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  “Please let me start over. Give me a second chance.”

  “I don’t want to go through this a second time.” It wouldn’t hurt so much if she hadn’t been so dang into him.

  “Please.”

  “Don’t come back.”

  He set the tiny box on the end table.

  “Take that crap with you.”

  He didn’t pick it up. “I’m sorry.” He left, closing the door behind him.

  She darted forward and engaged the lock before crumpling to the welcome mat. Her shoulders curved inward against the pain. Angry tears mixed with the pink splattered on her shirt.

  ****

  Leo stood on Tempest’s doorstep. The deadbolt slammed into place. He wanted to find some justified indignation in the fact that when they met she’d been hunting him just to win a bet, but the delusion wasn’t working. What she’d done was nothing compared to his lies. And leaving her at the party was unforgivable. She’d made that plenty clear. He didn’t blame her.

  This was why his sister, Zena, never set him up with her friends. This was why he would be sad and alone forever, with nothing but money and regret to keep him company.

  Gutted, he slunk down the walkway. Dean’s car pulled up to the curb. Triple crap. He could not catch a break. Dean honked and waved, his ridiculous grin indicating his night was going the opposite of Leo’s. Blair glared at Leo from the front seat. As soon as the wheels stopped, she hopped out and then marched straight at him.

  So he wasn’t going to be able to avoid them.

  “What’re you doing here, Leonard Allred?” Blair spit his full name like a curse and put her hands on her round hips. “Here to hurt my best friend even more?”

  He flinched. “I’m just leaving.”

  Dean came around the car, stopping well behind Blair, clearly wanting to stay out of this. Leo wanted out too.

  “Good,” Blair said. “Don’t come back. You should be ashamed you cost a smart woman a job she loved.”

  Leo’s defenses rose with a flash of heat. “You should be ashamed of yourself. You manipulated your best friend into painting her house that hideous color.”

  She leaned back as if slapped.

  He was not sorry.

  “What kind of arrogant prick uses his assistant as a fake identity?”

  He exhaled, his temper cooling. He was too tired for this. “Glad we had this chat.”

  She whirled so fast on Dean standing behind her that he leaned back, his eyes widening and his hands lifting in surrender. “I’m glad you’re not a stuck-up billionaire.”

  Dean didn’t have a chance to answer before she grabbed his neck and pulled him a foot down to meet her mouth. She kissed him hard, her hand burying into his hair. Leo had hoped his evening would end in a kiss. How wrong he’d been. She let Dean go, landing back on her heels. Dean blinked at her like a besotted idiot.

  “Call me later,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She flounced up the path. When she passed Leo, she said, “By the way, that beard is hideous.”

  “Damn.” Dean’s eyes glittered as he watched the little tyrant try to open the locked door.

  “Stormie,” she called. “It’s just me. Let me in.” She glared over her shoulder. “The asshole is leaving.”

  Leo’s teeth clamped together hard. The door cracked open. He craned to see inside, but Tempest was hidden from view. Blair went in and slammed the door shut. Dean and Leo looked at each other in the sudden silence.

  Dean opened his lipstick-smeared mouth.

  Leo held up a hand. “Don’t.”

  Dean closed his lips and wordlessly walked over and got in his car.

  Leo sighed against the pain in his breast, suddenly too tired to even move. Until the sprinklers turned on, spraying his face and soaking his leather shoes. From the safety of his car, Dean’s palm covered his mouth, and his eyes bugged out like saucers. Leo ran to his truck, not daring to glance back at the house for fear he would see Blair’s triumphant face in the window.

  Chapter Six

  The Family Dinner

  Tempest sat in the reception of Martin Mortgage, waiting for her interview. Her phone buzzed with another text from LA—Lying Asshole as she’d changed his name in her phone. Her heart pinched as she read it.

