a good match. I don’t quite see it. Well, okay, under the thick glasses and too perfect hair, he isn’t ugly. Okay, he is probably handsome. But that doesn’t make him a good match.

I’m pretty sure everything about me rubs him the wrong way. He sighs a lot. Because I am so taxing or something.

“I’m honored. I...I’m sure Dr. Anderson will be back before then.”

“So?” Megan shakes her perfectly coiffed head and puts her sensibly manicured hand on his arm. “You don’t live that far away. Surely you can stay with Stella the night before. Say you’ll come. I want you at the bridal table.”

“You want me at the bridal table,” he repeats.

I really should intervene here. My lie is about to implode spectacularly, but I’m kind of enjoying the comedic value of Christopher and Megan not being able to size each other up. He’s probably really curious about the crazy woman who just invited him to stay the night at her sister’s and sit at a family table at her brother’s wedding.

Looking at them together, I think they might have dated each other under different circumstances. He probably really likes Megan’s classical beauty and he’ll really like the way she clutches her pearls whenever confronted with anything that isn’t a neutral color or issue.

“Of course I want you at the bridal table.” You total stranger, you. “What I don’t understand is why Stella didn’t tell me you were in town—”

Shit. “Oh, Megan. Look at the time. We really need to get back to work. I’ll call you.”

Megan pushes back at the door. “I’m not leaving until Christopher promises to come to the wedding.”

“I...if...” He looks to me for guidance, so I make the universal “my sister is crazy just agree with her so she’ll leave” face to him. “If it’s that important to you, I’ll come to the wedding.”

I lean my back against the closed door and wait for him to comment. Because how could he not?

“Your sister seems friendly.”

“Yes, well, she’s been a little erratic as the wedding gets closer.”

He nods. “I’ve noticed some women do.”

“It’s a big day.”

“She’s not getting married, though, right? It’s your brother’s wedding?”

“Well, yes. But she’s very invested.”

Christopher shrugs. “I think too much importance is placed on the wedding in our culture. The focus should be on the compatibility of the couple.”

Dammit. I agree with him, but it still ruffles my feathers. “Our culture? You’re from Bellevue.” What I don’t want to do is defend my sister right now. Megan is crazy and the wedding business is worse. But...his attitude really bothers me.

“There is a Japanese couple in my building. They were introduced by a nakōdo, a matchmaker.”

“An arranged marriage?”

“Not exactly. They were just well matched. It’s an arrangement, but one that suits the bride and the groom for longevity, not for the whims of the heart or for family finances. It worked out well for them.”

I shake my head. “I couldn’t do that. When I get married, I want my groom to be so crazy in love that nothing in his life makes sense. And I’ll feel the same.”

“Of course you would.”

The phone rings, so I’m spared having to argue with him about why the heart matters more than the head. Why romance, a bigger-than-life courtship, is so important. I’m holding out for what my parents have.

After the Year of Stella, of course. And when I get over my commitment phobia. Which I’m sure will be after the Year of Stella.

At my desk, I pick up the line, surprised to hear from Doc. She wants to speak to us both, but my speaker button stops working, so Christopher rounds the counter and stands next to me, sharing the receiver with me.

He’s pressing against my side, and I inhale deeply, surprised by the scent of his shampoo or aftershave. Or soap. Whatever it is, he smells like a sultry, mulled wine. Spicy, tangy, intoxicating. I try to focus on Doc’s voice, but instead, I steal a glance up at Christopher...and find him watching me.

Damn that fuzzy picture of him on the internet! He’d been safe then. Mostly dorky and far away. Now I realize he isn’t dorky, he is imposing and too masculine for my liking, but only because I like it way too much. It doesn’t make any sense. He is 100 percent awkward nerd, I am sure of it. So how does that translate into a wall of man I want to scale? And damn the perpetual beige tie. Does he really not own anything with color?

I wonder what he is thinking when he looks at me this way. Surely his thoughts are not echoing mine because, well, because that would be ridiculous. I’m not his type. I annoy him at every turn. He probably likes petite girls with lithe limbs and nimble figures. If he were a chubby chaser, he’d have come on to me by now.

He’s staring at me but still managing to answer Leann. What had she just said? “Taking longer than we thought.” I pay closer attention, pulling my gaze away from Christopher with the strength required to walk Mrs. Standish’s poorly trained St. Bernard when he boards at the clinic.

“Would you be able to stay longer, Christopher?”

That I hear.

How am I going to do this?

“Of course,” he answers. Is he pushing into me on purpose? “However long you need. We’ll make it work.”

I look back into his face and find him staring at my cleavage this time. Huh.

We hang up the phone and he ...is he blushing?

“Well,” he says and clears his throat. “Looks like I can make it to your brother’s wedding after all.”

Chapter Six

Christopher

“Ma’am. There is nothing wrong with Fred.”

“I’m so relieved,” Mrs. Abbott says. Mrs. Abbott, whose Pekingese, Fred, has no symptoms of any kind, though she insisted he wasn’t feeling well, is watching me very carefully.

“You seem like quite a catch. How is it that you’re single, dearie?”

If I didn’t know any better, and I don’t, I’d swear Mrs. Abbott, who is Stella’s great-aunt, is only here to try and get gossip from the newest bachelor in town. “I probably work too much, ma’am.”

“That’s not good for a man. You know what they say about all work and no play. I hope you like the cookies I made.” We both glance at the platter of heart-shaped cookies on the counter.

“That was very thoughtful of you. I better not eat them all myself though.”

Like several of the townspeople this week, Mrs. Abbott is trying to make me feel welcome, and I appreciate it, though I’m not sure how a single man could be expected to eat this entire platter of cookies by himself.

She winks at me. “There’s plenty there to share. You’re such a handsome young man. I’m sure you’ll find just the right person to share the cookies with. My special recipe you know. These cookies helped me lure the love of my life to me. Maybe they’ll do the same for you. Very romantic. There is a lovely spot in the park under the trellis...perfect to share cookies with someone special. Maybe the love of your life? You never know.” She winks at me. “Or maybe we do know, yes?”

The love of my life?

I’d known, on some level, that practicing in a small town would be different. I’d expected some concern and some curiosity and some welcome. But I hadn’t expected it on the level to which I’ve been subjected. Everyone is very concerned with my bachelor status. And they all seem convinced I’m dating someone they know.

Fishbowl.

Mrs. Abbott, though, stands out. Not only because of the cookies, but because she’s also dressed in head-to-toe leopard print. Her jaunty little hat is pinned in place to a helmet of shellacked red hair that matches perfectly to the shade of red on her lips. I can’t help but wonder if Stella spends a lot of time with her because their sensibilities are very well synced.

“You seem like a very nice boy, Dr. Lockwood.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Abbott. I’ll pass that on to my parents.”

She squints at me. “A little cheeky, though.”

I hold my arms up in mock surrender.

“We could use more nice boys in this town. You should move here permanently. You’d fit in nicely.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. For now, I’m just here temporarily. My life is in the city.”

“You young people always think life is better in the city.” She shakes her head. She’s packing Fred back into his leopard print carrier. “I expect I’ll see you at my nephew’s wedding. The whole town is coming. Toodles!”

I scoot my rolling stool over to the little writing desk to finish my notes on Fred and think about what she said. I love to kayak the bay in the mornings, just as dawn is breaking and painting the horizon pink. I wouldn’t make as much money here, but I’m practicing real medicine as opposed to some of the more cosmetic things I’m expected to do to pets in the city.

Maybe it’s a good time to put down roots. I’m past thirty now. Maybe when I get back to the city, I’ll start the search a little more seriously. I could offer my wife and children a very stable life—something I never had growing up, despite the neighborhood and money I grew up with. Because my parents are unsuited to each other in every way. They love each other, yes. But they fight constantly.

I open a file for my cancer patient coming in next. Shadow, a yellow lab. The last entry is written in pink glittery ink. I try to tamp down my reaction, but I feel my heartbeat in my temples. Pink, glittery ink is bordering on ludicrous and no way to run a medical office. I slam the jacket closed and stride out the door with it in my hand.

“Stella, we need to have a talk.”

The guileless expression on her face makes me inexplicably more upset. She is pink today. Her lips, her hair scarf, her dress. Well, pink with white polka dots. The dress is tight in the bodice, but how could it not be? Her breasts challenge every bodice they meet. Despite the dots, which seem a bit juvenile to me, but she apparently adores as fifty percent of her wardrobe is spotted similarly, the color isn’t as bold as usual. It’s almost neutral. Calming.

Beguiling.

Like she wore it to put me off balance.

I notice the folder in my hand and remember why I marched out. I shake it in her direction, and she gifts me with raised eyebrows. Which makes me notice her eyes again. How impossibly blue they are. I bet she uses one of her glitter pens on them every morning.

“We need to talk,” I repeat.

“That’s the rumor. What’s up, doc?”

“No more rainbow pens. And stop calling me doc.”

She tilts her head to her shoulder and studies me. “Are you all right? There’s a tic in your jaw.”

“I’m fine. Blue or black ink only. No more colors.”

“Excuse me?”

I open the file and point to the offending ink. “This is an important medical file, not a smash book or seventh grade love note. Pink glitter is not professional. Blue or black ink only.”

I pause and wait for her rebuttal. She blinks at me like maybe I’m speaking another language. And I am. It is called Grown Up and she’s not fluent.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your paper clips also.”

She stands and I get the full view of all those damned curves. “Do you need some water or something? You look kind of sweaty. What’s wrong with my paper clips?”

“They are cute.”

She picks one up and pretends it’s walking across the desk like a toy figure. “I know. I love these, with the puppy ears.”

“Stella...”

“Christopher...” she mimics and rounds the counter. “You are not my boss. I’ll use whatever paper clips or pens I want. I run the office; you fix the critters. I am not your employee; I am your colleague with my own department to run. And it runs very, very well.”

“I am the veterinary doctor here.”

“Yep. And do I tell you how to do that? No. That’s your department.”

“The way of the world is that the doctor is in charge and the receptionist...”

She covers my mouth. “Please don’t finish that statement. You’ll regret it later.”

I remove her hand, but don’t let go. I’m about to tell her more, but I inhale that damned cherry scent.

My gaze travels to where I’m holding her hand in mine. I turn it over, examining the way it fits so well in my own and that’s when I see it. “What’s that?” I ask about a small red mark.

“It’s just a little burn. No big deal. I should stick to salads, huh?”

I don’t like the way it marked her flesh. “You should be careful.” I want to say more, the words are balled up in my throat, but I know they’ll sound stupid and won’t make any sense at all. I can’t tell her I wish she had a life of no pain or small scars. I can’t tell her that I wish I had been there to make sure she had a proper oven mitt or that I would have jumped in front of her to save her from errant grease splatters.

But I would have. At this moment, this moment that stretches until it feels like the rest of the world blurs around me, I would do any ridiculous thing life requires of me to protect her. I don’t know why. I don’t want to know why. She exacerbates me. I don’t think I even like her. Why is it that I want to wrap her in bubble wrap and slay her dragons?

I’m standing in my place of business, holding my receptionist’s hand and fighting the urge to kiss a burn to make it better. The front door chimes, and she pulls away from me when I don’t want to let go.

Come back.

This is ridiculous. I don’t know what Mrs. Abbott put in those cookies, but I won’t be eating any more of them.

I shake hands with the woman who entered and say hello to Shadow. Shadow’s collar is pink with gold, glittering thread. When she sees Stella, she gets animated, showing me promise of a hopeful prognosis. It becomes obvious the way the dog and my receptionist roll around the carpet together that the two are old friends and that Stella most likely picked out the collar as a gift for the dog and wore her dress today to match our patient.

I’m equally confounded and in awe.

Chapter Seven

Stella

“That was the worst bachelorette party ever,” Perry says as she slides into the vinyl corner booth.

Our friend Miranda slides in after her, echoing the sentiments. “You guys, I don't get out much anymore since Emma was born. I was really looking forward to seeing something naked.”

“Whatever. You get to see a naked man whenever you want to, we don’t feel sorry for you.” Miranda is married to Jim Jenkins, a hottie firefighter, and she is Dixie’s cousin. “How’s the goat?” I ask.

She sends me a bland look. “That goat is the last stray we ever take in from you. I hope you know that. He’s a menace.”

I smile. Not because the goat I foster-placed with them eats their house down, but because I know that she will take any stray I give her. Because she can’t say no to animals any more than I can. It’s a curse. Unfortunately, I can’t have any in my apartment or I’d probably be a hoarder. Instead, I play matchmaker and home as many as I can with my sometimes-unwilling townspeople.

I take a long drink from my beer and set it down. “Unfortunately, that ‘party’ is my sister's idea of a perfect bridal shower. Poor Dixie. I think she might have napped at one point.” Had I been in charge, there would have been a lot more penises.

The stuffy shower finished up early, so we’d headed here to Ironwing, the only bar in Brazen Bay. It’s no dance club, but there is music from a jukebox, and booze, and my apartment is upstairs, so I never have to worry about getting a cab home.

Plus, my dad, my boss, and Nash’s dad were in Ironwing, the band, in the ‘80s, so I get a sweet deal on rent because we were raised like family. Nash named his pub for the band, so it feels like a home away from home. Nash’s girlfriend has been scouting some amazing band memorabilia, sprucing the joint up.

Though it’s the only hot spot in town, Nash runs a pretty tight ship. Last call is usually around 11:45 on weekends and even earlier on weeknights. He wants people to have fun, but he isn’t interested in babysitting a bunch of drunks. Which keeps the place cleaner and safer than some of the dives I’ve been to in the city. Plus, my walls are soundproof, so even late nights below never keep me awake.

The crowd tonight is pretty regular. Luckily Devon isn’t here. The last time I ran into him in the bar, he tried to make a case for ex-sex. No, thank you. I miss sex, but not enough to go down that road again. He spends most of his nights at the bars in Hamilton trolling college girls.

“Your sister is the most boring woman on the planet.” Perry reaches for her wine, the bangles on her wrist tinkling. “If I ever get married, promise me strippers.”

“More than one?” Miranda asks. “Like...a team?”

“God, yes. A team of hot, naked men gyrating all for my pleasure.” Perry sits back. “Damn it, now I’m horny.”

“Do we have to wait until Perry gets married? Can we hire dancers for something else in the meantime?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never actually seen them come to Brazen Bay before.”

“That would make Paint and Sip nights more interesting.”

Miranda sighs and takes a swig of her beer. “Well, there is always stripper porn. Or so I’ve heard.”

I laugh. “Nice try, Mrs. Jenkins. Tell that to someone who didn’t just clean off all the porn cookies from your browser last week because you couldn’t get rid of that virus by yourself.”

She blushes. “My computer runs so much better. Thank you again.”

“Honey, your Tumblr page alone was worth the time spent. Also, you are a dirty, dirty girl.”

“My husband sometimes has twenty-four-hour shifts. A woman has needs.”

We all clink our drinks together and Perry switches her laser gaze to me. “So, tell me again why you didn’t break up with Dr. Doolittle? You know the wedding is next week, right?”

I almost choke on my beer. “I know, I know. It’s getting ridiculous. I don’t know what Megan told everyone, but the day after she “figured” out Christopher was my Christopher, she hinted enough to the right people that now everyone in town suspects.” I have no idea how I haven’t been caught in the lie yet. “My dad came into the office this week and invited him to play golf. I don’t know how I’m going to keep this from imploding. But every time I get ready to tell my sister it’s over, I chicken out.”

Truth is, I sort of like having a boyfriend again, even if he doesn’t know we are dating.

And I am also enjoying the way nobody is treating me like a flake the last few weeks. Because apparently, Christopher lends me a modicum of respectability by virtue of being “his girl.”

Blech.

Christopher is the kind of guy my family always wanted me to date. Serious, stable, boring. I want...I want the kind of love my parents have. They are still so in love. And kind of boring these days, but in the beginning, my dad was a freaking rock star and my mom was the girl-next-door. Story goes, my mom broke up with him when he moved to LA, but he stayed true. When he heard she was getting married to someone else, he basically kidnapped her from the church on his motorcycle. I just want something that wild. That reckless.

But somewhere along the line, they decided that wild and reckless worked for them, but not their youngest daughter. And they have latched on to Dr. Boring, even though they haven’t insinuated to him directly that they know. Megan must have been careful enough in her explanation that he is a very private person, so nobody has outright blown my cover. Yet. But really, how much longer can this last? Someone is going to say the wrong thing at some point, and Christopher will quickly correct them, and then I’ll be the most humiliated person ever.

Because who makes up a pretend boyfriend? And continues the charade in front of family and friends. This town is too small. I’m fortunate that he keeps to himself and doesn’t socialize or the ruse would have been over weeks ago. The guy didn’t even have a Facebook page to trip me up.

“How do I publicly break things off without him knowing things were ever on?” I wonder aloud.

Miranda is silent, but as always, Perry has an answer. “The obvious choice is to actually date him.”

Right. “He has zero interest in me that way. I mean zero. I am like, the bottom of the barrel. And I’m not interested in him that way, either.”

“I think he’s kind of cute,” Miranda says.

Perry agrees, “He appears a little...uptight on the outside...but I was watching him at the grocery store the other day. Honey, the man is built under that button-down shirt. I may have asked him to put a fifty-pound bag of dog food in my cart for me.”

“Perry, baby girl, you don’t have a dog.”

“I know. I just wanted to watch his shirt strain at the seams.”

Miranda laughs. “I hope the bag was on the bottom shelf. That ass, though. Right?”

They are not wrong. He is cute. And built. They haven’t even seen him in scrubs. He fills out the chest very, very nicely. And his sculpted arms...not that I purposely watch when he picks up the big dogs...but he can totally pick up the big dogs by himself. Now would not be the time to bring up the sex dream I had about him last night. Because, like Miranda, I can be a dirty, dirty girl.

But the fact of the matter is, when he’s not in scrubs, he’s in his button-down shirts with the boring ties and the disdainful attitude toward my clothes, my make-up, and my office supplies. His eyes glaze over when I try to tell him what house the moon is passing through, and he recoils in horror if I bring out my pendulum. Even if I was totally hot for him, which I’m not, he has no use for me.

Perry leans over and whispers in my ear, “Don’t look now, but your boyfriend just walked in.”

Shit. Unexpected plot twist.

“Oh, Goddess, what do I do?”

“It will be weird if you don’t talk to him,” Miranda says. “You know, since you’re dating.”

Perry is less than chill as she’s jockeying around in her seat for a better look at him. “Miranda’s right. You should go to the bar and flirt with him.”

I feel the color leaching from my face. “I can’t. He doesn’t like me. He’ll reject me in front of everyone.” That would be the opposite of what I want. My secret life would be revealed most horribly.

Miranda watches the bar for me. “He’s wearing jeans.”

What? I have to look up because I don’t believe Christopher owns jeans. And...he looks up at the same time. Okay, Stella. Smile and wave. He lifts his beer to me in greeting and smiles back.

Be cool.

Perry laughs. “Just go over there and say something and rub on him a little.” She catches my horrified expression. “I’m not saying to lick him in public. Just lean in.”

I nod. She’s right. Okay. I can lean.

The walk to the counter feels incredibly long. I belly up to the bar next to Christopher and say hey to Nash.

“You need another?” Nash already knows the answer and gets me another and then I turn my attention to my denim-wearing boyfriend. “Hey, doc. What’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?”

“Are you implying my bar isn’t nice?” Nash asks with a grin.

“Nash.” I flutter my eyelashes at him the way all the girls who come in here do. Why can I flirt with Nash but not Christopher? “You know I love this dive. Have you met Dr. Lockwood?” I put my arm around him. Wow. His shoulders are kind of amazing. “He’s filling in for Dr. Anderson at the animal clinic.” I waggle my eyebrows, so Nash thinks I’m just being coy about dating him. And hopefully Christopher thinks I’m just being friendly. Probably overly friendly. Probably uncomfortably friendly.

Nash flips the bar towel onto his shoulder and holds out his hand to Christopher. “I’ve heard lots about you, man. Welcome to town. I hope you’re taking good care of our girl, Stella, here. She’s a Brazen Bay treasure.”

Well, that’s not weird.

Christopher shakes his hand. “I...well...”

“What he’s trying to say is that Stella can take care of herself. Thanks, Nash. I saw Tru at the shower today. She upstairs?”

“Yeah, she’s got homework. I’ll probably close early tonight.”

“You start closing this bar any earlier, you’ll be home in time for Jeopardy every night. Why don’t you just make this a lunch joint?”

“Because then who would serve you beer in your bunny slippers?”

Christopher tells Nash to put my beer on his tab, and I sigh with relief. Okay. Going well. That was kind of a boyfriend thing to do. Unless, you were Devon who never paid for his own beer, much less mine. But this is working.

Nash goes to deal with someone else, and Christopher pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Where are your stars?”

“What?”

“You always have stars hanging off you or on your clothes.”

