ON’T KNOW WHY your panties are in such a twist,” Lavinia said a few hours later. “It’s not your wedding.”

“Well, I like Maggie. And Malone.” She wound a blue ribbon around the stem of a bouquet, fingers flying.

“So do I,” Lavinia said. “Just don’t see what’s so awful about them there.” She gestured toward the Teleflora book, circa 1972, at the arrangements she’d told Parker they’d be reproducing.

“Orange chrysanthemums, Vin? We’re not doing orange chrysanthemum centerpieces. Trust me. We can do gorgeous.”

“Well, for three hundred bucks, it’s gonna be only so gorgeous.” Lavinia did her trademark stub-out, and while Parker’s own hands had developed some calluses these past couple of weeks, the sight of ciggie against palm still made her flinch.

“It’ll be gorgeous. You’ll see. Get here early, okay?”

“No way in hell I’m getting up at 5:00 a.m., Parker. I got a date with His Honor tonight.”

“I’m sure what he’s doing is illegal.”

“Oh, it is, all right. In some states.”

Parker laughed. “I meant, making you go out with him instead of fining you for growing pot—”

“Medical marijuana, please.”

“—without a license.”

“Whatever, Parker. I’m just scraping by with the flowers. Figured the pot would help. I’m hardly a drug dealer.”

“No. That’s me.” Parker set down the flower-girl bouquet and started on the bridesmaid’s.

Vin laughed. “Look at you, Miss Busy Bee. Want my help with anything?”

Parker straightened up and looked around. The shop was a mess. “You can do the boutonnieres, okay? A little bitty sprig of hydrangea, and a piece of ivy, like this.”

“I think I can make a boutonniere, Parker,” her cousin said. “I’ve been in business for thirty years.”

“Got it. Sorry, Vin.”

Lavinia gave her a grudging smile. “Ah, well. I admit…you’re not half-bad at this.”

By four o’clock, Parker’s back was aching, and they still had miles to go. But Lavinia was growling about the judge, and honestly, everything that could be done today was done. She’d take care of the rest in the morning.

“Vin, you go ahead. You have a date. I’ll clean up.”

“It’s more of a sex date. What do you kids call that these days?”

“Booty call?”

“Ayuh. Don’t get me wrong, my eyes are wide open. Men would fuck a fur-lined knothole, you know what I mean? I’m just glad to be getting a little some-some at my age.”

Parker grinned. “I’m so glad we’re related,” she said honestly.

“You’re a good cousin,” Lavinia said. “Not much like your mother, are you?”

“Mom’s not so bad.”

“That branch of the family never got over being rich. We had more practice, over on my side. Ah, well. Gotta go pluck some hairs and shave my legs,” Lavinia said. “Thanks, kid.”

“You bet.”

Parker cleaned up the mess of stems and bits of blossom and ribbon, then swept the floor. Admit it, Spike said, stubbing out a ciggie the same way Lavinia did. You’re avoiding him.

It was true.

James was five years younger than she was. Did he want a serious relationship with a single mom, or a roll in the hay? Did she want more? James always seemed so much like Harry…slick, insincere. Parker, always lovely to see you. She couldn’t help feeling as if he was mocking her, that lifted eyebrow, that gleam in his eye. His compliments on her books always stung a little, as if she didn’t already know they were nauseating and fake.

And yet, James had spent the past two weeks working like a draft horse. There had been moments between them, sure. Chemistry and all that. But the truth was, she really didn’t know what kind of a man he was, and…

She paused in her sweeping, a little surprised at the thought that was forming in her brain.

…and if James ever found out just how lonely she really was, it would be horrible.

Because nobody knew that.

She wanted a husband. She wanted more kids, maybe, and yes, she was thirty-five. She wanted someone who loved her the way Ethan loved Lucy, who looked at her the way Malone looked at Maggie, and let’s be honest. She’d never had anything even close.

James was here under orders from her father. He wanted her, sure. But Nicky was coming in nine days.

Well. She couldn’t avoid him forever. She locked up the shop and headed for home. The Volvo was comforting, the smell of Goldfish crackers and old leather, the indentation in the backseat from Nicky’s booster, reminding her who she really was.

A mom. With a sigh, she pulled into the driveway.

James was shirtless, sweaty and doing stuff for her house. Parker’s knees weakened. He’s beautiful, said Golly. “Preach it, sister,” Parker muttered. She forced her attention to the house. Her purpose in being in Maine, after all. Flip the house. Earn a little money for a place back home.

She dragged her eyes off Thing One’s arms, those lean, muscular, capable arms that had crushed her against him last night, a kiss so fierce and angry and hot that—House, Parker, house!

James had reshingled the entire western side of the house. For now, the color was creamy-cedar, but the salt winds and water would turn the shingles to gray. He didn’t look up as she got out of the car, but Beauty came bounding over, her plumy tail wagging, her nose cool against Parker’s leg.

“Wow, Thing One. You’ve been busy,” Parker said as she bent to pet her little dog. Yes. Adopt a casual attitude. Definitely the way to go. “It looks great.”

“Thanks.” He didn’t look at her.

“You’re welcome. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Still no eye contact.

Beauty lay down in the grass and put her muzzle on her paws, watching the two humans avoid meaningful conversation.