  —Let me make it up to you. Dinner this weekend?—

  She scanned up through the last three weeks of apology texts from Arty. He’d sent one text every morning. Yesterday’s had read —I’ll never lie to you again.— The day’s before had read —I was wrong and stupid. Forgive me.— And before that —Tempest, I’m sorry. I should never have lied. I should never have left you at the party.—

  She had not responded yet, but she felt his words and his persistence hacking away at her fear and her hurt. She wasn’t unforgiving; she was afraid. She wanted to go back to the beginning and have a do-over. Deep inside, she still hoped he was the good guy she’d met at first. She’d thought their connection had been a thing of epic poems—obviously she’d been wrong. She shouldn’t have felt so much for him after only a few dates. Her rational mind knew that after what he’d done, she shouldn’t still care for him, think about him, or want him. But she did.

  Her thumbs hovered over the phone, considering. But how could she risk further heartbreak? She’d walked around that Halloween party for an hour looking for him, alone and confused. She’d called his phone, and he’d ignored her. Finally, she’d slunk back to the serving kitchen and helped Blair finish with cleanup. She’d been mortified to the point of tears. Just thinking about it again made her breathless with pain and resentment.

  She tucked her phone into her bag as a grinning, middle-aged man approached her chair and held out his hand.

  ****

  Tempest tapped her foot on the ground with the speed of hummingbird wings. She should stop; her interviewer kept looking at it, but it was partly revenge for his making her sit in this dismal office. Seriously, what was that smell? And partly a channel for her building frustration. This was the fourth interview she’d had in the last three weeks, and this was the worst of the lot. She felt juked. Martin Mortgages had posted the listing for a mortgage underwriter, but once they’ll lured her here, it changed to a job that sounded a lot more like a secretary. With a forty-three-thousand-dollar salary to match. She was not interested, and she was pissed about the false advertising.

  Red Rocco was hiring an account manager. With all the success they’d had taking over insurance companies, they needed more soldiers. She could not apply for that. Unfortunately. And it had annoyingly good benefits. She hated Leonard Allred—Leo—especially how much she didn’t hate him. How had he managed to wreck so many facets of her life within a month? It was impressive in the most morbid sense. How long would he keep texting before giving up? She was afraid he would stop.

  “Well, Tempest,” Mr. Martin said, “it’s been great talking to you. You seem to fit right in here with the Martin Mortgage community. Well, we’re more like a family, really.”

  She grimaced but hoped it looked friendly.

  “When can you start?”

  “That’s really nice, but I was expecting more responsibility and more pay.”

  His round face fell. “Well, you’re just getting started here. You’ll need time for training. I’m sure you’ll be moving right up fast.”

  “I’m not so sure.” She stood, brushing out the creases in her pencil skirt. “I think I’m better suited at a place that values me more.”

  “Well…”

  “Well, thanks. Goodbye.”

  Her phone rang as she walked out the door. She let it ring until she’d moved past reception and into the shared entrance hall. The smell was stronger here. Like egg salad. She answered the phone, said, “Hello,” then held her breath past the open doors of the deli.

  “How’s my little lady?”

  “Fine, Daddy.” Was now the time to finally tell him about the job situation? She kept meaning to tell him, but she wasn
’t in the mood. Ever.

  “Change of plans for Thanksgiving. Silvia’s invited us to come to her house. We want to bring our families together. She’s eager for our children to meet.”

  She braced her forearms against the hood of her car. She had really been looking forward to wearing sweats to Jo’s, eating her sister’s buttery rolls, drinking her brother-in-law’s give-thanks-and-gin, and watching the Cowboys.

  “It’ll be fun,” Dad said when she didn’t respond. “Silvia’s a great cook, and we want to spend the holiday with all the people we love.”

  Love. Dad had fallen in love again. She exhaled. “Of course, Dad. If that’s what you want.”

  “Thank you.” His relief was audible.

  “I’m glad you’ve found someone that makes you happy.”

  “She’s wonderful. I can’t wait for you and Jo to get to know her better.”

  “Text me the address for Thursday.”

  “She wants us there at two p.m. Don’t worry about bringing anything. The two of us have got it covered.”

  The two of us. Why was it so weird? How could her sixty-five-year-old dad find love easier than she? Her phone buzzed. Jo was calling. “It’ll be fun, Dad. Can’t wait for Thursday. I’ve got to go.”