“I didn’t realize you paid such close attention to what I wear.”

“It’s just noticeable. The stars. Are they your signature or something?”

“Well, I do like stars. My father used to call me his “Constellation” because...you know Stella is in the middle of the word.” I shrug. “What brings you out tonight?”

He definitely doesn’t look comfortable. “I figured I should try to get out some. Since I’ll be here awhile. I’m not very good at making friends, though.” He smiles at me. An awkward, shy smile that makes something in my chest kick.

“You’ll do fine,” I say. “If you can manage a sports conversation even a little bit, Nash will take to you pretty quickly. And Nash is the man you want on your side in town. Everyone loves him.” I expend a lot of effort executing what I hope looks like an effortless shrug. “I should get back to my friends. It’s our big night out. Thanks for the beer.” I touch him again. A friendly arm thing. Just to make it look good. Not because I am fascinated by the way his V-neck tee hugs his biceps.

“Point me to the restroom?” he asks.

I send him to the back, and I’m about to return to my table when my least favorite person in the world stops me.

“Well, hello there, sexy.”

My lip curls on its own. Like I smelled something putrid. “Devon.”

Luckily, he doesn’t see the lip thing because, as usual, his eyes are planted on my breasts. “How you been, sugar?”

“My tits aren’t going to answer you, Devon.”

He looks up into my face then. “I bet I can get them to communicate. I seem to remember—”

Yuck. “I gotta go.” I don’t want to hear where he was going with that. He’s the guy who named his dick, The Bone Ranger. Yes, I’m serious.

How had I ever thought him even remotely hot? Sure, he isn’t physically unpleasant to look at. From afar. Once you get too close, though, his vacant eyes are downright creepy. And don’t get me started on the over-gelled hair.

“Later, Devon.”

“Sure, babe. What do you say we go upstairs later? Catch up on old times.”

Gross.

The one person in town that I want to think I’m unavailable is probably the only one who hasn’t heard the rumor about me and Christopher being an item. Isn’t that just my luck? Honestly, if a girl can’t use a fake boyfriend to get an ex off her back...

“No, thanks. I’m interested in someone else now.” Which isn’t a lie. I’m interested in myself now. Which makes going upstairs with Devon a really bad idea. Not even the notion that getting back together with him, even for one night, would make an easy breakup story for me and Christopher could induce me to take Devon up on the offer.

“Right. The nerdy vet.” Devon puffs up his chest. Which isn’t scrawny. He’s always been high-school-jock cute. Just not grown-ass-man handsome. “I’m not surprised you pounced on the new guy. No one else in town is interested in you. He’ll wise up, though. And then you’ll come crawling back to Devon because we both know I’m the only one who is willing to fuck you.”

I wheeze at the surprise attack. How am I supposed to counter something like that? I know plenty of guys who will fuck me? “You’re a pig.”

He shrugs. “Despite your size, babe, you’re a good lay. So, I’m willing to ignore when people say I’m slumming. You think your new lover boy is going to be interested in you for very long when he realizes he could do better? There aren’t a lot of single women in town, but there are still a few who don’t outweigh him.”

“Go away, Devon. You disgust me.”

I’m trying not to ingest his words. I’ve spent the last six months putting his disgusting opinions out of my head. I’m pretty. I’m fun. I have a great life. I don’t want this little man’s insults to matter to me. But somehow, he always finds a place to put a new bruise.

“Christopher Lockwood doesn’t act like your boyfriend. Nobody has seen the two of you together anywhere but at the office. Are you sure you’re even dating?” Devon is belligerent now. And that makes him loud.

“Yes, of course I’m sure,” I answer. Just as belligerently. Because, fuck this shit. “He is a better boyfriend than you ever were. And you know what else? He’s a goddamned rock star in bed. He never gets whiskey dick like some people I know.” I’m saying this too loudly, aren’t I? “Christopher Lockwood is a better man than you in every way, but most especially in bed. He knows how to burn it down, Devon. Something you can’t do on your best day.”

An arm comes around my shoulder from behind. “Stella? Everything okay?”

I close my eyes, trying to shutter the world away. For just one second, I allow myself to pretend it can’t possibly be Christopher’s voice I just heard. It’s not mulled wine I smell. It’s not my world about to detonate all over the only bar in town.

This is all my fault. All of it. If it’s possible to die of embarrassment, I’m about to show the whole pub how it’s done.

I risk a look at Christopher then. He looks worried about me. How much did he hear? Is he just stepping in because this guy is harassing me? I turn so that I’m facing him. “I’m fine, Christopher.”

“I’m ready to go whenever you are,” he says.

And then he cups my cheeks, framing my face in his hands, and kisses me.

Chapter Eight

Christopher

Jesus, her mouth.

Her mouth has been driving me insane for weeks.

I don’t know what drove me to jump into the circus tent of Stella’s life and kiss her, but now that I am here, now that the momentary shock that stiffened her muscles is gone and she is melting like butter in my arms, I no longer care what got me here. I just want to stay.

I lower one hand from her velvet-soft cheek to her hip and pull her closer, all those soft curves pushing into me is driving me crazier still. She ropes her arms around my neck and angles her head, so I take advantage and part her lips with my tongue, catching her sigh of pleasure in my mouth.

She tastes like candy. Which makes perfect sense, right? Because candy is deceptively sweet, enticing, and so, so bad for you. And I know, in the dim recesses of my mind, that no matter how good she tastes or how amazing she feels, Stella Stone is very bad for me.

A wave of heat caresses me from head to toe. The star has somehow fallen into my greedy hands, exploding the world into bursts of light and magic. Singeing the world I knew just moments ago.

I’ve never kissed anyone in public before. I prefer to display affection in a respectful way in private. And that was even before...well, before my ex. But right now, I don’t care who is watching or what they think. I only care about the way this woman tastes. The way she feels under my hands, against my body.

A thought tickles the back of my mind. That she called me her boyfriend. That the Neanderthal she was talking to was telling her she wasn’t desirable. I push the thoughts away. I’ll get to the bottom of why I am kissing her later; right now, I want to prove to Stella and the jerk just how desirable she is. Stella pulls back and looks at me, her eyes glazed with an emotion I can’t name. Like she doesn’t know where she is or how she got here. I let myself have one second to feel supremely proud that I have kissed Stella...stupid.

But logic starts filtering into my own lust addled mind. “We need to talk,” I whisper into her ear before I kiss her temple like a good boyfriend might.

I can’t feel my knees.

She nods. Her eyes are so blue I think the sea might get jealous. I didn’t know that the shade of pink on her cheeks would be so gratifying, that I could paint them that color with my kiss.

She still looks dazed. If I’d known all this time the way to shut her up was kiss her...

I better not go there.

The asshole is gone and everyone in the bar is staring. I’m coming down from the high of her candy lips and realize that I’ve made a mess messier. My instinct was to defend her honor, but instead I subjected her to more speculation.

I need to remember that she is the ringleader, and the big top she’s constructed and trapped me in is her own doing. I’m just a clapping monkey.

She brings her fingers to her lips and blinks like she just woke up. “We can talk at my place. I need to say goodbye to my friends.”

I’m coming back to myself, from wherever I went, and realize it would be better to go with her to the table where her friends are. To not let her cause any more trouble. Not let her run amok.

Her friends at the table seem to be in shock. She tells them we are heading out, as if it was something expected and normal. The woman from the grocery store makes eye contact with Stella. I don’t understand the language, but I can tell that they are communicating without saying a word. Whatever Stella tells her puts the woman at ease, and she sits back and raises a mock toast to me with her wine glass, her bangles jingling as they slide up her arm.

“Do you want me to drive?” I ask, pulling my manners out from muscle memory more than anything else.

“I live upstairs, silly,” she tells me with a fake smile. Pretending I would have known that and just forgot.

She lives above a tavern. Isn’t that just like her? Is she the life of the party every night? Does she have many men coming on to her so cruelly, like the jerk from the bar?

And before I let my caveman, the one I didn’t know I had, come back out, I remember that she lied about me. Creating a relationship we don’t have. Making me part of a gossip mill for who knows how long? Now the strange visits from family and friends make more sense. The way her sister wants me to be part of the wedding table. The cookies and the offers of golf games...

Just when had Stella started this crazy story and why?

I follow her up the back stairs, anger replacing some of the blood that had gone south a few minutes before. I don’t let myself look at her ass.

She unlocks the door and gestures me into her apartment. Leaning against the closed door, she takes a deep breath and hits her head on the wood, exposing the arch of her long neck and a thin gold chain I want to rip off her with my teeth just because I want nothing on her skin but me. The décolletage above her dress glitters, promising a path paved in stardust to her breasts.

No. Do not look directly at the breasts. That’s how good men go blind.

“What the hell is going on, Stella?”

She winces. “I can explain.”

I move deeper into her apartment, and she stays plastered against her door.

And I thought the office was bad.

Everything in her living room is shades of gold and creamy white. And sparkly. There are more throw pillows than actual couch, and all of her furniture looks flea market chic and gilded.

On the wall are hand-painted stars in various sizes. Not framed art, like normal people have, but stars painted right on the goddamn wall.

Over the breakfast bar, her kitchen is an explosion of color. It looks more like a candy store than a kitchen. I turn, having expected her to have followed me, but she is still plastered to the door.

For a moment, I forget I am mad, and I want to press myself against her in the doorway.

“Stella,” I begin calmly. “Please tell me what the hell is going on.” I sit on her couch and begin counting stars. They are everywhere in this apartment. I get to twenty when she joins me in the living area.

“How much did you hear? At the bar?”

If she thinks she’s getting out of it that easily, she’s wrong. I need to know everything. “Just start at the beginning.”

She swallows, that beautiful throat working hard around whatever emotion she’s trying to tamp down. I imagine that throat swallowing me whole. I want to touch her so badly. But I won’t. I can’t.

“Before you came to town, my sister was pressuring me to give her the name of my date to her wedding.”

I don’t know what to do, so I nod. I’ve seen enough of her interactions with her sister to realize that she really does mean pressure.

“She wanted me to bring my ex-boyfriend, Devon.”

I get a sick feeling in my gut. A premonition. Hell, a dark omen. I already know, but I ask anyway, “Is that the jerk you were talking to downstairs?”

I think she’s counting stars, too. Anything to avoid looking at me. “Obviously, I didn’t want to bring him, but she wouldn’t let up. I was disappointing her, the whole family. I wasn’t trying hard enough or something.”

“Devon is a giant ass. Why would she want him anywhere near you?”

“He cleans up well. He doesn’t always act like...like he was tonight. Not in front of people, anyway.”

Stella shrinks into herself, curling inward, and I hate it. She doesn’t actually believe that guy, does she? Not my fearless, troublemaking, giant pain in my behind Stella. For the past few weeks, I thought that all I wanted was less trouble. But not like this.

I hate this.

“I told her I met someone. It was just a throwaway line. Something to get her off my back. But she wanted details.” Stella is blushing. I liked it better when her blush was from my kiss. “I was on Dr. Rivers’ website that day. There was a fuzzy picture of their newest doctor. Your name was right in front of me, so I told her I met a man named Christopher on the internet. Of course, she made a big deal about it even though I asked her not to tell anyone, so I figured I’d just break up with him before—”

“Me.”

“What?”

“Break up with me. I was him.” I want to make sure I am following this correctly.

“It wasn’t you, yet. This Christopher was just a figment of my imagination. My friends and I made up a whole backstory for him. It was kind of fun, you know.” She worries her hands together, and I want to cover them with my own. But I don’t. “It was the best relationship I’ve ever been in. He was really nice to me. Didn’t care that I was...well, me. Thought I was perfect the way I am.”

“There is nothing wrong with the way you are.” I’m having a hard time holding on to my anger. Which pisses me off.

Finally, she looks at me. “Please. You can’t stand me.”

But the pretend Christopher did. The pretend Christopher is probably a better man than I am. Easier to get along with. More fun. More accepting. Less of a jerk to her. And just like that, I’m jealous of Pretend Christopher.

My life is really out of control.

“And then you showed up. In the flesh. I didn’t know what to do. So, I didn’t do ...anything.”

“I was supposed to be gone in a week.”

“Exactly.”

I hate being the center of attention. I don’t want people to talk about me or gossip. That’s one of the reasons I work with animals. This kind of escapade is probably second nature to Stella, but I don’t want to be part of it. I suffered public humiliation at the hands of my ex, and I swore I’d never go there again.

But that’s Stella for you. Since the moment she tumbled into my life, she’s been driving me crazy.

It all begins making sense. Why the people in town are so friendly. Why her family encourages me so much. They think I’m going to take this woman and all her craziness off their hands, finally.

I scrape my hands through my hair. I should be furious. I am furious.

But I can’t stop thinking about the things that Devon said to her, the way her sister makes her feel, hell, the way I probably made her feel about herself.

She’s not my problem. I’m not obligated to clean up her mess. It’s not up to me to encourage this woman to come out from the fetal position she’s tucked into on her couch. To stand up to her overbearing sister and asshole ex-boyfriend.

I’m not suited to be her knight, and I don’t have a white horse.

But every time I close my eyes, I see stars.

Chapter Nine

Stella

“Stella, people like you—”

I scramble out of the corner of the couch I’d burrowed into. “People like me?”

How many times is this going to be the running theme in my life? I’m so tired of trying to please people who simply will not ever be pleased with me. Megan, my parents, Devon, and now Christopher.

I’ve barely recovered from the devastation of his kiss, and now he is about to tell me all the things that are wrong with me. I look around my apartment and wonder what it is, exactly, that is supposed to be so faulty with my life?

Christopher continues as if I’m not about to explode. “You remind me of my parents—rash and impulsive. I can’t deal with that. I don’t like to be the talk of the town.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “I have reasons. Things I’m not willing to talk about. But you and your impulsive nature put me right back where I most don’t want to be.”

Wait just a minute here.

“My impulsive nature?” I cross my arms in front of me and stare him dead on. “Did I grab you in front of a room full of people and kiss you? No, no, I didn’t. That was all you.”

Goddess, that kiss. One minute, I was being blasted by Devon for being unattractive and the next Christopher was kissing me the way no man so uptight should be doing. It was primal. I felt that kiss in every cell of my body. The slide of his tongue, his firm fingers on my hip. I did not imagine all that. And I did not instigate it either.

“You’re right. I...acted in a way I’m not proud of. I probably made things worse.” He is making them worse right now. “I shouldn’t have kissed you like that.”

Right.

Part of me wants to turtle-shell up. This night has been hell on my ego, and it shows no signs of getting better. The other part of me, the part he doesn’t like, is feeling a little more “impulsive.”

“So why did you?”

He messes up his own hair again, scraping his fingers through it. “I just...I don’t know. That guy shouldn’t have been talking to you that way. And I didn’t know what was going on, but I felt like you needed me.”

Pity kiss. That makes more sense, I guess, than the idea that Christopher Lockwood was just overcome by passion and had to stake his claim on me in a crowded pub.

This hurts more than I want to admit. Not exactly the answer a girl wants to hear when she learns why she’d been kissed. Even if she doesn’t really like the guy who is saying it. Because I don’t. I may have thoroughly enjoyed that kiss, but it’s only that it’s been a while since I’ve been kissed, and he is surprisingly good at it. That’s all it is.

But I don’t need him. I don’t need any man. They aren’t trustworthy. Men are for fun but not for necessity. Not in the Year of Stella.

“Well, I’m fine now. You can go.”

He stands slowly, watching me like I might jump him. Which is ridiculous. Again, he was the one who pounced on me tonight. I think I’ve been admirably in charge of my hormones.

He doesn’t make a break for the door. Just stands there looking at me. “If you would just think before you do things, we could have avoided all this trouble.”

Every muscle I own tenses up. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“You and my parents, you’re the kind of people that go off on your little daydream clouds or stars or whatever and leave the rest of us to deal with the practicalities of life.”

This is too much. Really. “I’m not impractical.”

“Look around you, Stella.”

So I do. I look around the apartment I love. The one I pay for every month. I look at the decor that welcomes me after a long day of dealing with sick and hurting animals and the families who love them. In this apartment, I’ve watched every single episode of Walking Dead with my best friend. I’ve made cookies with my sister. I’ve stayed up too late and slept in too long. I’ve played cards with my parents at that table.

My apartment is great.

I think about the office. How cheerful it is to people who are scared there might be something wrong with their beloved pet. How I try to make a difference in people’s lives every damn day. I want to help the people in my town. I want to help animals. I want to take care of Doc Anderson because she needs a keeper, but she also does amazing things, and if she’s well-fed and less stressed, she can do her job better. I am happy at my office.

My job is great.

Why should I defend my life to this man who doesn’t know how to live without something to protect his pocket from ink?

Instead, I decide to just let it go. I don’t need one more person in my life who thinks I’m not good enough. He can leave. I have nothing to prove to Mr. Retentive.

“I think it’s time you should be going. The town is already going to be talking enough.”

He doesn’t move, so I get up and go to the door. Maybe he forgot where it is. As I pass him, he palms my shoulder and turns me around. “If I go along with this, you need to do everything I tell you to do at the office.”

“What?” I try to track the conversation back to figure out what he’s even talking about. “Go along with what?”

“If I play along with this charade, you have to listen to me at work.”

Seriously? Even the way he pronounces charade, shar-odd, is pretentious.

Why would he go along with my “shar-odd”? Well, he went along with it well enough downstairs, didn’t he? The wheels are turning in my head. He doesn’t actually like me, does he? I mean like me like me? That kiss was amazing, but everything before and since points to a man totally not interested.

But that kiss. Lockwood doesn’t have the social skills to pull off pretending that kind of passion, I don’t think.

He looks dead serious. But then, when doesn’t he look serious? His hand on my shoulder squeezes. Just a little.

“Why would you play along with my little ‘charade?’ Also, who even pronounces it that way?”

“Look, I know you didn’t do anything malicious on purpose, but you are screwing with my life. All I’m asking is that you defer to me in the office, the way it’s supposed to be.”

I think maybe he like likes me. Interesting. Only one way to find out. I’m going to be the Stellaiest Stella I can be and force it out of him. I shrug, palms up. “I can’t make any promises. You know me, impulsive and rash.”

Oh...there it is. The muscle tic. He grimaces and takes a measured breath. “Then I’ll tell everyone you lied about me. That we were never dating.”

I cross my arms and send him my blandest look. He ought to like that. I also know that plumps up my boobies, and if I’m not mistaken, he likes that too. “How are you going to explain that kiss? Half the town saw it.”

“I’m offering you a chance to save face here. I just want a little bit of control of my life again. That’s all I’m asking. I’ll play my part if you play yours.”

This is an interesting turn of events to be sure. “You know when I met you, I thought you were mild-mannered and unassuming.”

“You thought you could steamroll over me.”

“No. I have no desire to be in control all the time.”

“Then it won’t bother you to let me be in control some of the time, will it?”

It’s go time. Let’s see how in control you are or aren’t, dear doctor. “Do you really think you have what it takes to control someone like me, doc?” I run my hand up his arm, squeezing the hard muscles. “I’m impulsive and rash and destined to make you crazy, remember?”

Something in his eyes changes. Something dark and wild. “You don’t think I can rein you in, Stella? Are you calling my bluff?” I didn’t realize I was moving backward until he flattens me to the door. “I choose nonconfrontational methods whenever possible because I like things calm and steady. But that doesn’t mean I’m a pushover.”

To prove his point, he pushes into me, the bulge beneath his zipper a sure sign that he isn’t indifferent to me. And damn it. According to the state of my panties, it turns out I’m not indifferent to him either. This man confuses me. I need to say or do something.

Were I a thinking, practical kind of girl, I bet I would soothe his ego with something like an acceptance of his terms or a nonconfrontational no, thank you. But we’ve established that I’m impulsive and rash. “I’m calling your bluff. You wouldn’t last three days as my boyfriend.”

Christopher is changing in front of my eyes. I take a deep breath, allowing my chest to rise beneath his. There’s a bubble of tension around us. He is fighting to retain some kind of control, and I want him to lose it. The steely reserve in his eyes doesn’t falter. He pins me to the door, holding my wrists firmly in powerful hands. Wow. My pulse is skating figure eights, but I can’t show him I’m intimidated.

Because then he would stop.

I don’t want him to stop.

His eyes are hot and eager. Ruthless.

He lowers his head and breathes on that patch of skin below my ear but doesn’t kiss me. I fight the urge to squirm, to bring him into closer contact.

“Christopher...” I whisper.

He latches on to my neck, sucking, and I would melt into the floor if he wasn’t pinning me to this door with his hard body.

He kisses my jaw, my chin, and finally claims my mouth.

The kiss downstairs devastated me. This one...it consumes me. He takes and takes and takes, his tongue thrusting, mimicking raw sex. He isn’t thinking about my pleasure or even his own. He isn’t thinking at all. I’ve driven him to this hungry madness, and I haven’t even touched him yet.

