MG. YOU SLEPT WITH him? Tell me everything. Every detail. Does he manscape?”

“What does that mean, Jon? I’m not gay, remember?” Posey smiled. She was feeling rather smug. And deeply satisfied. And still a little tingly. She’d slept with Liam Murphy (holy Elvis!) and he’d actually asked her out again, even if he’d been very clear on what he didn’t want. But men always said stuff like that…at first. Right? And sure, in some cases, they continued to say it. But something told her Liam was different.

“Manscaping means does he have hair on his back? Tell me no. Please.”

“No back hair. Tattoo on his shoulder, though. A Celtic knot or something.”

“A little cliché, but we’ll let it pass. Hi, Lorraine, would you be a saint and give me a little more coffee? It’s so good today.”

She and Jon were eating breakfast at Rooney’s, the tiny little breakfast place on Miner Street. Generally speaking, you’d have to wait an hour to get a table on Founders’ Day Weekend, but as Jon knew and was adored by all in the food industry, the beauty industry, the retail industry and the school system, he’d only had to wave to get them a table on the patio outside, as well as two cheese Danish, on the house.

“By the way,” Jon said, “I’m getting you a Keurig for your birthday so you can stop drinking that swill of yours. Now, back to the dirt. Shovel.”

“Oh, I love Keurigs! Thanks, Jon! Okay, dirt…” She took a bite of her omelet and chewed smugly, if a person could do that. “Well, I always had this nickname for Liam. God’s Gift. God’s gift to women, right?” She grinned at her brother-in-law. “And he is. It was worth the wait.”

“The two-decade wait?”

“It’s more like one and a half, but yes.”

“He looks like he’d be a great kisser. Is he? Think he’d kiss me, just so I could tell?”

“No, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t, and yes, he’s a great kisser, Jon. Like…legs shot out from under you kind of kissing.”

“Oh, hooray! Now I have something to picture when Henry’s at the hospital all night.” Jon took a long sip of his coffee, looking at her over the rim of the thick mug, his hazel eyes kind.

She knew that look. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Something. You have reservations.”

Jon winced. “Well, okay, as your best friend—and brother-in-law—and cooking instructor—I have questions, let’s say.”

“Shoot.” She took another bite of the massive omelet, which didn’t taste quite as good as before.

“Back in high school, he was kind of a slut, right?”

She gave a half nod. “A bad boy. He took what was offered, let’s put it that way. Until he met Emma Tate, that is. The girl he ended up marrying.”

“And Emma…what was she like?”

“Oh, you know. Squeaky-clean, super nice. She’s the one who fixed me up for the prom.”

Jonathan’s eyebrows rose. “Ah. The prom. Where you had such fun?”

“My date stood me up. It happens.” She took a sip of coffee.

“It seems like more than that, since you still refuse to chaperone. Anyway, back to the Taming of the Bad Boy. He meets the princess, and they lived happily ever after until she dies. Is that right?”

“As far as I can tell.”

“Is he still—how did you put it?—taking what’s offered? Still a slut? Because I’ll beat him up if he is,” Jon said, and Posey smiled.

“Home-ec teacher takes on mechanic. I like it,” she said. “But no. I mean, I’ve seen women talking to him, but I think he’s pretty focused on his daughter these days.”

Jon nodded. “That’s what I’ve heard, too.” Jon had his thumb on the pulse, as a high-school teacher. “So, is this the real deal for you, Posey?”

Time for a mega-bite of home fries to stall. “Um…it’s all new. Just Wednesday night, you know?”

“But you already look like you’re in love.”

“Please,” she said, though she felt a telltale heat in her cheeks.

“Oh, dear,” Jon said.

“It’s just that…well, he’s not exactly a stranger, right?” Her brother-in-law nodded encouragingly. “I had the biggest crush on him.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Jon said kindly. “Just try to be careful. I mean, if he feels the same way, bliss. But if not, we’re back to the Dante situation.”

“I wasn’t in love with Dante,” Posey said. “I mean, I wouldn’t say I’m in love with…you know…the other one, either, but…”

But nothing. Since the moment she’d bumped into Liam in Guten Tag a month and a half ago, it had been impossible not to think about him. Even before last night, she’d felt a jolt of heat every time their paths crossed, every time she thought of him. She’d never been in love before, not really, unless you counted Ron, the Anderson Cooper fan. With Dante, she’d felt attraction, definitely, and she liked a lot of things about him, but the truth was, she hadn’t known him well enough to feel more than that.

But since yesterday morning, she’d been walking around as if she was filled with a buoyant, glowing warmth. Every flash of memory caused a surge of heat so delicious that twice she’d broken off midsentence, causing Elise to ask if she was okay. Even Gretchen had noticed at the restaurant yesterday. “Posey, what’s wrong? You’re all blotchy,” which of course caused Stacia to leap for a thermometer.

Yep. Felt a lot like love to her.

Jon chuckled. “Hello? Back to earth, sweets. Listen. I’m happy for you, hon, and I hope he deserves you. I never thought Dante Bellini was good enough for you. That pasta is like…well, okay, the food is amazing, and if you tell Ma I ate there, I’ll deny it with my last breath, but Dante Bellini is a poser.”

Posey put down her mug. “Speaking of Dante, I guess I should officially break up with him now,” she said in a low voice. “In case there was any…doubt.”

“Has he called you since you put things on hold?”

“Um…no.”

“Well, something tells me he’s not heartbroken. And here’s your chance. He’s getting out of his poser car right now.”