  “All right.”

  She clicked over to Jo. “Hey.”

  “Did you talk to Dad yet?”

  “Just now.”

  “On a scale of one to super annoyed, I’m a nine point nine. Thanksgiving is in three days. You can’t just spring something like this on people. I already bought a fucking turkey.”

  Tempest breathed deeply, getting another whiff of eggy sulfur. Things were not good when Jo started swearing. Time for damage control. “I hear you. Way late on the invite. But Dad’s so excited, and I’m super curious to see her house and meet her kids.” That was a stretch, but Tempest knew Jo would be. Her sister loved checking people out.

  “I know. I really wonder. They seem fancy. Do you think the son is gay like his dad? Is that genetic?”

  Tempest rolled her eyes. “Like you’d even be able to tell.”

  Jo sounded affronted. “I am very good at judging people’s orientation.”

  She was certainly good at judging, just not necessarily with justice or accurate information.

  “I just hope the food is good,” Jo said. “I don’t get to bring my sweet potatoes and marshmallows because her daughter wants to make her sweet potatoes.” Jo’s sweet potatoes were a heart attack in a dish. “I can’t handle a bad Thanksgiving. It’s the most important meal of the year!” Her voice went high.

  “How about Blair and I come over Sunday? She’ll help cook, and we’ll whip up the traditional Swan Thanksgiving. We can talk about how much better our food is than Silvia’s.”

  Tempest could hear the smile in Jo’s voice when she said, “Do you think Blair would be willing to make those pumpkin maple bars?”

  “I’ll ask her.”

  “Thanks, T. That’s really nice of you.”

  “It’ll be fun.”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you too.” Tempest hung up. She sighed grandly. And then sighed again.

  Feeling sorry for herself, she pulled out her phone and scrolled through LA’s unanswered texts. They seemed so nice and genuine. She wanted to curl into his arms and have him kiss everything better. Before she could think too much about it, she texted —Coffee on Saturday morning.—

  He responded immediately. —I’ll pick you up at ten.—

  Her heart betrayed her, swelling and marching onward like a ticker-tape parade.

  ****

  Tempest opened the door to her house and stopped.

  Blair turned, holding out her paint brush with a flourish. “Ta-da!”

  “You repainted it cream.” Her voice was soft with surprise. The sudden heat behind her eyes startled her.

  “You won the bet. I always pay up.”

  She smiled at Blair, her eyes watering. It had been such a long month. And now to not only feel like things might work out with Leo, but to also come home to this. It felt so good. “Thank you, Blair.”

  Blair’s voice was gentle. “I want you to be happy, Stormie.”

  Had she been that obvious? She thought she’d been doing just fine. She had kept busy: extra yoga, catching up on her reading list, reconnecting with old friends, deep cleaning, testing out new recipes, job applications. But she hadn’t fooled Blair. She hadn’t fooled herself. She felt bored and useless. And alone.

  “You make me happy, Blair.” And it was true. She loved her roommate. Loved coming home to her, loved how their differences brought them closer. She liked who she was around Blair, more relaxed and spontaneous. “I told Leo I’d go for coffee with him on Saturday. Is that the dumbest thing ever?” She braced herself against Blair’s disapproval, suddenly realizing how truly eager she was to see him.

  “No.” Blair set down her paint brush. “I think you should.”

  Tempest relaxed. “Really?”

  “Are you kidding? That bugger has apologized more times than any man in history.”

  Tempest chuckled.

  “I would have given in long ago.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Because it wasn’t my place. And who am I to give relationship advice?” Blair picked at paint on her fingers. “And I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

  Tempest didn’t want to think about that possibility. “I’m having Thanksgiving dinner at my dad’s girlfriend’s house.”

  “Whoa. That’s getting serious.”

  “Seriously.” She started unzipping her skirt as she walked down the hall to her room. “She has a son and daughter we’re meeting.”

  “Maybe the son will be a hottie. A backup plan if Leo take two is a bust, if you know what I mean.”