And Goddess, do I ache to touch him. It’s all sparks and stars, and I’m sure the only way to put out the fire includes nakedness and my bed.

He rears back, breathing heavy like he’s just run up a couple flights of stairs. Okay, so we’re both wheezing a little. His glasses are foggy and that, for some damned reason, makes my thighs clench around the ache between my legs.

“Do we have a deal?” he asks.

I blink the world back into focus. “You seriously want to do this?”

“No. I don’t want to. But it’s in both our best interests. You save face, and I get some peace.”

If he thinks being my pretend boyfriend is going to net him any peace, he seriously underestimates living in a small town. “The reason my lie hasn’t spiraled out of control is because everyone thought you were shy and guarded. Kissing me downstairs—with tongue, I might add—will disabuse the townsfolk of that notion. It’s going to get pretty crazy now. Especially with the wedding next weekend.”

The wedding. I swallow hard. If I could keep him long enough to take to the wedding, so many of my problems would be solved. I really, really don’t want to be the thing everyone remembers most about Leo and Dixie’s big day. And I don’t want Megan to spend the rest of the week trying to convince me to bring Devon to save face.

He lifts my chin with one hand. “Where’d you go?”

We hold eye contact way longer than I’m comfortable with, so I duck under his arm and give myself some space. “This is crazy.”

He pulls a handkerchief from his jeans pocket—yes, a real handkerchief—and wipes off his glasses. “I’m aware that this is crazy. But we’re already in it, might as well try to get out without embarrassing ourselves further.”

“How long?” I ask.

“How long do you have to act like a good employee? As long as I pretend to be your boyfriend, I guess.”

“Oh, no, honeybuns. If I have to be a good employee, then you have to be a good boyfriend.”

“You don’t think I’ll be good to you?” He almost sounds hurt.

“I just want...all of it. You need to be...attentive. And people need to believe you like me. That you really like me. Not just put up with me.” I jut my chin out. “Including PDAs.”

“What is PDA?”

“Public Displays of Affection.”

Christopher presses his lips into a thin line. “I think I’ve proven this evening that I’m up to the task.”

I need to get this man out of my house. Just thinking about that kiss, and the other one a few minutes ago, and I’m kerfuffled. Nobody using the word kerfuffled can be expected to make good decisions. I grasp the doorknob and fling the door open, gesturing him out. “Fine. We start with brunch tomorrow. Brunch and the farmer’s market. Like a super real couple.”

That ought to scare him. Devon had serious issues with brunch. Devon had issues with a lot of things, though.

“Fine.” Christopher brushes past me then pivots, clasping my hand and bringing the inside of my wrist to his lips. Nobody has ever kissed me there. It’s unbearably romantic. “I can be an excellent boyfriend. You’ll see.”

I yank my hand back like his lips burn. “I’m already a good employee. But we’ll try it your way. For now.”

“Sweet dreams, Stella.”

Chapter Ten

Christopher

What Stella neglected to tell me about brunch was that it is an extended family weekly get-together in her parents’ home and not the simple meal in a bistro that would normally come to mind.

And Stella’s family is more extended than most.

She’s left me on a terrace at her parents’ house with a mimosa and a promise to be right back. I recognize some faces—family and friends who’ve been into the clinic recently—but there are too many to put names to. Nash from the bar is here.

Her parents’ spacious home is lovely. It’s weird to think that Stella grew up in this house. This normal house. There are books everywhere, and well-cared for, yet well-loved furniture. The wood floors shine beneath several fading throw rugs. My favorite part so far has been the photos on the mantel. Stella was a very cute little girl, but she was even more awkward than I was as a teenager. The braces with the headgear charmed me, as did the expression of horror on her face when I found that picture. She quickly replaced it with some pictures of her dad and Dr. Anderson from their ‘80s band. I can’t believe the guy who wanted to golf with me used to wear eyeliner. She promised to not show me the assless chaps picture if I never mentioned the headgear again. That was half an hour ago, and I lost track of her about ten minutes later.

I bring my attention back to the man in front of me. Brandon McKendrick is pretending to care about small talk with me, but he is practically salivating over the woman in a tight dress in the corner talking to Tru and Nash. If I recall, it’s his girlfriend in the dress, and Nash is his son. I catch a shooting star in my peripheral vision and know Stella is near. She joins my side and clasps my hand and it feels natural. Good. At the same time, strange. She’s smiling at me like she’s getting one over on me, like she thinks it’s a hardship to hold her hand. I give hers a gentle squeeze to keep her off balance. It’s only fair.

“I’m stealing him away, Brandon, before you get to any good stories about my childhood.”

“That’s a shame. You are the only fun one of your siblings. There are some good stories there.”

She kisses his cheek. “Don’t I know it.”

I grab my plate from the table, and we go back inside.

She steals a grape from my plate, and I pretend not to notice. “What makes you stay in such a small town? Don’t you feel like everyone is in your business?”

She takes more food off my plate, so I just hand the whole thing to her. She swallows her bite and is about to say something else when she ducks. “Oh, Goddess, my sister is here.”

At the door, Megan and her boyfriend are pushing their way into the room. Megan’s eyes get big when she sees me, and everyone hears her make a squeeing sound, though an octave higher and only my canine patients would have been able to hear it. “Megan appears to already have seen you,” I say blandly.

“Eff me,” my girlfriend laments, straightening up and downing her mimosa.

I brace for the worst as Megan strides across the room. “Christopher!” She hugs me in an overly familiar way. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She takes note of our clasped hands and squees again. “So glad.”

“I think we were just getting ready to leave,” Stella offers. “Farmer’s market.” She shoots me a look like I might not have understood what I was getting into. If she thinks a farmer’s market is going to scare me off more than a brunch with her extremely large family, she doesn’t know me very well. I’m a huge fan of both eggs Benedict and farm-fresh produce. It’s my idea of a perfect Sunday.

Of course, that’s the truth of it, though. She doesn’t know me very well. I don’t know her very well. What we do know of each other isn’t well liked.

I’m still wondering why this was my idea.

“Let me take a few pictures before you go,” Megan says, pulling me along in her tide of dramatics to “better light.” “We are just so happy about you and Stella. She needs someone normal. I feel like I should warn you about her antics, but I’m afraid I’ll scare you off.”

I pull back and look at her. “Nothing you could say will scare me off Stella.”

“Well, you’ve only known her for a few months. I’ve known her for her whole life.”

The idea that I need to protect Stella from her sister is ludicrous. “Megan, I like her just the way she is. Your sister is wonderful.”

“Of course, she is. I’m just teasing.”

But if that is how she always is, I can see why Stella might think otherwise. Families tease, that’s a given. But if it never stops, if the pattern never changes, it would be hard to laugh it off after a while.

I find myself being arranged behind Stella. My arms tighten around her reflexively. It’s like the scent of cherries and maybe vanilla has become Pavlovian. Sniff. Grab. Reward. Sniff. Grab. Reward.

She angles her head to look at me. “What are you doing?” she asks through a fake smile.

I inhale deeply. Losing my mind. “I’m being the perfect boyfriend.” I nuzzle her neck. “You want them to believe this, right?”

“Oh, this is for them, is it?” She arches just enough to brush against my growing erection. “You certainly go all out.” She turns in my arms. Maybe she’s forgotten the camera. Maybe she hasn’t. “I guess I shouldn’t let you do all the heavy lifting.” Her arms go around my neck and she cups the back of my head.

“What are you doing, Stella?”

“Being the perfect girlfriend.” She kisses me. It’s not a sensual kiss. It’s not like last night at all. It’s soft and sweet and my heart pitches uncomfortably like it’s forgotten its rhythm. Like it’s forgotten that it has one job.

She pulls away slowly, and it’s gratifying to see that dazed look has returned. I like putting that there.

I like it too much.

We make our goodbyes after pictures and drive down Bigleaf Lane and back to “town,” parking at her place and walking to the market. I try to imagine myself here long-term if this were really my life. I’d miss things from the city. Sushi. The Apple Store. Fast Wi-Fi. But I don’t miss my commute at all. And while the nightlife is slow and stale here, it’s not like I’m the kind of man who goes clubbing.

It’s a fine day at the market, though. She buys her canned salad fixings. I buy her an enormous bouquet of flowers in the interest of appearances, of course.

She stops and pets every dog we see. I watch her ass while she’s bending over to pet them.

It really is the perfect Sunday.

On the way back to her apartment, we pass a woman pounding a stake and a real estate sign into the lawn of a Victorian house in several shades of Easter egg. I hated that house on sight. Part of me itches to buy it just to paint it one color.

“Oh, I love this house!” Stella exclaims.

Of course, she does. It’s horrifying. It’s obviously well cared for, but an eyesore, nonetheless. “It’s too...complicated,” I say, trying to find the right word. The fussy trim, the color scheme, the protruding spires and bay windows. What is wrong with a nice rectangle in a neutral shade?

“Well, I have always wanted it.” She tells me a story about people I don’t know living in it, then tells me how angry Megan will be that she was not the agent to list it. We both agree that we don’t want to be the ones to tell her and finish walking to her apartment.

As she lays out her salad vegetables and jars, she glances at the bouquet on the counter. “You’ve officially fulfilled your boyfriend obligations for the day, Doctor. You don’t have to stay. Your shift is over.”

A little place inside my gut just hollowed out. “You don’t need help with the ...?” I gesture to the salad bar on her counter.

She shakes her head. “No. I’ve got it under control, thanks. Seriously—I appreciate your willingness to save my reputation today. Goddess knows I can’t manage the thing on my own. But salad I can handle.” She hip-bumps a drawer closed, and my mouth goes dry. I want to grasp those hips, dig my fingers into the skin there and hold her tight. “I know I’ve dragged you into a huge mess. And I know you hate huge messes.” She gets a look I haven’t seen before, and I don’t like it. Contrite doesn’t suit Stella. “I’m afraid that my entire life is pretty much like this. All the time.”

There’s more happening in this conversation than I understand, so I pull my thoughts away from her hips. “Your life is a mess all the time?”

She nods. “Ask anyone.”

I cover her wrist with my hand to stop her from chopping. “I’m asking you.”

Jesus. Her eyes are so blue.

She doesn’t speak for a minute. Just stares into my eyes like she’s trying to communicate something on a radio station I can’t tune in. “Maybe I am. Sometimes...never mind.”

My hand finds her chin. I don’t think I told it to. But I bring her face back to mine. “Sometimes what?”

“I think I have a good life.”

“I think so, too.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Sure, I do. You’re surrounded by friends and family who love you. You have a good job.”

“You don’t think I’m good at my job.”

“I never said that. You don’t do it the way I would. But you have a way with the patients, and Dr. Anderson thinks you walk on water. You seem happy there. It appears to pay your bills. You have a roof over your head. Albeit a crazily decorated one. It’s a good job. A good life.”

She nods. “I do love my job.” She glances around the room. “You don’t like my house?”

“I don’t have to live in it. Where is this insecurity coming from?”

She shrugs. “Anyway, you made your public appearances today. I’m sure there are things you’d rather be doing. There’s probably something in your life that needs alphabetizing or something. So, you can go.”

She’s right. Not about the alphabetizing. But I’ve done what we set out to do today. I’ve fulfilled my bargain. Why am I reluctant to leave?

“I’ll admit a certain curiosity about the jars of salad.”

She smiles, her blue eyes twinkle with mischief. “Well, you start with the salad dressing.” She measures some into a jar and then hands me the bottle and the measuring cup.

“Why the dressing first?”

“It keeps the lettuce from getting soggy if it’s at the bottom because we layer in the harder vegetables as a barrier.” She starts spooning corn into the jars that have dressing. “We are doing a southwest chicken salad this week. I cooked the meat yesterday.” When I’m done with the dressing, she hands me a bowl of peppers and I go in behind the corn. Soon enough, we have a counter full of jarred salad and I’m oddly moved that they are efficient and also...kind of pretty.

Out of nowhere, she says, “Maybe we should break up today.”

Damn it. Damn her. I can’t find a place to step that isn’t treacherous around this woman. I’m up. I’m down. I’m content. I’m irrationally irate. “Why?” I sputter.

See? Irrationally angry. I need to practice my calm breathing.

“We are getting along fine, Stella.” I breathe through my nose, hold for four, and let it out. “Why break up now?”

She loads the dishes into the dishwasher, and I move the jars to the fridge while I wait for her answer.

“I just think it would be easier. And then you don’t have to go to the wedding. And you don’t have to deal with me. Except at work.”

“Are you trying to get out of your end of the bargain?”

Pressing her lips together, she hands me a kitchen towel. It has gold stars on it, of course. “I don’t think we can fool everyone.”

“We fooled them today.”

“Look, Christopher. You’re a nice guy. And today was fun, but it’s not fair to drag you along into my stupid lie.” She hangs the towel back up. “We don’t have enough in common to pull it off for very long. There’s no way you would put up with someone like me unless we were madly crazy about each other. People are going to notice we don’t have that kind of spark.”

I raise my eyebrows at that. Has she forgotten the kiss in the bar last night? “You are kidding me, right?”

“Look, everyone who knows me knows that this is the Year of Stella.”

“Right. No dating. But you already broke your resolution. They already know you’re dating me.”

“But they also know that it would have to be special. That I’d have to be swept off my feet. I don’t think we can pull that off.”

I’m a quiet man. I’m a patient man. But I am a man, and I’m pretty sure she just took a shot at my ego. “You don’t think we can pull that off,” I repeat quietly, calmly, taking off my glasses. I bracket my arms around her, trapping her between me and the counter. “You’re worried that I can’t sweep you off your feet.”

Those big blue eyes widen at me. “You’re too well-mannered. Too controlled. No one will believe—”

I interrupt her by kissing her neck.

“What are you doing?”

I lick a path to her ear and draw her lobe into my mouth.

“Christopher?”

“Hmm?”

Her breath catches. “I asked you what you were doing?”

I sink both my hands into her hair, holding the back of her head and move my kisses to her mouth, drawing that candied bottom lip into mine. She groans and returns my kiss, and I slide gently into the most glorious high. I want more. Now. I can’t stop myself.

“Christopher!”

I pull back. “Tell me again. Tell me how well-mannered and controlled I am.”

Something is pushing at the door to my sanity. I think it’s a battering ram. The hinges are rattling and one more good shove and I’m out of my skull. And it’s not even Stella doing it. The crazy is coming from inside the house. I’m throwing off my own chains. I can’t stop. And I don’t want to.

Stella’s breath is shallow, her eyes a little wild. I’m still holding her head. My body is pressed against all her luscious curves, and the battering ram inside me is pulled back for one last blow.

And she knows it. She studies me. I see the moment she decides to push. “There’s nothing wrong with being in control. Having manners.” She licks her lips, and I feel it on my cock. “It’s just that you wouldn’t know what to do with someone like me. You can’t handle me.”

And just like that—I break free.

I hope she’s ready.

Chapter Eleven

Stella

Goddess, Christopher kisses like a dream.

It doesn’t even make sense. I know this is all wrong. I was trying to set him free—why is he kissing me?

His hand grasps my ass and we both groan. “God, Stella. I can’t think. I can’t breathe.”

I swipe my hands under his sensible polo shirt. I don’t want him to think or be able to breathe. I want him just like this—hot and manic and mine.

His skin is smooth, but underneath is all hard muscle. I want to see what I’m touching, so I start bunching his shirt up, frustrated that it won’t come off his body without us separating. He reaches back and pulls it over his head, throwing it behind him.

Christopher is a work of art. He’s chiseled with round, hard muscles. I trace my hands over his pecs, down his sides, and back up. I want to rub against him like a cat. I want to feel that soft, springy chest hair against my breasts. I want him inside me. I want to somehow touch him everywhere at once. I lean down and tongue one flat nipple and am rewarded with the best out-of-control growl of pleasure I’ve ever heard.

And then he’s wrenching the fabric of my dress up.

“Zipper’s in the back,” I say, and then the dress pools around my ankles. I can see the images in his mind cross his eyes. The things he wants to do to me. I’m on board. I am so on board.

“You’re amazing,” he tells me. And for now, I’m going to believe him. I feel warm and more alive inside my body than I’ve ever been. He slows down, running his hand reverently over my bra, down my side, and over my matching midnight blue panties. “Even your underwear has stars.”

“Take them off me.”

His eyes heat as he unwraps me so I’m standing naked in my kitchen in front of the hungriest man I’ve ever seen.

“This body has been driving me crazy for weeks.” He turns me around and places each of my hands on the counter, one at a time. “Don’t move,” he whispers into my ear.

I shiver.

He uses his hands and his mouth all over my spine, the back of my neck, the sides of my torso. He’s creating erogenous zones where there weren’t any before. I grind back against him, wishing he would go faster and thankful that he isn’t.

I try to turn, to get closer to him, but he forces my hands back to the counter. “I said don’t move.” The unexpected order, gruff and low, followed by a feather-light kiss in the middle of my spine is too much. The cry of desperation I’d been holding in bursts out. “That’s right,” he says. “That’s a good girl.”

That should have made me cringe, but instead, I beg. I don’t even know what for. I just keen with pleasure and longing.

He places his hands on top of my shoulders and presses his chest into my back. We both hiss at the contact. It’s so potent, so good. My nerves are slam-dancing against my skin. His arms come around me, pulling me tightly into him. I think I could come, just from this. From the sparks wherever we are touching.

His cock is pushing against me, still confined in his pants. I’m trying to live in the moment, memorize how he’s brought me from zero to molten so quickly, so surely. But I want him.

I want him bad.

I try pushing into him harder to get more contact, but he stills me. “I’m in control, Stella.”

“We’ll see,” I answer. “Turn me around and we’ll see.”

He chuckles against my ear but does what I ask.

I watch his face as he takes in my breasts, and it’s the most gratifying moment of my life so far. I was already so gone, so needy. But seeing his control crack doubles the sensation.

All that power always trapped beneath his cold control is rising to the surface of his skin, radiating out in hot waves that will pull like an undertow. I want to drown in his desire, breathe it into my lungs until there’s no room for air, just him. The tattoo on my chest gets traced lightly with one finger while his eyes darken to near black.

He cups me where I ache the most, dipping his finger into the moisture already there. “Sexy.” He leaves that finger there and takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking until my knees start to give out. He lavishes me with long, slow kisses on each nipple, alternating until I feel like I’ll catch fire, his finger stroking me almost carelessly. Not enough to bring me off, but enough to remind me he’s in there.

I reach for his waistband.

Before I understand what is happening, he’s flipped me back to facing the counter. When I try to move, he pins me in place. “I’m not done.”

“Well, I should hope not. Let me help.”

“I don’t think so.” He holds me in place with one arm while petting my ass with his other hand. “I’m going to like making you come, Stella.”

I like hearing him talk so raw. A lot.

“I’m going to like it so much, you’re going to do it again. And again.”

“Okay,” I whisper. As if I have a choice.

He pushes against my ass and grinds against me hard. “God, it’s going to feel so good to sink into you.”

He cups me again, tugging all my awareness to my core. “You’re so wet for me, Stella. All for me.” He starts stroking and I’m losing my mind as I try to push into his hand. I need more pressure, but he’s teasing. Holding back. He’s still in control.

Oh, hell no. I want him as crazy as he’s making me. I want this man turned inside out. “Take me, Christopher.” He stills. “I want to feel you inside me. I need it.” He bites my shoulder gently, but firmly.

He shudders and uses his free hand to clutch my stomach, squeezing me like he can’t get enough of my flesh to please him. But he’s still fighting. He still wants to hold on to the damn reins. I don’t want his careful reserve. His sober prudence. I want him bold and frenzied. I want him to call lightning from the sky like a god and take me.

“Do you want me to beg, Christopher?”

“Yes.”

I smile. “Please fuck me. I need it. I need you. I—”

I don’t get the rest out. Christopher bites my shoulder, harder this time, then pushes me across the counter.

“What you need is for me to show you what I mean by I’m in control here. Hold on to the edge and don’t let go.”

I don’t even think. Just do what he says. I have to stretch on tiptoe to do it, and the countertop is hard and cold on my chest.

“You can’t just tell me what to do,” I blurt out, surprising even myself.

“Stella, do you like teasing me? Getting under my skin? Generally being a brat?”

“Well, duh. Yes.”

I hear the smack on my ass more than I feel it. It’s so shocking. All the blood leaves my face. Nobody has ever done that to me before. I’m not sure how I should feel about it.

“Do you know what happens to brats?” he murmurs directly into my ear, his lips brushing the sensitive lobe. I shudder with pleasure. Without waiting for a response, he delivers another.

That one stings more than the first. A low moan escapes from my lips, but I can’t tell if it’s from pain or pleasure. I settle on a mix of both.

“Are you still feeling bratty?”

“Again. Duh, yes.”