Posey looked out the window, and sure enough, there was Dante’s midnight-blue Audi, pulling up in front of Inferno.

“I’ll get this,” Jon said. “You go. Make a clean break, and here, take my bagel. I have to wear tights for the float, and God knows what I was thinking. You and your brother are freaks of nature. It’s not fair.”

“You have to wear tights?”

“Of course! Who do you think is playing the part of the prince?” He smiled proudly.

“Typecasting,” Posey said. “Thanks for breakfast.” She took Jon’s bagel, smacked him on the shoulder and crossed the street. It was a gorgeous spring day, sunny, temp in the upper fifties, breeze light and salty. Perfect parade weather, if it held for tomorrow. Today was the sidewalk stroll, a band concert on the green and fireworks over the river. She, Mac and Elise would be staffing a little booth on the green, featuring some of the smaller pieces from Irreplaceable—a few stained-glass windows, some signs, ceiling medallions and a few other things that could be easily transported. They usually sold out, and it was nice, seeing the other merchants. Maybe Liam would be there with one of his motorcycles. She’d hoped for a phone call yesterday, but no.

Didn’t matter (even if it did, a little bit). The birdies sang, the colors gleamed, the flowers smelled so sweet, the entire world seemed brighter. Amazing what a little some-some could do. Especially when the some-some had been so…well…heavenly? Would that be too strong a word? She pondered. Nope. Seemed to fit perfectly.

Oh, Elvis, the man could kiss! Sometimes, those bad-boy types, they didn’t try that hard (or so Sex and the City told her). But Liam had taken his time, uh-huh. Long and slow and meltingly delicious…and fun. She’d been nervous and a little self-conscious, and practically dying of lust, let’s be honest, but he’d made her feel…happy. And beautiful. Oh, sigh! And, in some strange way, like they were old friends, too. He smiled as they kissed, and threaded his fingers through her hair, and he told her she smelled like oranges. At one point in the wee hours, Liam had said, “Oh, God, do that again,” and the memory of his smoky bedroom do me voice had her walk right into a lamppost in the here and now.

“I saw that!” Jon called, and she waved and opened the door to Inferno. Posey felt a rush of pleasure at the décor…there was St. Agnes of Rome holding her lamb, a gargoyle in the corner, the incredible walnut bar—that had been a delicate job, getting that taken down and reassembled, that was for sure. The overall effect was rich, intimate and tasteful.

From the kitchen came a crash of pans and some yelling (in Italian, which had kind of a hotness to it). “Hello!” she called.

The yelling stopped. “I’m so sorry, we don’t open until— Oh. It’s you.” Dante came out of the kitchen, dressed in a white suit with a deep blue shirt.

“Hi, Dante,” she said. “Got a minute?”

“Sure,” he said. He pulled out a chair for her, and they sat down at a table. Posey looked at him—all dark pirate beauty—and smiled awkwardly. It was suddenly a little hard to believe they’d had a thing together. Not that she wasn’t fabulous, of course (hey—if Liam Murphy slept with her…). But just that Dante’s taste didn’t seem to incorporate a woman in Carhartt. He wasn’t smiling, and his was a face that was a little bit scary if it didn’t have a smile.

“So, how are you?” she asked.

“Fine. And you?”

“Oh, great. Are you ready for the weekend?”

“Yes.” Unlike Guten Tag, Inferno didn’t participate in the parade. Way too tacky. Instead, they hosted a wine and cheese tasting on the town green, their tent lavishly decorated with grape vines and furnished with small tables. A far cry from the Goose Girl theme Stacia had chosen for this year’s float.

Dante was looking at her with his glittering dark eyes. “So, why are you here, Posey?”

Was it possible that his coolness was to cover some hurt feelings? Granted, he was the one who hadn’t wanted to take things to the next level, but maybe—maybe—he’d expected her to come back. She suddenly felt much worse.

“Well,” she said, “you know how we talked about our, um, relationship? A little while ago?”

“Yes.”

Her toes curled in her work boots. God, these talks were hard! Not that she’d ever given one, but heck. There should be index cards you could just hand out. “Um, well, I think that it’s pretty clear that we want different things—” also, I slept with someone else and am completely infatuated “—and I just wanted to make things official.”

“Official?” Dante’s dark eyebrow lifted.

Posey looked down at the tablecloth. “I mean, we said we’d take a break, and we did, and I think we should just…call it quits. In case there was any gray area here.”

He made a chuffing sound and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “Fine with me. Was there anything else?”

Ouch. She swallowed, then shook her head. “Nope. Nothing else.”

“Then you have a good day.” With that, he stood up and walked back to the kitchen and resumed his yelling.

Posey got up from the table, pushed the chair back carefully, and walked to the door, fighting the urge to bolt. Her skin crawled with…something. Shame. Dismay, maybe, because it was suddenly horribly clear that Dante had never wanted anything more from her than what he’d gotten.

Had she really imagined that he’d choose her as a girlfriend, or—yes, yes, she’d imagined it—wife? Had she really thought that a few sex dates would lead to a deeper relationship? Even though she was done with him, even though she’d initiated their breakup, she suddenly felt so…small. Hiding-in-the-bathroom small.

Dante Bellini had never had any kind of intentions toward her. She’d been available. She’d been convenient, she’d asked for nothing. She’d been easy, in more ways than one.

And tell me, said a small voice in the back of her brain—a voice that sounded distressingly like Gretchen’s—how are things with Liam any different?