  Tempest walked into her room without answering. She always knew what Blair meant. And she didn’t want to think about the girlfriend’s son. She wanted to think about Leo.

  ****

  Leo finished tightening the shelf in his mother’s garage. He replaced her rain boots on the now secure rack and returned the power drill to its place among her nice set of hardly used tools. He swiped the bottoms of his shoes on her welcome mat and walked into the kitchen. He inhaled the happy smell of rosemary and garlic. In two days, he’d get to take Tempest out again. He wasn’t going to screw it up this time.

  “They’re here,” Mom called, her voice eager.

  He found her at the front entry, checking her teeth and fluffing her mane of platinum hair in the mirror she’d installed by the door for that very purpose. Zena slunk over from the couch, not looking up.

  “Put that away,” Mom said.

  Zena slipped her phone into the back pocket of her blue jeans.

  “Best behavior.” Mom’s voice was stern as she looked them both in the eyes. “I really like this man, and this is important to me. I want you to get along with his daughters.”

  Mom turned to the door, and Zena rolled her eyes like, who cares about your boyfriend’s spawn? She looked a lot like Mom. The blue eyes, blond hair, and affinity for beauty products. Leo looked more like his dad, with the same gray-blue eyes and perpetually young face. During his senior year of high school, Leo could never be sure if his friends were coming over to hang with him or to hit on his freshman sister. It was still like that. Especially since they hung out together most weekends. Zena made the plans, and Leo tagged along. He liked that she had lots of cute friends, and she liked his black card.

  Mom opened the double doors and stepped into the murky November sunlight. “Welcome, welcome.”

  Leo walked out behind his sister. His gaze drifted past where his mom embraced her new boyfriend. A woman held hands with two children dressed in church clothes. His mom would love their little outfits, but they didn’t look comfortable. Following her, a friendly looking man with ruddy cheeks and thick dark hair carried a baby. Leo liked him immediately. Good, he’d have someone to
hang with today. The younger daughter came into view at the back of the line, and his veins turned to liquid nitrogen. No, no, no. This could not be happening. Not when he’d finally gotten her to go out with him again.

  “Leo, Zena.” Mom held out an arm to them, her voice high with nervous excitement. “Come meet Christopher Swan and his family.”

  That was the moment Tempest saw him. He could tell because she almost missed a step and fell into the square-shaped holly bush. The blood drained from her face. Her gaze was like a laser beam.

  Christopher motioned to his oldest. “This is Josette Marie.”

  “Just Jo, please.”

  The resemblance between the sisters was there, but he couldn’t have been less attracted to Jo or more attracted to Tempest.

  “And her husband, Benji,” Christopher said. He named the children, but Leo couldn’t hear over the pounding in his ears.

  Tempest looked good. A little tired around the eyes, maybe. Was that partly his fault? The sight of her lit him up. She wore a simple red sweater and tight black pants. Her short hair framed her face in loose curls. Zena was smiling and saying something. Then Tempest stepped up and shook Zena’s hand. Leo squinted when Tempest turned to him. She was harder to look at than the muted November sun. She didn’t offer him her hand as she looked over him in dismay.

  “Nice to meet you,” Leo said.

  It was the wrong thing to say. As if she’d been teetering between hostility or civility, and that had decided it. Her teeth clenched. Her eyes narrowed. “We’ve met.” Her voice was cold.

  Dread pooled in his belly.

  “You remember. Just after I got laid off because your software took over my job.”

  Leo opened his mouth, but it was too dry to form words. She had clearly not forgiven him. Had she agreed to Saturday coffee not to get back together but so she could yell at him some more? Anger burned through Leo’s veins. Good to know now; he’d save himself the heartache. He didn’t want to be with someone so unforgiving.

  Jo’s attention snapped to Tempest. “You lost your job?”

  Mom looked stricken. Zena looked interested for the first time.

  “Yeah.” All the acid had drained from Tempest’s voice. “Three of the four underwriters at Salvo were laid off. Happened last month.”