“Bad girl,” he growls in my ear before another jolting smack. I let out another moan as I feel the moisture seep from between my legs. “So pink. So pretty.”

I whimper. I want more. What is wrong with me? Each smack of his hand gets just a bit harder until both my cheeks are left with a pleasant dull ache. He alternates between spanking and soothing with gentle caresses, keeping me off balance. My breaths come in hard gasps, but damned if I don’t hold on to the counter just like he told me to. My body is quivering all over and I want to touch him so badly, but I don’t want him to stop either.

He eases me back on my feet and turns me to face him. He trails hot kisses over my breasts, down my stomach, moaning as he goes lower and lower until he’s on his knees in front of me. He uses his shoulders to spread my legs wide.

“Keep your eyes on me, Stella. I want to see those beautiful blue eyes when you come in my mouth.”

My Goddess. Christopher is full of demanding surprises. Liquid heat courses through my veins. Guess what else Devon never did? I shudder in pure anticipation of what is to come. He lifts his amused gaze to mine, a sinfully sexy smirk playing across his lips. I watch, fascinated, as his mouth slowly lowers to my damp folds, his eyes trained on mine the entire time. He begins with gentle flicks, teasing one lip, then the other, never delving between them to where I need him most. Next come long, languid licks, twirling around my clit, but never on it.

He reaches up and takes my hand in his, linking our fingers, then slowly flicks the tip of his tongue against my clit, kissing it sensually using his tongue and lips.

The sweetness of holding hands is overwhelming, but the pleasure is nearly unbearable. And then it gets even worse as he thumbs my clit and brings his tongue down, thrusting that naughty tongue inside me while he plays my clit like it is an instrument made for him. It's too much...the sensations are overwhelming, but it’s his eyes that are undoing me. Watching them grow darker, filled with lust and desire. I can’t take it and let go with a silent scream.

Look at that. He finally got me to shut up.

He holds me through the aftershocks and then I’m back on my kitchen counter. “I want to see that pretty ass again.”

I get my arm out from under me to open my junk drawer where I have a gazillion condoms. Maybe more than a gazillion.

He pauses, and I know he’s taking in the strange contents of the kitchen drawer. “I don’t want to know, do I?”

“When we thought I might be in charge of the bachelorette party, Perry ordered these for gift bags.” Now I have a case of cutely packaged condoms in my kitchen drawer. “They’re flavored.”

“Good enough for me,” he says.

He grips my hips tightly in his warm hands and pauses before one good thrust, filling me completely. He’s big. Bigger than I thought. I feel like he just split me in two. I squeeze my eyelids shut as tears sting my eyes. He holds still while I get acclimated to his size, then retreats and plunges again, sheathing himself completely inside me. He gives my neck a slow lick and firm bite while pumping inside me, sucking at that spot just beneath my ear. Shocks of electricity run along my veins, causing me to shudder and gasp uncontrollably underneath him. It’s not sweet or gentle or even comfortable being fucked against my kitchen counter. But it’s perfect.

Our bodies are slapping together loudly as he begins chanting my name. I feel my walls tighten and I don’t know where I am, but it’s not on this earthly plane. There are fireworks under my skin, and every nerve is blossoming with light.

Lightning.

He pulls my hair and we slap together harder. His manners, his control, are long gone. I love it. I love the way he clutches me like it’s the only way he won’t fall off the planet. I love the way he growls and calls me names and says words I didn’t think a guy like him would know.

“You're so fucking tight and wet for me... I want to feel your sweet pussy milk my cock of every last drop. Come for me.”

He strums my clit when he tells me to come and I do. On command. Wow.

And when he comes, he says my name like a prayer.

We’re breathing hard and I think I’m going to have bruises from the edge of the counter. Christopher rests his head between my shoulder blades. “I see stars, Stella. Do you see stars?”

“Yes,” I whisper. I feel awkwardly vulnerable. Like if I turn, if he looks at my face, he’ll see through me. See more than I want to show him. My muddled, fuzzy feelings. The tenderness growing warmer inside my ribcage. Like he can unzip my skin to bare my untried heart to him.

No, I can’t show him that.

He kisses the spot where he’d just laid his head and pulls back, pulls out of me. He’s pulling up clothes, zipping.

“Stella?”

“Yes?” I whisper again.

“Did I hurt you?”

I whirl around, forgetting my fear, eager to make sure he understands. “No. No, of course not.” Only we bump noses and crack foreheads and we both pull back in shock. Déjà vu of our first meeting.

I clutch the counter, waiting for the pain to dissipate. “Do you see stars again?”

He chuckles and the weight of the strange moment lifts. “Yeah. I guess I just need to get used to it for the next few weeks while I’m in Brazen Bay.”

Does he think I need the reminder that he’s leaving? That I might take what just happened as a sign of something else? Something permanent?

“I should go,” he says. “I’ll take the salads. Drop them off at the clinic.”

“Sure,” I say. I can’t read this guy. Not at all. And it’s driving me crazy. Not two minutes ago, he was grunting like a caveman and pulling my hair. Now he’s pushing up his glasses, which are askew by the way, and acting like we just got done with tea.

In my best Queen Elizabeth accent—which may or may not be fabulous, I say, “Thank you. I would indeed appreciate that.”

He cocks his head warily, and I’m glad he understands me as much as I understand him.

I help him box up the jars and he kisses me goodbye—on the mouth—and then he leaves.

And I am so confused that I do the one thing that I know will tether me back to the real world. I call my sister and ask how the wedding plans are going.

Chapter Twelve

Christopher

Yesterday afternoon was a big mistake.

In the harsh light of day, hiding in my office like a coward, I will admit that I really, really screwed up. Brunch and the farmer’s market were fine. And all she expected or even wanted from me.

But after.

I never lose control like that. Never. I treated Stella badly and I’m ashamed. I’m her boss...sort of. I’m not staying in town for long. We hardly like each other. And I took her like a caveman in her kitchen.

I spanked her. I’ve never hit a woman. Never thought I wanted to. But I was overcome with the need to mark her. The sight of my handprint on her ass took me someplace I’ve never been. And she fucking loved it as much as I did.

All of those are reasons enough to feel like a giant dick. But the one that won’t leave me alone is that I can’t regret it. I want to do it again. I need to. I need it. I need her.

Shit.

I do not need her. I don’t even know where that came from.

It’s like she is on some personal quest to strip me of control, and she did it. She egged me on. She challenged me. And I played into her plans exactly the way she wanted me to. But I never meant to bruise her. She probably thinks I’m a big oaf. That countertop had to be as unforgiving as my body behind her. I wasn’t gentle. I wasn’t even attentive. I just...I just took.

I’m a horrible person.

I check my watch. She’ll be here soon, and I need to find my center. I don’t enjoy the swinging pendulum of emotion she keeps time with. I will never be the kind of man who sweeps a woman like Stella off her feet and into the chaos of a grand love affair. Yesterday was an anomaly and one we won’t be repeating.

If I could just stop seeing the curve of her heart-shaped ass every time I close my eyes. Stop hearing the sound of her cries of pleasure. The sound of her ass turning pink. Stop feeling the silky skin of her back. And god, being inside her. The silky heat of her... Everything about her is beyond bliss—but I’m not prone to extremes. I’d rather stay to the center of contentment than the highs and lows of bliss and wretched disappointment. It’s over. It has to be, or I won’t survive it.

We’ll go back to pretending to be a couple and avoid the confusion of adding sex to the mix.

She’s here. I can hear her in the break room. I swallow hard. Okay. The thing to do here is make sure she knows I respect her but keep things professional. Friendly. Uncomplicated.

I need to not hide in this office. I have to remind my heart to slow down as I pause outside the break room door.

Her dress is a peacock feather pattern today. The violets and blues mesmerize me as I watch her move around the kitchen area. I can’t look at the counter. I’ll probably throw her across it.

What has she done to me? I try for her shoes but end up following her legs all the way up to her sweet, round breasts.

When I work my gaze back up to her face, she’s smiling at me. “Good morning, doc.”

She’s not doing anything wrong. But I’ve somehow bypassed upset or even angry and worked myself up to being furious. Furious with her for being so pretty and so off limits. Furious that I want her so much. Furious that I had one taste that will never, ever, be enough. Furious that she exists in this world because now I know my Kryptonite. And she just stands there. Eyes bright. Her head tilted slightly, exposing a sweet spot meant for my kisses.

I clear my throat. Aching to touch her but staying put. Feet planted. And then her eyes dim. And her smile fades. And she swallows what was probably her pride, and she sweeps her gaze down.

And now I’m furious that she let me dim her light.

I squeeze the box of paperclips in my hand. “I apologize. Good morning.”

The silence between us is a deafening roar. It’s pushing on my skull like a relentless migraine. She’s losing faith in me by degrees. I am watching her as it happens. I’m the man who ignited like a forest fire last night. Savaged her body. And today, she feels my coldness. If she didn’t think I was a mistake last night, she does now.

For an instant, I wish I was that guy—the man she might have thought I could be. The one who’d have stayed the night. Kissed every inch of her, lingering and leisurely kisses. The one who would make her breakfast in that crazy kitchen and not complain that all her spatulas are colorful. The one who would kiss her now, right before she unlocks the front door. So that she’s horny and flustered when the first patient arrives. The one who would understand what she needs and not be blocked from giving it to her.

But I’m not that guy. I want a different kind of life than Stella does. I don’t want to feel what she’s trying to make me feel.

I hold out the box. “Here.”

Her brows knit together, and she moves forward with a hesitant step. “What is it?” She shakes it. Opens it. “Paperclips?” She meets my eyes. “I don’t understand.”

“They are plain paperclips. The stars come down today.” I clear my throat. “We made a bargain.”

I prepare for a Stella-like explosion. Instead, she stares at the box in her hand calmly, and I am the one snapping like a kite in a gale force wind. I want to yank the box back. Stuff the words back inside. I remember my parents’ epic battles and the apologies that always came after. I never understood how they just pretended the words weren’t said. The lines weren’t crossed. The up and the down of their arguments made me cringe—but they just apologized and carried on until the next.

Why do I feel like the same boy now? No voices have been raised. No insults hurled. No extreme emotion shown. She’s calm, and I’m cringing in the corner.

“Stella—”

It feels like the color is leaching from her dress. Like the room is fading to grayscale around me. It’s my fault. I dimmed the light. Removed the color.

“Stella—”

“Of course. Thank you for the thoughtful gesture. I’ll take down the stars for you today.”

I didn’t know. How could I have known that the flat look in her eyes when she looked at me would be so much worse than a fight? She’s looking right through me, and she’s building a wall. I see the cement blocks as if they are labeled: Distrust. Disappointment. Denial. She’s going to keep me out once and for all. Brick by brick.

I can’t take it. I have a manic urge to yell the things she won’t yell. Say the things she won’t say. She can’t retreat behind that wall, or I won’t ever see her again. The real Stella. And that is suddenly a tragedy.

The back door is rattling behind me, and I’m thrust back into the memory of the first time I held Stella in this very room. I was trying to keep her from falling. Now I’m scrambling and reaching for her and grabbing her, because dammit, if I’m going to fall, she damn well better join me.

Chapter Thirteen

Stella

Christopher is kissing me, and I am drowning.

I don’t want to kiss him back but tell that to my lips.

I don’t understand what game he is playing. I told myself after he left last night that I needed to play it cool. That we were a pretend couple. That we could have sex because sex was fun, but that it didn’t mean anything. A fast, fun fling.

I’m not looking for more. I don’t want or need a deeper connection. I’m fine about sex with no strings.

So naturally, I thought this morning would be fun. Flirty.

And then he plunged his ice-cold knife into my still-beating heart. Froze me. Humiliated me. And now he’s kissing me, clutching me like he did last night.

Carlita clears her throat and we pull away. How long has she been standing there? I come back into my body slowly and become aware of the heat in my face, of the paperclip box in my hand. The mulling spice of his aftershave is on my skin, in my nose. Permeating my fuzzy thoughts.

Carlita. Of course.

He knew Carlita was coming in, so he kissed me. It’s part of the act. Our ruse to keep me from being embarrassed.

And I fell for it because I am a special kind of stupid.

“I apologize,” he says, and pivots and stalks out of the room.

Carlita sends me a knowing look, and I have to pretend to be embarrassed that we got caught. It’s not that hard. I am embarrassed.

If there is a way to make a situation worse, more awkward, then I will find it. In this instance, I realize that despite everything I know about myself and the ornery vet pretending to be my boyfriend, I didn’t protect my heart. I’m halfway into the Year of Stella, and I have failed at the only thing I set out to do.

At least he’s as screwed up as I am.

At lunch, he comes into the break room and stops with an exaggerated pause. “What is all this?”

He does this sweeping arm motion, and then rakes his hand through his hair.

I smile brightly. Earnestly. I will not let him see what he’s done to me. I am made of titanium. “I’m using the paperclips you got me.”

They are spread out over the table, and I’ve been busy with the hot glue gun and paper hearts. And so much fucking glitter. “You told me to take down the stars. I did. You told me to use these paperclips. I am.”

“Stella,” he pauses, doing some sort of Zen thing while he pinches the bridge of his nose. “We made a deal.”

“This relationship isn’t working for me, and I think we should break up.” I add a freaking feather to the paperclip. It’s like a Michael’s Craft Store blew up in here.

“What?” he’s almost yelling, so he comes closer and lowers his voice. Because we can’t show emotion. It’s not allowed or something. “Why do you want to break up? I promise what happened last night won’t happen again.”

I think I hate him.

“You are damn right it won’t happen again. But unlike you, I am mature enough to handle what happened last night.”

Veins are visibly throbbing in his temples. “I’m handling it just fine.”

I snort. “Are you?” I wave the glue gun around. “I don’t think you are. I think you freaked out. There is no way you can carry this pretend relationship off. You’re going to make me the laughingstock of this town. And if it’s going to happen anyway, then I’d rather just get it over with now.”

“I’m not going to embarrass you.”

“No? You’re not a good liar. You don’t want to be around me. When you are, you don’t like yourself. You’re a terrible fake boyfriend and when your penis made contact with my girl garden, you freaked out—”

“I’m a terrible boyfriend?”

“Yes!” I yell. I must have squeezed the trigger because my finger burns, and I drop the glue gun. “Shit!”

He’s got my hand in his, and we’re at the sink before I know what happened. I try to yank away, but he’s running my hand under cold water.

“Just stop,” he says. “I want to make sure you’re not badly burned.”

“I’m fine.” His grip is strong, so I fume on the inside but stand still. “I’m not a fucking child.”

“Why am I a terrible boyfriend?” he asks so quietly I’m not sure I didn’t make it up.

“Nobody will believe that you are into me, Christopher. You couldn’t even stand to be in the same room with me after we had sex.”

“That’s not true.”

“You bolted. So afraid of what might happen next you barely said goodbye. And what did you think would happen? Because you know I don’t want a relationship with you or anyone right now. We might have been able to pull off at least being friends, but you don’t even want that from me.”

There’s this ache in my chest. It’s like a black hole, pulling all the things people say about me, all the things I say about myself, into it. Expanding and squeezing. I can’t bear to be his pretend girlfriend. Not when I know how he actually feels about me. It’s not his fault. He didn’t ask for this. But Devon was right that night at the bar. About me.

I’m not a great prize. I like to think I am. That I’m pretty and strong and fun and sexy in all the right places. But sometimes, I realize I’m not really fun—I’m just not serious. And I’m not strong—I’m just as fake as this relationship.

He turns the water off and blots my hand with a towel. “Why don’t you have a dog?”

Strange segue much?

“Huh?”

He’s examining my finger. Taking more care than it warrants. “You’re so good with animals. You work so hard placing the unwanted ones in the perfect home. Badgering the town into becoming forever homes when we get a stray. Why don’t you have one?”

I swallow. “Nash doesn’t want pets in the apartment.”

Which isn’t strictly true. I mean he says no, but Nash now has two in his apartment across the hall. All I would really have to do is tell Tru I want one.

“You should get a dog. I think you have a lot to offer one.”

I shake my head. “I’m not responsible enough.”

“Is that what you think?”

“I’m a mess, remember? Immature. Too much glitter. Not enough substance. You’ve said so yourself.”

He frowns. “We should see this relationship through to the end. Wedding. I mean wedding.”

He pushes the hair out of my eyes, and his hand lingers near my face. The ache hurts more when he’s like this because it isn’t real. I didn’t realize how much I wanted it to be real. Everything slows down. I can feel my heartbeat in my ears and am sure he can hear it, too. He’s looking at my lips. I ...

“Oh, you two...get a room.” My sister’s voice cuts through the moment, and he rests his forehead against mine for a brief second.

“Megan, what are you doing here?” I ask, moving out of the near embrace that was going to cost me so much.

She picks up a construction paper heart and makes a face. “We have a fitting remember?”

I didn’t remember. Well, I remembered earlier today. When I checked my calendar. And then forgot again. With all the burning flesh and almost kissing.

“My fault,” Christopher says. “She told me she had to go, and I was doing my best to distract her.” He pats my back. “Have fun.”

“I’ll be in the car,” Megan says.

As soon as the door closes, I turn to him. “I’m telling her the truth.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

“You patted my back like I’m your buddy or something. Christopher, nobody is going to believe this, and I look twice as pathetic every day I carry it on. It’s like exponential humiliation math.”

“I’m not big on public displays of affection. I’d be the same if we were really dating.”

“Let’s just let this go. It will be better for both of us. I’ll ...use your damn plain paperclips and black pens, and I’ll stay out of your way until Dr. Anderson comes back. It’s obvious that I’m not your type and—” I stop because he’s grabbed my shoulders in his big hands and squeezes gently. “What are you doing?”

“I’m about to kiss you. Senseless. Can you shut up for thirty seconds?”

“No.”

He chuckles, his dimple making a quick show, and then he’s kissing me. And I don’t know what it means. Nobody is in the room. We’re not impressing anyone. But he tastes like Altoids and he smells like spices and lemon hand soap. I’m trying so hard to not fall too far into it, but the lure of his mouth is undeniable. He pulls back. “Don’t break up with me until after the wedding. Please. We can do this.”

I nod in a daze. My sister honks the horn. “I have to go.”

When I get inside her car, she’s smiling. The way the Grinch does when he gets a horrible, wonderful idea. “You should marry him.”

The lightning bolt spears right through my heart this time. Only it’s cold. So cold. “Goddess, Megan. We’re barely just dating. I don’t think it’s going to last through the summer.”

“He’s totally into you.”

I shake my head. “We’re all wrong for each other.”

“He’s good for you.”

“He’s too set in his ways. He likes calm. He likes—”

“He likes you, idiot.”

Well, she’s right about one thing.

I’m an idiot.

Chapter Fourteen

Christopher

Tuesday is nearly over, thankfully. I can’t figure out what the hell I’m trying to do. I don’t want to be Stella’s fake boyfriend. Yet every time I think she’s going to end the charade, this man I don’t know inside me, I’m calling him Mr. Hyde, freaks out and starts kissing my receptionist.

This day has been an interminably long one. I had to visit the home of a cat hoarder with law enforcement today and make some very tough decisions. Stella is working overtime trying to line up homes for a litter of kittens that I’m not sure are going to make it. We’re both emotionally drained, which has made pretending to be in love even more difficult because it hasn’t felt like pretending. Working together felt right today. Leaning on her for support when we came across the remains of seven cats and facing the overwhelming sadness and anguish from the owner when we removed all her animals...I don’t know that I could have handled it without Stella at my side.

I’m hoping a good night of sleep will fix some of this angst. I’m making notes for tomorrow when a sparkle on the paper catches my eye. I twist the paper in the light. The ink is blue, but glittery. I toss the pen, grab another. Same thing.

On the corner of my desk is the basket of colored gel pens collected from all around the office. She’d contritely brought them in earlier claiming she’d done just as I asked and replaced all the pens in the office with black and blue. Just like I ordered. I can only assume that every black and blue pen in this clinic is now a glitter pen of some kind. But the blue and black I asked for.

She doesn’t care about my blood pressure at all. She really doesn’t.

My phone vibrates. A notification from eMatch. I don’t know why I hesitate to open it. Stella is not really my girlfriend. We are not exclusive. We are not real. It’s not cheating.

I skim the message from Melissa, a woman I’ve talked to before. She’s attractive. Works in finance. Runs in marathons. And wants to get a drink the weekend after this one.

The weekend after Megan’s wedding.

I’ll be free by then. Free to date. Free of the farce.

I compose a message. Delete it. Start another. Truth is, I can’t muster enough enthusiasm to commit to a drink with an attractive, reasonable woman who is looking for the same things in life that I am. And that’s all Stella’s fault.

“Doctor!” Stella yells from the reception area.

My muscles stiffen, hyper-focused on the distress in her voice. Don’t panic. But it’s too late. Cold sweat seems to open all my pores at once and I vault across my desk.

The idea of her in danger, suffering anything at all, has amped up my adrenaline to eleven. Please, be okay.

When I get out to reception, Stella is fine, but Rusty, a golden retriever, and his family are not. Rusty has been hit by a car. The driver and dog owner, Mr. Briggs, is white as a ghost. His wife has a baby in one arm and her inconsolable daughter clutched to her other hip. Stella is ushering them to the comfortable couch and doing what she does so well so I can take over.

I have to hide the fact that I have the shakes. That I’m on high alert. That somehow, I’ve become so mindful of Stella that the mere suggestion that she needs me turns my fight-or-flight response into fight, fight, fight.

A now cold sweat coats my back, but my doctor instincts rise back to the surface so I can assess the situation coolly. Rusty is still conscious and not losing any blood externally. I take him to the back to stabilize him. Set his leg. Tell him he’s a lucky bastard the driver had been backing out of their driveway slowly.

“Good boy,” I tell him.

When I look into the dog’s eyes, I know I’m doing what I am meant to do.

I’m practical and methodical about medicine. My patients get the benefit of my training and my full concentrated effort. But for all my practical and reasonable ideas and manners, inside me is a boy who just really loves dogs. I care for all animals, of course. I couldn’t do what I do very well if I didn’t because they know. All animals just know.

But dogs. There is something about them that reaches me on a level most humans don’t. They always make me want to be a better man.

Yeah, I’m doing the job I was meant to do.

As I leave Rusty resting comfortably, I find the reception area is a different scene now. Calm, relaxed. Stella’s got the once inconsolable girl in her lap on the floor, and they are coloring with the confiscated gel pens from my desk. The girl giggles at something Stella tells her. I’m struck by how easy it seems for her to deal with our patients’ people. My bedside manner there needs work. Humans are not my strong suit.

Stella does so well with them. She’s...well, she’s amazing. She’ll be a good mom. She’s open-hearted and fun and look at her on the floor with that little girl. Even though I’ve thought a lot about having kids lately, I don’t have that knack she does. Kids don’t climb into my lap, don’t come to me for fun or consolation. Yeah, I can provide well for a family...but I need to learn how to be more like Stella.

Something neither of us would ever believe I would have thought.

When they notice me, everyone stops what they are doing and stares at me. The little girl’s eyes are shining. The mom is holding a sleeping baby. It’s the dad that looks most vulnerable, though. You can see that all he wants is to take care of this family, and knowing he ran over his own dog is ripping his heart to shreds. Quietly. Stealthily.

“Rusty is going to be fine,” I say quickly.

The girl squeeze-hugs Stella and everyone starts talking at once, chaos running the show once again. But it’s manageable with Stella there directing it into something organized. We make arrangements to get Rusty home with care instructions, and when I get back to my office, the box of colorful pens is back on my desk. And a picture signed by Misty Briggs is taped to my monitor.

Chapter Fifteen

Stella

I find Christopher in his office, twirling a pen idly in his fingers and looking thoughtfully at the picture Misty drew for him.

“That’s you,” I tell him, pointing to the man in the picture with really big hands standing next to a red dog. “Misty wanted to make you something to thank you for working on Rusty. It helped keep her mind off things.”

“You’re good with kids,” Christopher says. He pins the picture to the bulletin board behind his desk. “They like you.”

“They recognize a fellow child.”

He shakes his head. “You’re good with them because you care. You have a big heart, Stella. You take care of everyone around you.”

I’m not sure what to do with that. “Thanks.”

He hears the catch in my throat, the way I raise my voice so that it comes out more like a question.

He stretches. “Long day.”

The longest. If he were really my boyfriend, I’d rub his shoulders right now. I’d hold his face in my hands and kiss the tight line of his lips until he relaxed them soft again. I’d take him home and draw a bath and we could sink into the hot water and let our bones melt. We’d pull back the covers of my bed and slide in, naked and weak, wanting nothing but slumber. I’d curl around him, my hand on his heart so I could protect it while he slept.

I shake my head at the elaborate fantasy I’ve constructed of the two of us sleeping. It seems too intimate, too precious. Our relationship isn’t like that. It’s jagged and sharp, the difference between sea glass and a broken beer bottle.

He’s pondering the expression on my face, so I paste over my sudden disappointment that I’ll never have the soothing warm intimate nap with him. We are either high boil or freezer burn.

“Stella, I really appreciate everything you have done today. I don’t think I’ve ever had a harder, more heartbreaking day in my career. I’m glad Rusty is okay, but this afternoon... I’ve had to put animals down before. I know what’s humane...but...the way she screamed when we...” He closes his eyes, the memory probably playing across his mind on a vicious reel.

“You did everything you could for those cats and for Mrs. Bain. You did good work today, Christopher.”

He takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’ve never heard a woman wail like that.”

“She’s sick. She needs help. She loved those cats, but she can’t take care of them. It wouldn’t be humane to leave them there. And the ones that were suffering...Christopher, I was so proud to be by your side today.”

His eyes fly open. “Proud?”

“Yeah, proud. You really stepped up in a tough situation. You helped keep the rest of us on task and calm.”

“Because I’m cold and detached.”

“No...no. Nobody thinks that. You were attentive and thorough and calm.”

He shakes his head and traces the outline of his super big hands on the drawing Misty made of him. “I couldn’t have been any of those things without you today. You seemed to know what I needed before I knew I needed it.” He looks at me with the emotion he couldn’t show when we were in that house. “I needed you today, and you came through. Thank you.”

I don’t know what it cost him to say he needed anything, much less me. So, I nod like it’s no big thing. “Hey, I know we talked about making a public appearance at Ironwing tonight, but it’s late,” I say.

He looks beat, and I know I am. The adrenaline rush from the emergency on top of the horrible, no-good day at Mrs. Bain’s house has turned time into molasses.

“Yeah, the pub is out for me, too. I just want to go home, put my feet up, and eat salad straight from the jar.” Wow, did he just make a joke? I’m still chuckling when he adds, “Wanna come?”

It’s possible I didn’t hear that correctly. “You want me to go home with you? No one will see us together.” It won’t be part of our ruse.

“I know neither of us wants a real relationship, Stella. But I’d like us to be friends. And friends have dinner together sometimes.”

He hasn’t brought up if any benefits come with this friendship, but it’s probably best that they don’t. My fantasy of intimate sleeping be damned.

“Salad it is.”

Leann Anderson lives in the house behind the office, so we zombie shamble over after we close up. He pours wine while I dish us up—we will not eat directly from the jar, thank you very much. We sit on the couch in front of the television, and we both stare at the remote. Because now what?

Chances are pretty good that we will find nothing to agree on no matter how many channels Dr. Anderson subscribes to.

“What’s your favorite movie, Dr. Doolittle?” I ask him, kicking off my shoes and using the armrest of the couch against my back. He pulls my feet into his lap before leaning back with his dinner.

Well, okay then.

“If I’m trying to impress someone, my favorite movie is Shawshank Redemption.”

“And when you’re being real?”

“Toy Story.”

I feel like a fifty-pound weight gets lifted off my heart when we both laugh. Nodding to the remote, I say, “See if you can find it.”

We watch the movie as we eat dinner. When it’s over, he queues up the original Top Gun while I run the dishes to the sink. Top Gun because he didn’t believe me when I told him Leann Anderson was an extra in the bar when they sing that song to Kelly McGillis. When I get back to the couch, he’s got a blanket out and he spreads it over our laps when I sit next to him.

Devon and I never did this. We didn’t hang out. We went clubbing or drinking. But we never spent time with each other to be with each other. That’s what friends are for. And Devon was never my friend. I watch movies with Perry, usually. But this, just letting go of a shared long day and laughing and relaxing next to Christopher is...well, nice. I’m sure there are better words for it. But nice feels really good to me.

I barely make it through the volleyball scene before my eyelids get heavy. I don’t know how much time has passed when I open them again. The movie is over. The home screen is on the TV. I’m using Christopher’s shoulder as a pillow and he’s lightly snoring. Which is good because it gives me a chance to wipe off the drool collecting on my chin.

I’m debating my next move when Christopher wakes up. He’s got his arm around me and he squeezes, kissing my hair. Moving so I can see his face, I try to figure this guy out.

He looks relaxed and at peace, and his fingers are combing through my hair gently.

Is he awake or is he sleep-combing? “Christopher?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

I warm all the way through. “You are?”

His hand moves to my jaw, cupping it while he carefully considers my face. There’s a tenderness I’m not used to in his eyes. A glowing ember instead of a shooting spark. “I really am.”

Slowly, like I’m afraid it might be the wrong move, I turn my face into his palm and press a kiss there. He swallows hard, calmly takes off his glasses, and flings them onto the coffee table so he can get his other hand on my face and bring me to a kiss.

I’m still sleep warmed and groggy. Maybe I’m the one who is dreaming. He would never throw his glasses, would he? Not Dr. Retentive.

He tilts my head to get a better angle. How can every kiss we share be so different from the last? This one...it’s sexy and deep and slow with a reverence that squeezes my heart. For once, he’s not frustrated with me. Nobody is trying to prove a point or convince bystanders we’re a couple. It’s just the two of us being...us. He coaxes me up and onto his lap without ever stopping his drugging assault on my mouth. His strong hands clutch me like I’m precious and I sink into him, groaning as I rub against the hardness of his erection.

“What you do to me, Stella,” he tells me between kisses.

I want to know. I want to hear. But now is not a time for conversation and everything inside me lights up being in this man’s arms. Desperate to be closer, I start tearing off my clothes, but his strong arms band around me. “Wait. Just wait. Slow. I want to show you.”

“I want to see whatever you’re showing, believe me. Just do it faster.”

He laughs. And then he’s feeding me kisses and pulling me into his hard body until I feel that sweet high that usually only happens after coming. He lays me down on the couch and removes my clothes carefully, kissing my skin as it’s exposed, until I’m in my panties and he’s still dressed.

“I didn’t take my time with you on Sunday. That was a mistake.”

“The mistake is you’re still wearing clothes.”

“I’m going to enjoy every minute of torturing you, Stella. Every inch of you is mine.” He licks my neck below my ear. “This taunts me every day.” He sucks hard and my hips jerk up reflexively.

He growls as his hands pin my arms down and he moves his roving mouth lower, sucking my nipples into his hot, wet mouth. I strain against him, but he’s pinned me to the couch, his strong body turning me on even more as he overpowers me.

He stays on my breasts a long time, groaning into my skin. “So good, baby.”

Did he just call me baby? He doesn’t seem to be the kind of guy who uses endearments easily. But I could be reading too much into it. Maybe because I want it to mean something. I want this to mean something, even if it’s not forever.

Nothing wrong with making a moment count.

I’ve never had a problem with sex for sex’s sake. But I’m having a hard time keeping my heart out of this. His earthy scent, his words, the time he’s taking, the way he dominates my senses...it’s pushing me further and further underwater. I don’t want air. I don’t need air. I just need him.

“I want your skin, doc. Take off these clothes.”

He gives a slow, masculine smile, and I feel bits of my heart chip off like stardust. “So take what you want, Stella.”

He rolls us over so I am on top.

I know he wants slow, so I pace myself. Starting with the top button of his shirt, using just my fingertips, I release each button one at a time, spreading the shirt while just barely skimming his chest, yet grinding against the bulge in his pants.

“I love the way you’re looking at me right now.”

“I love looking at you.” I swipe my hand across his chest and down, his muscles jump reflexively under my hands. “I love touching you, too.” My hands continue to rove over the mountains and valleys of his cut torso, the soft, downy happy trail showing me the way to where I want to be.

Then he flips us again.

“I got you, now.”

“I guess you do. The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

“Always need to challenge me, don’t you?” A dimple flashes and he bites my nipple. The surge of pure animal desire courses through me. “What am I going to do about it? Stella, I’m going to do everything.”

My body is humming at his promise. Christopher buries his face in my panties, sucking my pussy through the material. His mouth so hot I squirm. I want him inside me. I want everything.

“I need you in my bed this time.” He gets off me, and I miss the weight of him instantly. He pulls me up and grasps me tightly in his strong embrace. Kissing me while he walks backward to the hall. Thankfully, he pulls me into the guest room. I’m not sure I could do it in my boss’s bed. “Get on the bed. And finish getting naked.”

I oblige with no argument because he is stripping his pants while he watches me. I didn’t get to see him our first time. It’s not a complaint, just an observation.

He squeezes the tip of his cock before I get a good look. It can’t be that he’s trying to not come already, can it? Is he that worked up? What I can see has me salivating.

He’s thick and heavy, sprouting proudly from a dark nest of curls. He’s leaking with desire, the tip of him glistening. That confident smile on his face is cocky, and he gives himself a few long, unhurried strokes knowing I’m watching.

He opens a drawer and grabs a box, putting it in easy reach.

Christopher looks at me and murmurs appreciatively. He crawls onto the bed, lowering his face, spreading me open. “This pussy. Fuck.” He grips the back of my legs tighter and licks the sensitive bud. A tremor runs through me, and he buries his face in my body.

The licks, the sucks, the bites, the kisses are not controlled. The man is feasting on me and the noises he’s making are clearly those of a happy man. He thrusts his tongue inside me, and my muscles tighten. Christopher proceeds to edge me, seriously edge me, until I lose track of time. I can’t tell you my name. I don’t know what day of the week it is. I don’t think gravity applies to me personally any longer because I’m floating and all I know is his voice, his breath, his mouth.

“I’m going to fuck you now, baby.” He lays his cock against my center, so I feel its girth, its length.

He presses against my opening and then pushes in, slow. He takes it slow, slower than I want, to be honest, and lets me get used to him. Christopher feels so big and solid. I’m intensely full. I think I can hear colors and taste sounds.

He starts picking up the pace, pushing deeper into me, rubbing against me just right. He’s getting both my G-spot and my clit on his strokes, and I wasn’t sure I even had a G-spot.

“You’re so tight. You feel amazing.” Christopher’s eyes turn hard with lust, and he crosses over into something more primal. I wrap my legs around him as he grabs the back of my head and kisses me ruthlessly. I taste myself in his mouth. His thrusts are deep and perfect.

Light flashes behind my eyes as I leave the planet and hurl into space. Christopher’s eyes squeeze closed, and he shudders, calling out my name.

The weight of his body on top of me is the only thing keeping me from floating away. He kisses my face, my hair, the spot above my hair, and gently rolls off me.

“Stella?”

Please don’t make this awkward. “Yeah?”

“I see stars.”

“Me, too, honeybuns.”

He pinches me. Then pulls me closer. “I need a nap and a shower.” He rolls to his feet and takes off the condom. “C’mon.” He pulls me out of this bed. “You’re a very, very dirty girl, and I have some ideas about what I’d like to do about that in the shower.”

“I don’t think I can walk.”

“What if I make it a bath instead of a shower?”

I have been in Doc Anderson’s tub when I housesit for her, and it’s worth finding the will to walk. “You want to take a bath with me?” I ask, remembering my fantasy from earlier.

“Stella, I want to do just about every damn thing with you.”

I know he’s talking about sex stuff, but for just a second, I wonder what it would be like if he meant more than that.

Though I’m good with the sex stuff, too. Don’t get me wrong. I have a feeling this guy could push all my boundaries there too.

Chapter Sixteen

Christopher

My “girlfriend” stumbles out of my room, squinting against the sunlight of the kitchen. She’s sexy and disheveled and my heart thumps irregularly just looking at her. “I smell bacon.”

“You smell bacon, waffles, coffee and,” I walk her over a cup, putting it into her hands while I kiss her jaw, “delicious. You smell delicious.”

She grunts. “I smell like your soap.”

The memory of her soapy and wet, the water sluicing over slippery skin in the tub, is getting me hard again. “You smell like you. And me. And sex. And my soap. Delicious.”

She’s still squinting at me and who could blame her? I don’t know what I’m saying or doing either. I’m not feeling like myself, exactly. Like some of her starlight is trapped in my chest.

It’s warm and bright, hardly reason to complain, even if the feeling is foreign.

“You made me breakfast?”

“I did.” I gesture to the table and plate us up. “You’ve cooked me plenty of dinners over the last few weeks. It was my turn.”

She drinks her coffee, and I admire how well her cup doesn’t match her dress because she’s not wearing a dress. She’s thrown on one of my t-shirts, and the sight of her in my clothes, in my temporary kitchen, in my borrowed life, is undeniably arousing.

I drag my attention back to her face, and her lips quirk up on one side. “Doc, are you having impure thoughts about me?”

“Yeah, I really am.”

She dips her chin and smiles. It’s a shy, sweet smile and my heart stutters. This woman is going to send me to the cardiologist. “When did I cook you all these dinners you speak of, by the way? I opened a jar for you last night, but that doesn’t really count.”

“I’ve been eating all your frozen dinners, remember? My favorite was the stroganoff. It’s really good.”

She’s trying to hold back a grin. “Yeah? You’ve been eating my cooking? And you liked it?”

“I love your cooking, Stella.”

She’s too endearing when she does her little “aw, shucks” face. But she’s pleased with the compliment, and I really should dole them out more often.

In the next few days. That’s all we have. Don’t forget this is temporary.

I join her at the table, watching her drown her waffle in syrup, resisting the urge to criticize how much sugar she’s about to consume. I need to pay more attention to how often I go straight to critical with her. It’s not just because she’s sensitive to that with the way she feels about her family. It’s also that I don’t like that about myself. The overly critical part of my personality is unattractive.

I want very much to be attractive to Stella.

Which is not smart. We’re short-term. But right now, this morning, I don’t want to think about next week or the future. For right now, I’m eager to live in the present. Something I’m not very good at.

So, I watch her enjoy her soggy waffle and commit this feeling of utter contentment to memory.

“I...haven’t made breakfast for anyone in a really long time.”

She stops chewing and slugs down some coffee. “Really?”

I don’t know why I told her that. It seems foolish now. I guess I wanted her to feel like this is special. To know this, whatever we have, is different for me.

“Well, thank you. It’s great.” She looks down at her plate. “Nobody’s ever made me breakfast before.”

My heart does that tumble again. It’s not even graceful about it. More like a four-year-old executing their first somersault. “Devon not the breakfast-making type? I’m so surprised.”

She does this half laugh thing that tells me she’s not feeling funny. “Devon and I didn’t do sleepovers.”

I reach for her hand.

Devon. That stupid fuck. How could he not have taken better care of Stella? “Devon is an idiot. He didn’t deserve to wake up next to you.” To lighten the mood, I add, “Watching you drool on my pillow is going to be the highlight of my day.”

My sweet, suddenly shy Stella looks up at me through her eyelashes and grins. I can’t stop myself from cupping her face in my hands and kissing her the way I’ve never kissed anyone. It’s not hot or even sweet—it’s seeking. I want to know her. I want her to know me. I need to taste her secrets and give her new ones.

My secrets. Our secrets.

I’ve wanted her from the first time I touched her. But now I want more than her body. But I don’t understand what that means.

We pause, our foreheads resting on each other and this peace steals over me. Peace I usually find only when alone in my kayak on still waters.

There is a rightness singing in my blood. She’s the one is the chorus.

That can’t be right, can it? This woman who makes me crazy can’t possibly be the one who could keep me sane. Keep me grounded and balanced and in the center of contentment.

I open my eyes and look into hers. Does she feel it? Can she see right through me? Does she know where my mind is going? My heart?

Does she care?

She pulls back and stands up abruptly. “I need to go. Get home and change. Don’t want to be late for work. My boss is a real bear about stuff like that.”

She’s out of my kitchen before I can say a word.

And what would I say?

Stella

PERRY HATES HER OFFICE and has always done as little work as possible in it. Instead, she always practically lived in Coffeehouse, taking client meetings in the very back until they sort of made it her office for her. When it came up for sale, she snatched it up and still does most of her business in the café in addition to owning it.

Coffeehouse is rich with texture and scent—dark roast, brown sugar, loose-leaf tea, ginger, and lemon polish on old wood. It feels like the inside of a wooden boat with its low ceiling, brass and dark wood, floors that creak, and a sense of age and history that takes you to a different time.

At this moment in time, however, Perry is looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. “You want me to what?”

“I want you to remind me that this is going to end badly. Very badly. Please.” Because it’s been going way too well the last few days. Other than me bolting from breakfast the other day anyway.

She pushes my cold brew coffee at me.

“Dr. Anderson comes back on Tuesday. I need to hold on to my heart for a few more days.” Just get through the wedding.

“Perry,” one of her employees interrupts us at the table. “Phone for you.”

“Take a message, please. I need to sort this girl out.”

I take a drink of my coffee until the barista moves on. “Year of Stella,” I remind her.

Perry rolls her eyes. “The Year of Stella is stupid, and so are you if you let him go. You guys have been boffing for days. And he told you he thinks you’re good with kids. And he likes you the way you are. Stella, he’s your boyfriend now. Why do you want to push him away?”

“Fake. Boyfriend.”

“Nobody looks at fake girlfriends the way your fake boyfriend looks at you. He’s got it bad. Just go with it. Stop trying to mess it up.”

I rub my rose quartz worry stone, but don’t feel the usual effects. “He’s leaving soon.”

“Seattle is not that far way. It’s hardly even a commute.” She pulls my coffee away. “I changed my mind. Don’t drink this. You need to relax.”

“I need to get ready for the rehearsal dinner. Did I tell you he’s coming to that? Because he is. And after, he’s going to Ironwing with the guys.”

“That’s weird.”

“Yes, I know. Can we get back to my problem now?”

“So, what happens after the wedding? Have you and Dr. Doolittle talked about it?”

I pull my coffee back across the table. “Not since before Tuesday night. We haven’t talked at all about the fake part of our relationship. We just...”

“Boff.”

“A lot,” I add. “It’s been amazing. I mean, yeah, the sex, but just all of it. I like him too much, Perry.”

“I fail to see how this is a bad thing. Why won’t you let yourself enjoy it?”

I make eye contact, the real kind where we really talk, with her for the first time since I sat down. One has to be careful with looking into her eyes—she ferrets out secrets too easily. She knows me too well. She’s smart, beautiful, big-hearted, and big-haired. If she had a penis, I would have married her when we were still in high school so no other guy could have gotten her.

She sizes me up. “Oh, Stella,” she says. “You’re in love with him.”

“I don’t want to be.” I set my jaw, but determination doesn’t win when it comes to my stupid heart. “I think I am. I know I am. Oh, shit. This is awful.”

“Baby, no. It’s really not.”

“Christopher could rip my heart to shreds. He’ll hurt me worse than Devon did.”

“Or...”

“Or what?”

“Or he could love you back. And make you happy and take good care of your heart.”

“That’s asking a lot.”

“It really isn’t.” She reaches for my hand. “You’re a wonderful woman. You deserve love. You deserve to have everything you want in this life. And think about how happy you can make him. You take care of people. You’re funny and smart and pretty. Why don’t you just try? With Christopher? Just...love him. See what happens.”

I sit back in my chair. “Sure. What could go wrong?”

I could fill an encyclopedia with all the things that could go wrong.

Perry steals my coffee and finishes it. “Do you want me to come over tonight?”

“I thought you had a date?”

“I’d cancel for you.”

She’s looking sweet and innocent, but I know her too well. “Speaking of being scared of relationships...”

“It’s a first date, not a relationship.”

“Go on your date. Keep an open mind. Just...try. See what happens.”

“No fair using my words against me.” She looks at the time on her phone. “I have a bajillion messages to return today if I’m going to cut out early and get ready for my date. You sure you don’t want me to cancel it?”

“Positive.”

She gets up. “Okay, then.” She kisses the top of my head. “I’ll see you at the wedding tomorrow.”

“Love you,” I tell her.

“Love you back.”

If only she had a penis.

Chapter Seventeen

Christopher

I’m pretty sure that nobody wants to be at this bachelor party. Leo looks miserable. He’s been texting all night, and since I’ve learned that he met Dixie via a wrong number text, I’m assuming he’s talking to her. That he’d rather be with her. I would also prefer to be elsewhere, and by that, I mean upstairs. Where Stella is.

We’re all here to keep Megan happy, and it doesn’t occur to anyone that she wouldn’t even know if we all left. She’s not even here.

Megan is wily and she is determined. I can see why my Stella made me up, even for a short reprieve. Though I’ll never admit that to her. It’s easier to let Stella keep thinking that I’m just keeping up appearances. If she knew that not only do I not blame her for this pretend relationship, but that I’m also kind of enjoying it...well, she just can’t know.

She absolutely cannot know that this is the best relationship I’ve ever had. That I laugh more with her than I have in years. That her little quirks are like undiscovered treasures that I enjoy finding. That I’m starting to like a little color and shine in my life.

Leo approaches me with a fresh beer. “You doing all right, man? Megan told me to make sure you had a good time.”

I take the beer even though I don’t want it. “I’m doing great. I’m more worried about you. How are the nerves?”

Leo smiles. “I haven’t got any yet.”

“Is that right? I figured all grooms panicked the night before.”

“I’d have gotten married the night we met if I had my way.”

He’s really in love with her. It’s nice to see someone so sure about love. I better stop this line of thought. “I was afraid there might be strippers tonight.”

“I made the guys promise no naked women. Or nearly naked women. No women at all. No shots for me, either. I don’t want to be miserable on my wedding day. No shortage of sex jokes tonight, though.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

He claps me on the back. “I should go make the rounds.”

I send him on his way and think about my exit. I’ve stayed long enough that it looks like I’m serious about Stella and wanting to be part of his family. I wonder if she’d like to come over when she’s done doing whatever she’s up to tonight. We’ve spent the last three nights together, and I fingered her to orgasm in the car between the rehearsal and the following dinner earlier tonight. I might be addicted to her body, and that’s probably a bad idea. We’re having fun, but it feels like it could slip into something more serious too easily.

And neither of us want that. She made that clear when she made her hasty exit the other morning at breakfast.

I’m about to text her when I smell something close to Axe. Do people still wear that?

I turn and the asshole ex that was harassing Stella the other night is smiling at me and holding out his hand. “You’re the new vet, right? Christopher? My name is Devon.”

I have too many manners to ignore him, so I shake his hand. “Nice to meet you,” I say with little enthusiasm. He’s obviously familiar with the weight room, but his too tight T-shirt reveals the puffy man-boobs of a steroid user. I’ve run into those enough at the gym. In my opinion, Stella deserves better than this asshole.

“What do you think of our little shitty town?”

I bobble the beer bottle in my hand. Devon is the first person I’ve talked to that disparaged Brazen Bay. Everyone who lives here seems to love it. “It’s beautiful. It’s worked out very nicely for me.”

Devon gets a douchey smirk and bumps my arm with his fist. “You’re still fucking Stella then?”

I’m reminded of every high school jock that gave me a swirly until I figured out how to get stronger. Taking a deep breath, I set my beer down and straighten to my full height, looking the asshole in the eye. “My relationship with Stella is none of your business.”

He chuckles. “Relationship? Dude, between you and me, you can do better.” Shrugging, he swigs his beer down. “She’s good in bed though, yeah? That tight pussy is hot if you can ignore the whiny bitch the rest of the time. And overlook the rolls.”

A halo of red circles my vision.

Rage turns from red to white hot and flashing behind my eyes. I pull back and connect my fist to his nose before I realize what I’ve done. And then, when I do realize what I’ve done, I slam him into the post. “You fucking say her name again, and you won’t have any teeth left.”

I had surprise on my side, but I forgot about the ‘roid rage. He starts back at me, rigid and puffed up. He lunges but misses when he’s grabbed by two men from the party. Megan’s boyfriend, Brad, takes one to the face from Devon, and that calms me down enough to stop fighting against the restraint of the two men holding me back. Shit. Megan is going to be pissed if Brad has a black eye in the family wedding pictures. And it’s all my fault.

Nash grabs the back of my collar and shoves me through a door near the back. “Cool down and go upstairs. We don’t do brawls in my pub, man.” He slams the door behind him when he goes back inside, and I realize I’m standing in the hall with the stairs leading up to Stella’s.

My adrenaline is racing. I should go home. I’m not in control right now, and I hate it. This is not me. Not how I want to be. I just started a bar fight. I don’t even know who I am anymore. What is happening to me?

I’ve never started trouble...anywhere before. I could have gotten arrested. Maybe I still could.

Did they kick Devon out, too? Is he standing on the street out front still? Maybe I should go check. Maybe what I need is to finish what I started with him. He deserves whatever he’s got coming—

“Christopher?” Stella is standing at the top of the stairs. She’s wearing bunny slippers and talking into her phone. “Yeah, thanks, Nash.” She hangs up. “Christopher, what is going on? Nash just told me to come collect my boyfriend from the hall in case you tried to go back inside the bar.”

I should be running out the door. Out of town. She should not look so attractive to me in her fuzzy slippers and mismatched pajamas. I shouldn’t be so hard from just seeing her in a hallway. I should not want her so much.

But I’m not thinking. I’m mad as hell about the way Devon talked about her. I’m pissed I didn’t get more punches in. I’m frustrated that I have lost the battle between my cock and my brain. And all the testosterone swirling inside me decides we need an outlet and we need it now.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Stella asks warily.

“Like what?” I say and take one slow step after another toward the stairs.

“Like a bull about to charge a matador.”

I smile and her eyes widen because I’m sure it’s not a friendly smile. It’s a predatory one. I take the stairs slowly, never losing eye contact with my prey. She wisely starts stepping backward toward her apartment door.

“Okay, now you look like Jack Nicholson just before he tells his wife ‘Here’s Johnny.’”

“Stella?” We’re in her apartment now, and I shove the door closed behind me.

“Yes?”

“We’re about to break your fucking bed.”

Chapter Eighteen

Christopher

Her eyes widen with shock and then she lifts her T-shirt over her head while kicking off her slippers.

There’s my girl.

I rip my own clothes off while she works on her pants on the way into her bedroom. I push her onto the bed and bite her ass. God, her ass. It’s a miracle. Round, juicy. I bite the other cheek.

“Christopher,” she looks over her shoulder at me, “what has gotten into you?”

“Three days of fucking you means I know exactly where to touch you to make you go off, baby.” And I do. I’ve mapped her body like I’m a cartographer of a new frontier. I can control her and dominate her orgasms. Lord knows that’s the only control I’ll ever have over Stella.

And the only control I have over Stella is when I’m completely out of control of myself.

She moans when I give her a love tap. “I want to be on top this time.”

I’m not an idiot, so I get on my back and bring her over me. “I’m at your mercy.” My hands slide up her back and into her hair, my fingers tangling in the strands as she rocks against me, hot and wet and already ready for me. “Be as naughty as you want.”

I punctuate my words with another little tap on her ass and she smiles. “You think you know me so well, but I have a few things I haven’t shown you yet.”

I expect chaos and a wild ride, it is Stella after all, but she slows down instead. Her eyes get softer and I can’t read her thoughts as she grinds slowly, sensuously, her mouth sliding over my cheek and down to my neck. I gasp when she nips the sensitive skin there. When her teeth clamp down lightly on my earlobe, I hiss and grab her hips, straining to get her in position, but she moves like liquid out of my grasp.

“Stella,” I moan, but her lips return to mine, kissing me deeply. Something changes between us. It’s more intimate. Like she’s pouring her heart into me, binding me to her.

Her hips rock a little faster, pressing more firmly, but it’s still too slow. I sit up so we’re chest to chest, skin to skin, and she shivers, arching her back. Our eyes meet and I’ve never known a feeling more perfect.

Everything I’ve been fighting against just disappears. All that matters is this woman. Suddenly, it’s all so clear. It’s laughable I didn’t figure it out sooner.

I’m in love with her.

Our lips meet once again, bodies pressed skin against skin, her pebbled nipples raking across my chest. We both groan at the sensation and I fist my hands into her hair.

I want to tell her. I want to tell everyone. But I know she won’t believe me if I say it now. I’ll just keep showing her until I break past all her defenses. Until she accepts that she’s mine. That we belong together.

She hovers over me, rubbing the tip of my dick through her soaking wet folds.

“Take what you want, Stella. It’s all yours.” I’m all yours.

She slides down my aching shaft slowly. God, so slowly. The precum is practically pouring out of me as I get enveloped in her heat. Her arms and legs are wrapped around me tightly, our eyes locked. We’re the center of a hurricane, the world spinning crazily around us as we hold still, locked in an embrace.

She squeezes her inner muscles around me, and I almost come. But then she pulls off me, and I reach for her, missing her heat. She evades my grasp and pushes my chest until I’m reclined on my back again. As she slithers down my body, she says, “Talk dirty to me, doc. I love it when you say nasty things to me.”

“Bring that pussy back up here. I can do better things with my mouth than talk.”

She shakes her head. “I still have things I want to show you.”

She kneels between my legs and I know what’s coming next. She does nothing more than hover near my dick at first, her tongue flicking out of her mouth to slurp up the drops of precum as they form.

She looks up at me, eyes locking on mine and then softly rubs her cheek against the shaft of my cock, whispering so softly that I almost don’t hear her. “Would you like me to suck your cock, Christopher?” She pauses for effect as she drags her tongue from the base of my cock all the way up to the tip. “Is that what you want?” she asks, an innocent smile on her face.

I beg. I plead. She smiles and winks at me. One stroke...another...as she pauses to consider it. And then she smiles wantonly at me and dives onto my cock, licking and sucking with abandon.

Up and down at a snail’s pace, she bobs her head and hand, stroking me into her mouth as she devours more of me. I can’t stand it anymore. I have to come.

“Finish me, naughty girl.”

But she just keeps going at a slow and steady pace, building me up further and further as I struggle to maintain control.

“Stella...”

“Talk dirty to me, Christopher. My mouth is full.”

She looks up at me, eyes wide with desire as she sucks my cock back into her mouth. I wrap my fist in her hair and pull her against me, fucking her mouth nice and hard, pushing in and out as she sucks at the length of my cock.

“Where do you want it, Stella?” I hold her head still until she pauses. “You want me to cum inside you? You want me to pump your pussy full of cum? You’ve teased me so much... I’ll pump you so full that you’ve got cum running down your leg for a week after I’m done with you.”

She moans around my cock, mischief dancing in her eyes.

“Oh, maybe you want me to come down your throat, pretty girl?”

I’m aching for release. I need to come, and I need it badly. She’s got me on the edge of madness.

She hums a soft tune against the base of my cock. The sensation is almost too much. After a moment of this, she pulls off my cock and starts sucking at my balls greedily.

“Jesus, you naughty little minx.” Nobody has ever done that to me before.

She crawls back up my body. “Where do you want to come, Christopher?” She bites my nipple playfully. “I’ll try to swallow it all up, but sometimes you come so much—”

Without letting her finish that delicious thought, I flip us over, grab her hips and ram my rock-hard cock deep inside her. “I'm going to fuck you, Stella, I'm going to fuck you good and hard. I want to hear you moaning and screaming and calling out my name as I pound your pussy. I want to feel you dig your nails into my back and feel you come, feel your pussy squeeze my cock so hard it hurts.”

I begin to pull out slowly, my dick getting squeezed and massaged every agonizing second. “Fuck, how do you do that? You’re perfect.” I thrust into her again, pressing hard against her walls, pulling out halfway then pushing back in. “You’re so tight and warm.”

I guess giving me head was getting her off too because already her entire body trembles as an orgasm washes over her.

“That’s one,” I say.

She opens her eyes and smiles at me. “Fill me up, Christopher.”

Oh, fuck. Those eyes. I pound her hard, hungrily. No more teasing. All I can think about is coming inside her. Giving her everything I am. She’s milking me eagerly, and my balls tighten.

Stella is chanting, “So good, so good, so good.”

Oh, it’s better than good. She feels amazing. Tight and hot and mine. Mine. That spurs me into a faster pace, and I lose myself in the scent of our sex, the grunts and groans we make, the squeak of her mattress.

I climax like a star burning in the night sky. On fire and dying. Pouring myself into her, I feel the sweat cooling on my skin, hear the sounds of our harsh breaths sawing the air. I roll to the side before I collapse and crush her, my pulse rioting under my skin. My God. I feel like an animal.

“That was so hot.”

I’m coming back into myself. Remembering who I am. Where I am. “Did I hurt you?”

“Would you stop asking me that? Did I once say stop or get off me? No, you didn’t hurt me. You made me feel alive and awesome and a little insane. But you didn’t hurt me.”

We’re filthy and sticky and my heart is still pounding like I’m running a race.

Abruptly, my eyes fly open, the heat cools, and my breath catches. “Stella, I didn’t...shit...I didn’t wear a condom.” My hand flies to her abdomen.

“It’s okay. I’m on the pill,” she says lazily, falling asleep already.

It’s not okay. I was so reckless with her. I realize I don’t want her to be on the pill. I don’t want to wear a condom ever again, and I want my baby inside her. Now. But making that decision on my own, not thinking about the consequences, about what she wants and needs, was an asshole move.

But hell if I don’t want to fill her up with me again.

All my ideas about a sensible life, a moderate woman and well-behaved, planned children dissolve without me missing them. I want this. I want this crazy woman round and filled with my babies before we’re ready for them. I want spontaneous, laughter-filled hours with her in this fishbowl town. I want to roll my eyes every time she talks about her tarot cards for the rest of my life.

“Stella,” I say into the darkness, meaning to apologize for not pulling out. Instead, I say, “I love you.”

But she’s already asleep, so I curl around her and watch her dream. Hoping it’s me she’s dreaming about.

Chapter Nineteen

Stella

There is a little problem in the church vestibule.

Megan looks like she is about to kill everyone in a one-mile radius with her phone. She holds it out and screams at it. “What do you mean you’re in Las Vegas?”

Miranda and I exchange looks but neither one of us actually knows who she is talking to. Except that Dixie is late.

“Leo, how could you do this to me?” she screeches.

“I’m going to go get her some water. She’s going to need it.”

I shake my head. “Go find a groomsman. They all have flasks. She’s going to need that more.”

“It’s eight o’clock in the morning.”

Megan makes a noise that could open a portal into hell, and Miranda nods quickly. “All the flasks. I’m going to collect all of them.”

“Good idea.”

Megan hangs up the phone, and I pull her onto a bench. “Sit.”

“I can’t sit. There’s so much to do.”

“If your head blows off, we will never get our cleaning deposit back. Sit.”

She slumps onto the bench. “I can’t believe he did this. He left his bachelor party last night and dragged Dixie off to Vegas on a redeye. They were married by an Elvis impersonator an hour ago.”

That rat bastard stole my wedding plans.

“Megan...” How do I tell her that I’m pretty sure he rescued his bride from a wedding neither of them wanted?

“Poor Dixie. She lost her beautiful, once-in-a-lifetime dream wedding all because my stupid brother didn’t want to wear a cummerbund.” She buries her face in her hands. “Now what are we going to do?”

A man’s voice rings across the vestibule. “We’ll get married instead.”

We both look up to see her boyfriend Brad striding across the room with a ring in his hand.

“Brad?” my sister and I say in unison.

“I’ve had this ring in my pocket since February, but then Leo asked Dixie first, and you were planning their wedding and I thought I needed to wait because you couldn’t plan two weddings at the same time.”

Has he not met my sister? She could plan two weddings and the Olympics at the same time.

Her eyes are huge as she stares at the ring. “I... we...we can’t get married today. This is Dixie’s dream wedding. I can’t just...”

He gets on one knee and takes her hand. “You know I love you more than anything in this world, so I say this with love, but you know, deep in your heart, this is not Dixie’s dream wedding.”

“It’s not?” She watches him shake his head. “It’s not. It’s my dream wedding, isn’t it?”

He slides the ring on her finger. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you sooner. I felt like such a jerk watching you plan all this knowing it was what you wanted. But I knew you wouldn’t want to share this with another bride, so I was going to wait until they were back from their honeymoon.”

She stares at the huge rock on her hand. “But the license.”

“We’ll get the legal part done next week.”

“I’m just supposed to wear her dress?”

I intervene here. “Mom can do some quick alterations if you need it. You and Dixie are about the same size.”

I notice the vestibule is filling up with family as we all witness Saltine Brad really come out of his shell. “Megan Marie Stone, will you marry me? Today?”

She looks at me for an answer for the first time in our entire lives. I nod my agreement. She swallows hard and looks back at Brad. “Sure.”

Sure?

I nudge her with my elbow.

“Yes!” she laughs and launches onto the floor with him and into his arms. “Yes, I will marry you today.”

It’s not for hours that I finally feel done with this day and can relax and have fun at the reception. Megan and Brad got hitched without a hitch.

The flowers, the tulle, the cake, the colors...everything was exactly the way Megan always dreamed her wedding would be. She informed me she’s keeping all Leo and Dixie’s presents, too. I don’t blame her.

The first wedding dance has commenced and now the bridal party is filtering on to the dance floor. Christopher is right there when I need him and leads me to the group. He’s played patient, helpful boyfriend-to-someone-in-a-wedding-party all day, fetching things and moving tables and chairs as necessary. We haven’t had a minute alone until now, I’ll admit I’ve been avoiding it.

After today, there’s no reason to pretend to be dating anymore.

Last night...last night was so intense. I’ve never been so fully present while having sex.

“You look amazing,” he says. “Prettiest woman in the room.”

He’s holding my hand and it feels forced between us for the first time. I want to make it less awkward, but that’s not exactly my strong suit, is it? “I can’t believe Megan chose such a cliché for a wedding song. I mean, ‘Up Where We Belong’? It’s very Megan of her.” Christopher smiles and puts his arm around me and that’s when it hits me. “Goddess, Christopher. This is the first time we’ve danced together,” I say as the horror dawns.

“Yeah.”

I pull back to look at him. “That makes this our song now.”

He laughs and then this look steals over his face, and he shakes his head. “I had a worse song once. My ex and I slow danced to ‘Three Times a Lady’ at a Motown-themed party.”

“‘Three Times a Lady’ was your couple song? No wonder you didn’t last.”

Oh, shit. That was the wrong thing to say. He looks crestfallen. “That wasn’t the only reason, but I’m sure it didn’t help.”

“That’s the first time you’ve mentioned having an ex. I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever dated anyone before me.”

His shields go up. “Well, it didn’t work out.”

“Thanks for the recap, Captain Obvious.” I squeeze him so he knows I’m kidding around.

He laughs, but it’s sort of hollow. I feel like my heart is hollowing out on this dance floor. Maybe I’d already been making room in it for Christopher. Just in case. And now that he’s vacating the space with each passing minute, it’s all echoes in there. “Were you in love with her? Your ex?”

“I thought I was.”

Jealous or not jealous? I can’t decide how I feel. “Wool socks love or dagger through the heart love?”

“Doesn’t matter. It didn’t work out.”

“Ah, dagger through the heart then. Is that why you’re so cautious? Did she hurt you very badly?” While I kind of hate thinking about him being in love with anyone who isn’t me, I hate the idea of him being hurt even more.

I force myself not to get too comfortable in his arms. It’s tempting to melt. To pretend this is real.

Do I want this to be real? Is this what I want? Christopher, the disapproving veterinarian? I hold my breath. I’m afraid he can somehow reach right into my head and pull out my thoughts, and I don’t think I want him to know. If not, why is my heart hollowing out?

Is it just the sex? There is no denying the sex is great. I love that he loses his mind when he needs to be inside me. I love the way he uses my body so roughly, but at the same time manages to make me feel treasured.

“I asked her to marry me.”

I pull back, all melting stopped. “You were going to get married?”

His muscles stiffen. Tin Man style. That’s when I realize that he is the marrying kind. The committing kind. With someone else, anyway. Someone not me.

I don’t understand why it hurts so much. We weren’t even really dating.

“What happened?” What was she like? What inspired you to want to spend the rest of your life with her?

“Do you remember the show Marry Me Flashmob?”

“That was on MTV, wasn’t it? Public proposals or something?” I pause. “Oh, Christopher...”

I do remember that show. I remember one in particular that went viral—after the flashmob was over, the girl said no. Right in front of everyone in the food court and everyone who later watched it at home.

“Buzzfeed, YouTube, Facebook, Twitter...my fifteen minutes of fame lasted about a month before something more interesting came along.”

That was Christopher? I’m thinking back to how often I saw it pop up on social media. “I didn’t even recognize you. You had Bieber bangs then.”

“More of a Zach Efron style, I think. At least, that’s what my ex used to say.”

“I’m so sorry. That must have been very painful for you.”

“Well, now you see why I avoid the limelight. It’s not very flattering.”

“So, I take it you two broke up right away.”

He nods. “Yeah. Maybe now you can understand why I’m not...”

He leaves it hanging, but I know what he thinks. That he can’t trust love. That maybe he doesn’t deserve love.

He’s so wrong about that.

“Look, it was a hell of a way to find out she didn’t want to marry you, but you can’t just give up on love and romance entirely because you got rejected once.”

“Stella, I’m not the kind of guy who could go through that twice. I’m a very private person. It took every ounce of courage I could muster to put myself out there like that. To do it so publicly and with a camera crew. I thought she would like it. Find it romantic. Understand how much I sacrificed to do something so against my introverted nature. Instead, she made me the laughingstock of pop culture.” Christopher clutches me harder, but not to get closer. He’s tense, angry. “No, I take that back. It isn’t her fault. I made myself the laughingstock. I misread everything. It’s my issue that I don’t understand how love works. How people work.”

“Well, as someone who is embarrassed a lot, I can sympathize with you. But you’re a good man. You’ll make a good husband. A good father. But you’ll have to open up more if you want the real thing, Christopher.” Be careful. “With someone. Someday.”

He blows out another breath. A huff really.

Change the subject. The song is almost over.

I need to rip off the Band-Aid, don’t I? “I think we should look like we’re having some kind of argument.”

“What?”

“So our breakup will be more believable. You know...if we have a fight in front of everyone.”

“Stella—”

I pull back. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Dance?”

The pulse in my ears grows louder.

“You mean...us, don’t you?”

A look steals over his face that reminds me of his face when he told the police some of Mrs. Bain’s cats were going to have to be put down.

My back stiffens. I knew we weren’t going to be a real thing after this, but I thought...might as well be honest. I kind of believed we could be a thing after this. For all my protesting, part of me hoped for something more. But if I want even a shred of dignity left after he leaves town Monday night, I need to make this a clean break.

“I’m going to walk away now. Tell everyone later that we argued. As you know, I’m taking Monday off for family stuff. There are two surgeries scheduled, but that’s it. No appointments. Carlita knows what to do with the charts and my computer.”

“Stella...”

We stop dancing, the song still swirling around us, but he doesn’t stop staring at me. My heart is still trying to lead me into the dark. I know he can see in my eyes that I’m pleading with him to stop me. Change my mind. Say something. Keep me.

It’s not like I didn’t know this was coming.

It’s better this way.

I don’t storm off. I take one step back. Then another. He doesn’t stop me.

He’s not going to.

I turn slowly and walk toward the door calmly, knowing the moment that Perry and Tru are behind me. They will keep me upright.

“It’s okay,” I tell them. “I knew it was coming. It’s part of our plan. I’m okay.”

Perry hooks her arm in mine. “We got this. Lizzo and Haagen-Dazs on the way. Just hold on.” We get to the gift table by the exit. “And don’t you dare look back.”

Chapter Twenty

Christopher

Monday, all the stars are back in place, but nothing shines.

I’m feeling lower than I’ve ever felt and missing something I never wanted. I get a call from Dr. Anderson. Good news, everything is on schedule...her father is coming here to live with her, so I’m free to go back to the city after we close. She’ll be rolling into town in another hour or two.

It should be good news. Living in Brazen Bay now is out of the question.

I can’t believe I let myself fall in love with someone who clearly didn’t want me. Again.

It’s better this way. She’ll move on. Find someone who doesn’t try to take down her stars.

When I get home to my apartment in Seattle that evening, my mother is just leaving after having watered my plants. She follows me back into my place. The air is stale, but my mail is stacked neatly on the kitchen counter. My plants are thriving. And well, that’s really it. That’s how easily I can walk out of my life for weeks at a time.

“Thanks for taking care of things here, Mom.”

She looks me over in that way that mothers do. “What’s wrong, son?”

Nothing. Everything.

“Do you want tea?”

She shakes her head. “You’re troubled by something.”

I suppose that is one way to describe it. “How did you and Dad make your marriage work?”

“What do you mean?” She sits down on the tan sofa. That’s on the tan carpet. In the room with tan walls. Damn, everything is so neutral. Not just my apartment. My life. Nothing goes forward or backward. I’m just idling through it.

“You’re so different from each other.”

“Son, that’s why it works.”

“You fought all the time. Maybe you still do.”

“Your father and I are very passionate people. We’re better about communicating now. I know it bothered you when you were a child, and I’m sorry. Children don’t come with a manual. Hell, neither does marriage. And your father is an obstinate fool, of course.” She still gets a goofy grin when talking about my dad. “Lord, that man. Are you having woman troubles?”

I join her on the couch, a sudden need to be near her. To feel comfort from my mother in a way I haven’t in a long time. “I thought I knew what I wanted. But there’s this woman...”

She picks up my hand. “It’s about time.”

“Mom.” She squeezes my hand gently. “I think I ruined it.”

“Tell me about her,” she encourages.

“She’s infuriating. Messy. Erratic. Colorful, dazzling actually. Surprising. Remarkable. Wonderful.”

She laughs. “So why do you think you ruined it?”

“Well, I was myself. Predictable. Plodding. Dull. Colorless. Stella, that’s her name, is so different from me. The way she talks circles and surrounds herself with colorful chaos. And shiny things. Mom, you should see her when something shiny catches her eye. She’s drawn to it. I’m the opposite of shiny.”

“Oh, Christopher. You’ve always been shiny to me.”

“You’re my mother. You’re biased.”

“Probably. You still haven’t told me how you ruined it.”

Her eyes are brilliant with excitement, not compassion. I think she isn’t taking this seriously. Like she thinks she can matchmake me back into Stella’s good graces. “Well, for starters, she broke up with me on the dance floor of her brother’s wedding reception. And I let her. I didn’t try to stop her, even though I know I’m in love with her.”

Her eyes grow round at that admission. “Wow. Did you have a fight? I’m trying to imagine you arguing in public and I just can’t.”

“Well, then you probably won’t believe me when I tell you I was in bar brawl Friday night.”

“What?”

“Some guy said some unflattering things about Stella, so I hit him.”

“Christopher, my word, what’s gotten into you?”

“See? That’s what I mean. Stella brings out a lot of things inside me that I don’t like. But she also makes me feel...”

“Feel what, sweetheart?”

“Everything. She makes me feel everything. Good and bad. I can’t find my equilibrium with her.”

“Is that how you felt about Heather?”

I inhale a shocked breath. Nobody talks about Heather around me. My instinct is to get up, get off this couch, and go workout or run. Anything to get away from this conversation with my mother that we never had. Not once.

But maybe we should.

“I haven’t examined my feelings about Heather. I closed that door and I don’t want to open it again.”

“Christopher, you’re not a coward. Open the door and have a look.”

I close my eyes. Imagine Heather. Pretty. Charming. Intelligent.

Had she ever stirred me the way Stella does? I loved Heather, at least I thought I did. When she broke my heart, it was enough to keep me from opening it again. But did she make me feel the same as I feel about Stella?

I shake my head. “No. I cared enough about Heather to ask her to marry me, but I never felt my world was upside down when I was with her.”

“You’re not going to like what I have to say, son. But I’m going to say it anyway. The reason you closed yourself off from love wasn’t because Heather didn’t return your feelings. It was because you were humiliated. It isn’t fear of love that’s imprisoned you. It’s your pride.”

She’s wrong. I wanted to marry Heather, share my life with her. And she...shit. She humiliated me. She may not have meant to cause lasting damage. She was right to say no to a marriage proposal she didn’t want, and I’ve never looked all that closely at how that must have affected her also. She was in that viral video as much as I was, and she got blindsided by the whole thing. At least I knew what was going on.

“I can see your wheels turning, so I’m going to let you spend some time with your deep thoughts. Besides, your father and I have a class tonight.”

I get up with her and walk her to the door. “What class?”

Her eyes dart to the side. “It’s actually more of an activity than a class.”

“Why do I not want to ask you to elaborate, Mother?”

She raises her palms with her shoulder shrug. “Naked gardening.”

“What? Did you just say—?”

“It’s not sexy. It’s about connecting to the earth and clearing your energy. You know your father and I have been exploring nudism.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I keep trying to block it out, but you keep reminding me.”

“Well, a group of us meet on a private, secluded estate, and we weed flower beds in the nude. It’s very refreshing.”

I close my eyes. Stella would love her. Adore her really. She’d probably want to do the naked gardening too. And I’m increasingly uncomfortable with the idea. “Thanks for watering my plants. Have fun at your class. Give my best to Dad.”

She stops in the doorway and turns back to me, palming my cheek. “You deserve to be happy, Christopher. Please let yourself.”

When she’s gone, I try to resist the urge, but finally give in and power up my computer, finding the file I’m looking for pretty easily.

The video starts playing, and I’m thrown back into the head and heart of a young, stupid man again. Me. Or at least the man I used to be. The music starts. “Ain’t No Other Man.” There I am. Zoot suit from the ‘20s. Fedora. Lip-synching. Dancing an awkwardly choreographed number. In a food court at the mall where we met. Jesus. Friends join in. Heather’s brother and sister. Her parents. My parents. There I am on my knee. Opening a ring box. Cameras on both of us because we’re being filmed for a cable show called Marry Me Flashmob. There’s Heather’s stunned face. There’s the close-up of me as the realization hits me for the first time that she might say no.

I look...young. Stupid. Weak.

Camera zooms to Heather. She looks...regretful. Sad. Embarrassed.

The show aired this clip, of course. They had the right to. It was good TV, right? I’d signed the contract. No way out.

But it wasn’t just the show that aired the clip.

I got invited to all the late-night talk shows after it went viral. I was known as the “Ain’t No Way Man.” I declined the TV appearances, of course. But it was a public trial, and I was judged as the idiot who had no idea his girlfriend wasn’t in love with him. That’s what she told me. On camera.

I vowed to not ever face that again. The humiliation. The broken heart. Crushed dreams. I know I’m just not built for that. And life has been easier ever since I decided not to let myself get that close to anyone again. Not to express how I feel inside. Not to hope for anything.

I watch the video again, thinking it will help me stay strong, to know that life with Stella would be my worst nightmare. Never-ending opportunities for YouTube fail videos. I pause on my close-up this time, trying to remember that feeling so I never feel it again.

But I don’t think I looked weak now. I think...I think I looked brave.

I was willing to risk a lot. I was bolder then. Since that day, I’ve been auditing my life instead of engaging in it.

Wasting it, really.

I don’t want to die in a tan apartment, alone and scared of feeling anything. I want color and sparkle and unpredictable chaos in my life.

I want Stella in my life.

My heart is thumping a hundred miles an hour as regret fills my stomach.

If I’d have stayed on that dance floor... we would have spent the night together Saturday. And we’d have been making love all weekend.

And then I might have been brave enough to tell her what I’ve known since that day she careened into my life.

I hope it’s not too late.

Chapter Twenty-One

Stella

I plop the bag of grinders on the bar at Ironwing and take the seat next to Brandon McKendrick, Nash’s dad. “You hungry, Brandon? I’ll split my sandwich with you since we both know Nash won’t share food.”

Nash pops up from behind the bar where he’d been doing...bar things...behind the counter. I don’t know what goes on back there and I don’t want to. It’s like a magician and his tricks. Or Disney and all the stuff you can’t see in the tunnels. I don’t want my beer to lose its magic. “Hey. I share food,” he says.

Brandon laughs. “I already ate lunch. I’m heading out.”

He leaves as I unwrap our food. We try to have lunch together once or twice a month. Nash comes around and sits next to me. “So, the bride make it back from her honeymoon?”

He’s talking about Megan. Leo and Dixie gave them their trip.

“They landed in Los Angeles. They’re coming home tomorrow. Barbados was awesome, Brad is sunburned, and they have commenced Project Baby.”

“Already?” Nash asks. “Man, so now instead of wedding stuff, she’s going to drive us nuts with baby nonsense.”

“Pretty much,” I reply. “I now know more about my sister’s cycle than is healthy. But we had ten glorious days with her out of the country, that’s something.”

We clink our Coke cans together.

“Thanks for bringing lunch.” He takes a bite and talks with food in his mouth. “Heard from Christopher?”

I shake my head and try to feel Zen even though hearing his name is painful. “No, and I don’t intend to.”

“What did you guys fight about?”

“Nothing,” I answer. Which is kind of true. “We just weren’t right for each other.”

Nash contemplates me carefully. “You know I’m not one to meddle.”

“Are you serious right now?” I take a drink. “Your middle name is Meddle.”

He takes a potato chip from my bag. “I don’t meddle. I just keep things running smoothly. Sometimes that means I have to intervene. Anyway, my point is that you and Christopher seemed to fit. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

“Remember how everyone thought you and I would get married someday?”

“You never thought we’d get married someday.”

“Goddess, no. You’re one of my best friends. I’d never have ruined that by dating you.”

After an exaggerated shudder, he dives back into his food. “I sometimes thought I’d probably marry Perry.”

I pause with the sandwich halfway to my mouth. “Yeah, I don’t think that was ever going to happen. I'm glad you found Tru. I’m glad she makes you happy. You deserve to be happy.”

“Back at you.”

He takes another careless bite. “You talk to Devon lately?”

I recoil in abject horror. “Gross. No? Why? Not you too...Megan thought I should get back together with him.” I shudder. Come to think of it, Devon wasn’t at the wedding.

“She must not know then. About the bachelor party.” The front door opens and Nash waves to the guys who go directly to the pool tables in the corner.

“Pitcher when you get a chance, Nash,” one of them yells and he nods.

“Know what?” I ask, bringing him back to the conversation. “What doesn’t my sister know?”

“Christopher didn’t tell you?”

“Christopher? Tell me what?”

“That night they turned my pub into a roadhouse—the fight was started by Christopher. He punched Devon. First.”

“Christopher punched first?”

“Christopher punched first.”

“My Christopher...well, not mine, but Christopher started a fight? What happened? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

Nash shrugs. “I thought you knew. Devon said shit about you, Christopher popped him in the face, Devon tried to land a punch, but ended up connecting with Brad on accident. That’s when I threw Christopher into the hall and called you to collect him.”

He goes back around the bar to draw the beer. Or whatever you do to beer from taps. Pour? Pump? Pull? I don’t know.

I’m trying to imagine Christopher starting a bar fight. Over me. It doesn’t compute. Not stodgy, boring, retentive...sexy, warm, slyly humorous Christopher Lockwood, DVM.

Goddess, we never would have worked. Never. This Year of Stella has shown me that I have a lot of work to do. But the thing I need to do most of all is make sure the next guy I date actually likes me. The way I am.

Because I deserve that.

But I miss that stupid, perfect face. And those damn beige ties. And the way he would look at me sometimes with a certain kind of wonder in his eyes. I never knew how to handle that look. Maybe if I had, I don’t know, talked to him, said things I was feeling, he would have stuck around.

But instead, whenever I felt things get too serious, I ran away. Good time Stella doesn’t know how to handle it when a guy might really like her. Care about her.

“You okay?” Nash asks. “Hey, I know what will cheer you up. Devon left town.”

“Well, that’s something. For how long and how do you know?”

“Katie is housesitting for him.”

“Your new bartender? Wait, Devon doesn’t have a house.”

“Yeah, I think he’s supposed to be taking care of Nick’s place while he’s in China. But rumor has it, one of his college girls is pregnant so he ditched town.”

“How is that supposed to make me feel better?”

He sets a beer down in front of me. “She didn’t marry a train wreck? Her child won’t be raised by an idiot? I don’t know. I thought you’d be glad he was gone.”

“Well, she’s better off without him, but I’m sure he can afford child suppor. What a weasel.”

I hear the door again and am surprised to see little Misty from the vet’s office in a princess dress and tiara. “Misty, you can’t be in here, sweetie. It’s a bar. Where’s your mom?” I get up to make sure she’s okay.

“You hafta come outside with me.”

“Okay, but honey, where’s your mom?”

She takes my hand and pulls me out the door. Her family is on the sidewalk. So is Megan.

Megan?

She flies into my arms smelling like coconut and Coco Chanel.

“I thought you were coming home tomorrow? Why are you smiling and is that a rose? Why are you holding a rose?”

Megan squeezes me. “We came back a day early as a surprise.”

“Um, okay.”

Something feels...off. Obviously. Everyone is staring at me expectantly. Why would Megan lie to me about what day she was coming home as a surprise? And why include Misty and her family?

Megan fidgets like she has to pee. “Oh, the rose is for you.”

Misty’s family is staring at me and smiling. Nash comes out the door and smiles. As does Perry who was in disguise wearing her hair up in a trucker hat, jeans, men’s shoes, and a flannel shirt.

I can’t figure out what is going on, but Misty tugs my hand again.

“Just a second, sweetie.” I look at Perry and throw my other hand out. “Why are you dressed like you just went fishing and your name is Joe or Mike?”

She pulls the hat off, her hair cascading out like a shampoo commercial. “I didn’t want you to recognize me when I came in to pretend to play pool. Duh.”

“Why?” What the heck is going on around here? It’s not my birthday. I don’t have any milestones to celebrate.

“Because I was in disguise!”

“But why?”

She flares her impatient face at me. “Take the rose from your sister and go with Misty.”

“Okay, okay. Geez.”

The street is dotted with people I know and some I don’t. As I walk down the road, Dixie and Leo and Tru step out from the curb and join Megan, Perry, and Nash, who are behind me. Now Dr. Anderson joins our party.

“Why are we having a parade?” I ask, but nobody answers me. People are filming us on their phones as we go down the street. There are cheerleaders on the corner with pom-poms and they fire off a glitter cannon. A spray of colorful paper streamers and shiny confetti showers us. Everything shimmers, catching the sunlight as the breeze picks them up.

“Mom, Dad,” I say as my parents fall out of line on the side of the road and we pause to hug. “What is going on?”

They loop their arms through my elbows on either side of me and propel me to the Victorian house with all the colors.

Balloons and paper stars decorate the Sold sign. Somebody bought the house. I’m disappointed even though I’m not in the market for a house right now. I think lately I just like feeling disappointed.

My great-aunt and her Pekinese are sitting on a chair in the yard and she claps at me.

What the heck is going on?

I get pushed into the yard and everyone crowds around me. “Okay, this is weird. Somebody needs to tell me—” My heart catches when I see Christopher.

He leaves the porch and walks toward me wearing a suit and holding a bouquet of...glitter pens? I still don’t know what is going on, but I wish someone had at least clued me in enough to make sure I didn’t have food in my teeth before I got here.

He’s gorgeous. I don’t know how I ever thought he was awkward. He’s still wearing those huge glasses, but behind them, his eyes are trained on me. The air feels charged, a moment dragging impossibly long between us. Like static buzzing and zapping. I can’t look away from his eyes, even though I know I’ve been staring into them too long. It’s like falling. Or maybe flying.

I’m in love. Dagger through the heart love. Why? Why now? Why him? What is going on? He stops in front of me, a look of determination on his stupid, perfect face. How does he look so damn good?

I want. Goddess, do I want. I’ve never let myself long for anything as much as I long for him. And I’ve longed for stuff before pretty hardcore.

I want him. All of him. I want the taste of him on my lips. The slide of his skin under my hands.

But it wouldn’t be enough.

I want his smiles. The light in his eyes. His laughter and his pain and all the things I’m not entitled to. Because I made him up. He was never mine.

“What are you doing here?” My voice is raw, like I’m swallowing jagged tears. I know better than to hope. “What is happening?”

He takes a deep breath. “My life is incredibly boring. I mean like really, really boring.”

I look around, wondering if anyone else is as lost as I am. They are all smiling.

Hope is a terrible thing. The way it clings like sap. You can wash it off, but a bit always remains, reminding you it’s there.

“Or it was boring until I met you. And then it was boring again when you were gone.”

“I don’t understand. Christopher, what is going on?” Please put me out of my misery. Please finish this.

Please love me.

“Knowing you has fundamentally changed something inside me. A seismic shift. The ground beneath my feet has liquified.”

“Um, okay.”

“I’m having a hard time finding the right words.” He blows out a breath and I remember what his hot breath felt like on my skin. “I like the way the shifting ground feels. I really, really like it...and you.”

Hope shoots up like a sprig of grass fighting to live in the crack of the sidewalk. “You like me?” I look around at everyone assembled. “Is that why we’re all here? Because you like me?”

“No. I’m making a mess of this. Sorry. So, the people on the porch are my parents and my grandparents.”

My breath catches in my throat and they all four wave to me.

“They are here because I want to include my family and yours because they’re important to us. I’m here because you stole my heart the first time I saw you.” I can see the pulse in his neck jumping and a fine sheen of sweat on his temples. He’s nervous. About me. “I’ve never known another person who could irritate me more.” Right, okay. That’s legit. “You make me crazy. I want to throttle you as much as I want to kiss you senseless.” He inhales deeply, and I notice his hands are shaking. “I’m completely and wholly in love with you. That is why we are all here.” He holds up his free hand. “No, wait. Don’t say anything. I need you to listen to all of it. Here,” he thrusts the pens at me, “take these.”

I don’t think I’m breathing anymore.

“Christopher...”

“I bought this house.”

The Easter egg Victorian? “You hate this house.”

He shakes his head. “No, I hate the way it scared me. The way it challenged me to think differently. That it invited chaos and needed to be filled with children and pets and love and hope. This house is like your heart. And I didn’t think I was the kind of man who could fill your heart with children and pets and love and hope. But I am.”

I look around again at the public spectacle he’s created for himself. Not unlike his failed proposal. Where did he find the courage to put himself out there again? All for me?

“It occurs to me that I never asked you to be my girlfriend. We just sort of...accidentally started dating.”

“Accidentally...” I look around at the crowd, wondering if I should come clean with them all at some point. Perry shakes her head, reading my thoughts.

Christopher takes my hand. He pushes those damn glasses back up the bridge of his nose, and I’m done for. Of all the nerds in the world, this one is mine. “I’d like you to be my girlfriend.”

“For real? But...”

“Nobody will ever love you like I do. I promise you will never question how wonderful I think you are. I will love you with the dagger to the heart you want so much, but I will also give you wool sock love every day for the rest of our lives.”

“The rest of our lives?”

This whole thing is like something I would have cooked up, and I think that is the point. He’s trying to show me he understands me. But what about him? “What changed? You don’t want the kind of romance that feels like daggers. You want someone sensible. That’s not me. You know that’s not me and never will be. I don’t want to make you unhappy. You should have what you need.”

“Unhappy? You make me see stars, Stella. How could I ever be unhappy?”

I inhale sharply. I don’t think I will ever get a full breath again.

“And all this?” I gesture to our family and friends. “I thought you’d have had enough of flashmoblike events.”

“I have. I’ve been a wreck all day. But I knew that you would understand. That this is me doing the scariest thing I can conceive of to prove to you that you are more important to me than anything.”

There’s a strange ball in my throat making it hard to swallow. “I’ve never been in love before. I’m pretty sure I’m going to screw it up.”

He takes my hand. “We’ve got this.”

I’m conscious of all the eyes on us. Of all the love and support behind me. “Yes, Christopher. I will be your girlfriend, officially. Again.”

We lean into each other for our first kiss that didn’t come with a lie attached to it. Everyone around us cheers. I can’t believe this is happening.

“I love you,” he whispers against my mouth, his arms tightening like bands around me, which is good because I am about to fly apart into a million pieces.

There is only one first kiss after a first I-love-you, and I want to commit it to my memory with a glue gun and glitter. The soft glide of lips meeting lips soon becomes more. Christopher deepens the kiss, growling a low sound of satisfaction. My bones melt more with each slant of his mouth as we trade promises without words.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Christopher

Stella pulls back, that wonderful dazed look on her face again. “Did that really just happen?” She holds onto my wrists, my hands framing her face. “Are we going steady?”

“Looks like it.” My heart is performing a thundering rock concert in my ribcage.

All the onlookers have moved closer now, and there are hugs and well wishes and champagne on the lawn of our new house. My parents are chatting with Stella’s parents. Perry is crying. Kids are running. Dogs are barking. And the cheerleaders break into a chant spelling out words. It’s a circus.

It’s my circus now. I am oddly proud of this.

An hour goes by when people finally start leaving to get back to their own lives. I’m not sorry I brought them all into this, but I’d like to have some alone time with the woman I just invited to my life.

We make plans to get the families together next weekend. Brunch at Stella’s folks’ house. Megan asks me if when I’m planning on proposing, but Brad steals her away before she starts in about venues.

I’ve never been so happy.

Stella and I stand on our porch as the last of the visitors go. This is it. This is ours now.

I reach for her hand. “It feels like it’s been a lot longer than two weeks since I’ve touched you.”

She turns to me, her face tense. “Are you sure about this?”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s too perfect. I’m going to wake up and this will have been a dream.”

“Hey,” I pull her into my arms, cherries and vanilla the scent of home now, “are you having second thoughts?”

“Christopher, it’s just like me to rush into something that’s better to be taken slow. I’m worried that I have lured you to my dark ways.”

“I meant what I said. Until you came along, I wasn’t really living. But if you’re not sure, we can go slow. As long as we’re together, that’s what matters to me.”

“I love you, Christopher. I’ve never told a man that.”

“I love you, too. Want to look inside your new house?”

“My new house?”

“Well, I’m not going to live here by myself.”

She sucks in a breath. “You want to live together?”

We walk in, hand in hand, and it feels right. Also, it feels empty.

The house I mean.

“I figured you’d want to help pick out furniture, so I didn’t get much.”

She lets go of my hand and wanders through, room to room, on the bottom floor. “Are you going to commute then?”

“Actually, no. Dr. Anderson offered me a partnership buy-in. She needs to be able to spend time with her dad. I made her promise not to tell you until I was ready. I’m surprised she was able to keep the secret that long.”

“So am I. So, you’re moving here to Brazen Bay. You bought a house. After everything you’ve been through, weren’t you even a little scared I’d say no?”

“Terrified, actually. But I realized I could just stick around until I wore you down. I don’t ever want to go back to my beige apartment and wonder ‘what if?’ What if I’d told you how I felt? What if I’d not let you walk away from me at the wedding? What if I’d begged you to let me love you? If you’re not ready, we can take as long as you need.”

She runs her hand along the bannister. “I had a lot of what-ifs, too.”

“I didn’t do things the right way with you before. I’ll do better this time. I love the way you are, and I don’t want you to change. I love your heart and the way you brought the stars to me.”

The light comes into her eyes for the first time since we were on the porch. I did that. I put that there. “I can’t believe you want me to move in. Are you sure you don’t want to go slower? Play it safe for a while?”

I’m so done with that. “I thought I was living a safe life, but it turns out I wasn’t really living at all. I want you to keep challenging me and keep showing me all the things I was missing because I wouldn’t look.”

I fold her into my arms, and she rests her head on my chest. “So, you want me to help you pick out furniture for your house?”

I pull back. “Our house.”

She smiles. “What if I paint stars on the wall and buy a hundred throw pillows?”

“You can do whatever you want. Whatever makes it comfortable for you. If you’re happy, then it’s home.”

Her hand comes to her heart. “Wow. You been watching Hallmark movies? That was beautiful.”

I grin. “Except the bed. You can’t pick out the bed because I already did.” I point to the ceiling. “It’s upstairs. Ready for us.”

“You have a bed.”

“We have a bed. Want to go see if we can break it?”

Stella

ALL THE PLACES THAT were hollow inside of me are full. Full of Christopher. Full of love. He’s looking at me, and I know he sees me. And he likes me. Everything about my life is different than it was an hour ago.

I take his hand and lead him up the stairs of our house. The walls seem to welcome us. I can practically hear the laughter of children and see the dog hair collecting in the corners of the stairs.

I’m Christopher’s home. Me. We’re going to take care of each other. He wants to live in my town and help me take care of animals and the people who love them.

I’m fighting the urge to believe I don’t deserve this. Because I do. The Year of Stella has been all about me learning that.

He directs me to the master bedroom. I want to see the rest of the rooms, explore every nook and cranny of this house. Our very, very fine house. But right now, I think we both need something else.

The only thing in the room is a massive bed. It’s big like a playground. It looks so masculine and imposing in a room with delicate lace curtains and matching bed linens.

Christopher has his hands on my shoulders, and I feel the heat of him behind me. “I wanted to make it big enough that someday the kids could come in on Sunday morning, and we could read stories or watch movies together.”

“Oh, my Goddess, Christopher. You don’t mess around, do you? When you go, you go all in. How many kids are you planning on us having?”

“Too many. I like watching you with kids. I like the way they take one look at you and know you’re safe. That you’ll take care of them. You know what they need. I like the way you get down on their level. The thought of you holding our children, reading them books and tying their shoes and teaching me how to play with them so they don’t hate me—it’s gotten me through a lot of lonely hours since I went back to my apartment.”

I turn in his arms. “They won’t hate you. I promise. You’re going to be an awesome dad.”

I can see it. Lazy Sundays eating French toast and reading the paper until kids come along. Then Dr. Seuss and teddy bears. Sticky fingers and puppy kisses.

I grab the lapels of his suit jacket. “I’d like to have a little bit of time that’s just for us, though. Maybe take a trip or two.”

“I want it all with you, Stella.”

“And a dog?”

“Especially a dog. We can get one tomorrow.”

I smile, from the inside. The Year of Stella has changed course and is better than ever. “I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight.” I eye the giant bed. “You’re going to have to distract me somehow.”

“I have a few ideas.”

He’s starting to look a little dangerous. Just the way I like him. “Maybe we should go grab some food. For later.”

“I stocked the fridge and stole one of your casseroles out of the freezer at work.”

I slide the zipper of my dress down. “You’re so prepared.”

“I’ve missed you so much there’s no way I wanted you to have any reason to leave this house once I got you in it.”

Later, after we’ve feasted and gorged on each other and are shaky and sweaty and sated, I open the fridge to grab some water and food and find a pink box from the bakery with a note that says, “From Megan.”

“What’s this?” I ask, pulling it out and opening it. And then my eyes get big.

Christopher reaches around me and pulls out more water. “It’s a baklava. I thought it was strange, but your sister said you’d understand.”

Epilogue

Stella

Two years later

“She’s having my baby!”

Everyone cheers as Nash announces to the ‘80s prom-themed party that Tru is pregnant. We’ve just watched Ironwing sing an acoustic version of their one and only hit song, “Bold,” and this party is revving up to be epic. I knew it was a good idea to have it tonight instead of last night like they were originally trying to plan. The moon was void of course last night and things just fall flat sometimes during that time.

Rounds of drinks get downed, but my husband is making eyes at me.

“What are you thinking?” I ask, as if I don’t know.

“I’m thinking I like you in that prom dress, and I’m wondering if I can get past second base tonight.”

“Well, that depends. If you slow dance with me to “Heaven in Your Eyes,” I’m pretty much a sure thing.”

“I’ll talk to the DJ.”

I sneak a grab of one of his tight ass cheeks. “Or you could just take me home now and do whatever you want to me.”

“Stella, I want to do everything to you.”

Our daughter is having a sleepover with his parents tonight, so we stumble into the Victorian house pretty loudly. I may have had a bit too much celebratory bubbly. The dogs, all four of them, don’t care how loud we are. The cat gives me the evil eye, but that’s her permaface, so I’m not too concerned.

I love the feel of his hot gaze on me, warming me from head to toe. He’s hungry.

We strip each other slowly, enjoying each inch of skin as it’s revealed. He’s got the body of a god, and marriage and parenthood hasn’t changed that. The flawless pecs, the vee of muscle at his hips, the beautiful monster he keeps in his pants pointing right at me. I love his body so much that I’m lost in the staring until I’m pushed onto the bed, Christopher following me. Need sparks and jolts through my whole body at the contact.

“I want you to ride me,” he says.

“You do not have to ask me twice.”

He rolls onto his back, and I straddle him, lowering myself over his cock. Slowly, so slowly. He’s big and hard and I still need to pause to adjust to my man’s girth. He’s holding still, admirably. Waiting until I’m ready.

I look into his eyes, so full of love for me, as I take the rest of him inside me and I stretch around him. Christopher reaches his arm up and pulls my head down to his. “I am so in love with you.” He kisses me and thrusts his hips up, like he’s lost control of them.

“You feel so good, honeybuns,” I tell him. He grunts at the name. I’m not lying. He’s hitting my G-spot just right. He’s taken his study of my orgasms to level eleven over the last two years, and he knows just what to do and how to do it so I’m still always a little surprised. Like, how can it still feel different every time?

I feel every inch of him like he’s a part of me now. I try for long, slow strokes, but soon it’s not enough.

“That’s it, Stella. Ride me harder.”

I slam down harder and harder, feeling the heat rising. Christopher’s eyes are squeezed tightly closed, and he’s clenching his jaw. His body is tense below me. We’re both so close.

“Look at me, Stella.” I look down, always ready to listen to his commands. In bed only, of course. “I want you looking in my eyes when you come. You’re close, aren’t you? Yeah, I can tell. You want me to come deep inside you, baby?” I nod but don’t break the eye contact. Wanting to please him. “If we hurry, we can make a baby that will be in the same class as Tru’s. Would you like that? Do you want me to make you pregnant again? Fill you up?”

This kind of talk makes me lose my mind. “Oh, yes. Yes, please. Put your baby in me.” I arch my back. “I love you so much, Christopher.”

He plants his feet and thrusts harder into me and I fly back into the Milky Way.

“You’re mine. You’re mine, Stella.” He arches and roars. I have to hold on to him to stay on top while he lets go in rolling waves of heat and pleasure. He pulls me down, so our faces are an inch apart. “You’re the best part of me. I will spend every day of my life showing you.”

I relax all my muscles and collapse onto his chest. Christopher holds me tight and we listen to the house settle around us.

Our very, very fine house.

FILTHY SWEET, RIGHT? If you enjoyed So Wrong It’s Right, please consider leaving a review so other readers who love steamy romance with laughs can find their next obsession.

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IF YOU’RE TIRED OF billionaires, maybe you’re ready for some real men. Dirty, hardworking, and good with their hands are the kind of heroes you’ll find in the Blue Collar Bad Boy Series. These guys aren’t cultured. They are hot AF alpha heroes who know how to take care of the slightly nerdy women they fall for. For reals, this series is more fun than you knew you were missing. And they don’t need to be read in order.

So which blue collar bad boy will you choose next? They are all rough, raw, and surprisingly sweet.

Like...the roadhouse bouncer and the actuarial sciences student in Bounced.

Or...the carpenter and the Jeopardy! nerd in Nailed.

Perhaps...the oil rigger and the kindergarten teacher in Drilled.

Mayhap...the tow truck driver and the sorority uptown girl in Wrecked.

Surely...the brick layer hot single dad and the babysitter in Laid.

How about...a returning military hero and the wallflower at Christmas in Tagged?

Or...the farmer who needs a wife and wants the curvy waitress in Plowed?

Or...the hot rancher trying to convince the city girl to stay in Bucked?

Maybe...the bomb squad cop and his pregnant neighbor? Did I mention she’s a virgin? You read that right. Try Banged.

And surely...the modern day Viking bartender and the bookworm virgin in Tapped?

About the author

LIKE FIRST TIMES? FORBIDDEN fruit? Yes, please.

Love a hot, dominant alpha claiming what's his? Fuck, yeah.

Want to watch him fall hard for the sweetest fantasy he didn't know he needed? Me too!

I'm Brill Harper and I love happily ever afters, smokin' hot bad boys, and quirky, often nerdy, heroines that I'd love to be friends with off page. These ladies are not perfect—but they're perfect for one man—and he's always sexy AF.

Seriously—these heroes only have one weakness, and it's sticky, sweet love. They don't let anything stand in the way of taking what belongs to them. When it comes to the women they love, it's hard cocks, dirty talk, and soft, mushy heart feels.

*Brill is a sooper sekrit penname for a better known author who just can't handle all the dirty. She can't handle it...but can you?

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Did you love So Wrong It's Right? Then you should read Don't Get Me Wrong by Brill Harper!

He can't deny his need to claim her as his…

After ten long months away on a dig, archeology professor Dr. Nick Sanders comes home to Brazen Bay surprised his house is still standing since he left his irresponsible younger brother in charge. Tired, dirty, and hungry he collapses into bed sans pajamas only to wake up wrapped around a luscious, fuming woman. She says he pulled her into the bed when she was trying to wake him up. He says he's just found his future wife.

Coed Katie Trenton was hired by Nick's brother months ago to act as the house sitter, and she'd be glad to tell Nick that if she could extricate herself from the muscular professor long enough to speak. He's the fantasy of every girl on campus, her included, and he's totally gorgeous but totally forbidden. She has nowhere else to go, but she can't stay with Nick, can she?

When a baby lands on their doorstep the next day, spending time with his niece just reaffirms to Nick that he wants Katie to be everything to him—wife, lover, and the mother of his children. She's off-limits--too young, too sweet, too innocent. But he doesn't care what the world says. She belongs with him.

Author Confession: This story goes back to the my filthy, sweet roots readers have been asking for. Insta-love, a heaping dose of immediate OTT attraction, a wildly implausible (yet completely romantic) scenario, and enough alphamallow goodness to singe your eReader. Pick up this guilty indulgence about love so wrong it's right. You know it's got the tropes you love--older man/younger woman, bad professor, possessive hero, nerdy heroine, small town romance, and what's a Brazen Bay book without a cameo from Stella?

Read more at Brill Harper’s site.

Also by Brill Harper

Blue Collar Bad Boys

Bounced: A Blue Collar Bad Boys Book

Nailed: A Blue Collar Bad Boys Book

Drilled: A Blue Collar Bad Boys Book

Wrecked: A Blue Collar Bad Boys Book

Laid: A Blue Collar Bad Boys Book

Tagged: A Blue Collar Bad Boys Christmas

Plowed: A Blue Collar Bad Boys Book

Bucked: A Blue Collar Bad Boys Book

Banged: A Blue Collar Bad Boys Book

Tapped: A Blue Collar Bad Boy Book

Love in Brazen Bay

Wrong Number Text

The Right Stuff

So Wrong It's Right (Coming Soon)

Don't Get Me Wrong (Coming Soon)

The Alphamallow Collection

Blue Collar Bad Boys: Books 1-4

Blue Collar Bad Boys: Books 5-7

Blue Collar Bad Boys: Books 8-10

Standalone

Dirty Jobs: a Blue Collar Bad Boys Collection

Notch on His Bedpost

Honeymoon With The Prince::A Modern Day Fairy Tale

Altogether

Watch for more at Brill Harper’s site.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

About this Book

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Epilogue

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Further Reading: Don't Get Me Wrong

Also By Brill Harper