“So the library thing was kind of fun, as debts to society go,” Parker said, reaching out to touch a shingle with one finger.

“Good.” Bang! The sound of the air gun made her jump. James bent—his ass…perfect—and picked up another shingle. Bang!

“Collier was there,” Parker said. No comment. “I reduced him to tears as the Holy Rollers helped bury the squashed kitten.”

“He’s a sensitive soul.” Bang!

Was James jealous? Please, she wasn’t that desperate. Still, perhaps clarification would be in order. “Yeah, well, he’s very nice and all, but I don’t think I could be friends with a man who took those books seriously.”

No comment. His neck glistened with sweat.

“So, James, you kissed me last night.”

“Yes.” Bang!

Parker reached out and put a hand on his warm, hard shoulder. “Would you please stop for a second and talk to me?”

He put down the nail gun and folded his arms across his chest and looked at her with those dark, dark eyes. No smile. It was a little intimidating. In a very hot way. In a smoldering, brooding, alpha way. Heck yeah!

“Put a shirt on, Thing One. Cover up all that male beauty and stop distracting me.”

He smiled at that, and crap, it was worse than ever, because that smile melted her, and the idea that she could make him look that happy had her heart swelling. It felt good, earning that smile. James obeyed, getting his T-shirt from the railing of the porch and pulling it over his head. “There. Can you think straight now?” he asked.

“Better,” she said. “So.”

“So. I kissed you.” He stared at her, the wind ruffling his thick hair.

“Yes.”

She cleared her throat. “And while it had a certain effect, I don’t think it should happen again.”

“I think it should.”

Bang! No nail gun this time, just her rabbity heart. Nine days. Nine days till her son came back. “Well, things are uncertain in my life, as you’re aware, and even though you’re very cute, and yes, we’ve done the deed before, it’s a bad idea.”

“Why?”

Not sure, actually. “Um…it just is.”

A smile began at the corner of his mouth and spread slowly. Parker’s skin actually broke out into goose bumps. Get a grip, Parker, she told herself.

Fling! Fling! Fling! chanted Lady Land.

“You’re scared,” he said.

“Could be, Thing One. Or it could be that I’m smart. Either way, not gonna happen again. Okay? I’m flattered, and as I said, you’re quite cute, but no. Thank you. Now, I’m going inside to start painting your bedroom. Can I get you a drink of water?”

The smile was full-blown now. Devastating smile. Two more seconds of that smile, and James would find himself flat on his back with her on top of him.

“That’d be great, Parker. Thank you.”

She stood there another second. How could she have thought he looked sulky and brooding when he had the most wonderful, open, generous, happy, genuine smile in the whole world?

Crikey.

“One ice water, coming up for my hardworking boy.” She smiled, too—See? We can get along just great!—and went inside, stuck her head in the freezer and told Lady Land to pipe down.

An hour later, Parker paused outside James’s bedroom, which would soon be Nicky’s bedroom. His was the last room to be painted.

She’d discovered that she loved painting rooms. Painting was good for the soul. It was soothing and exciting both, the invigorating smell and luscious texture of the paint, the hissing of the roller as she zipped it against the walls. Pulling off painter’s tape, the revelation of the perfect line, the tidiness of it all, had become one of the great thrills of her life. Pathetic but true.

She’d chosen a very pale green for her bedroom—Sage Mist—and repainted the trim bright white. Amazing how it perked up the room. Her quilt was green, blue and pink, and the other day, Maggie had taken her to World of Curtains—Maggie was moving in with Malone, who had no curtains, which both women had found stunning and inexplicable. Parker had found some pale green drapes a shade or two lighter than her walls, lined with pink, and they were eighty percent off. Bargain shopping, another new experience for Parker, was also proving quite thrilling.

The kitchen was a nice sunny-yellow—Northern Sunrise—the battered cupboards much improved by a glossy red. With the Formica-and-steel table and the funny yellow chairs, it now looked pretty nice—if you could overlook the linoleum, which was the color of dried blood. A new—and cheap—floor was next on her list.

Maggie had had a tag sale a few days ago, so there was finally a little furniture in the living room—a couch and a pretty nice-looking Mission-style chair. One day, while out walking Beauty, Parker had come across a great hunk of bleached driftwood and hefted it home as the dog tried to chew on it. Ordered a piece of beveled glass from the boys at the hardware store, and voilà. A coffee table was born.

The shack was becoming pretty cute, and completely unrecognizable from the hoarder’s hell she’d first seen.

It was almost too bad she had to sell it.

At any rate, it was time to paint James’s room.

It felt extraordinarily intimate, for some reason, opening his door. Also, her father’s snake was in there. She paused, then went back to the kitchen, where she could see him through the open window. “I’m going to start painting your room now,” she said. “Want to move your porno stash first?”

“It’s all up here,” James said, tapping his temple.

“Okay. Hope your diary’s not open. I’d hate to see how you yearn for me.”

“That’s hardly a secret,” he said, his tone cheery, his smile killer.

“Is Apollo’s cage locked?”

“Sure is.” Then he hefted the ladder, his biceps bulging most attractively, and moved past the window.

Lady Land was getting downright hostile. She sighed, then went back down the hallway.

She hadn’t been in here since Day One. It contained almost nothing: bed, night table, battered old bureau, the glass tank containing her father’s beloved. Had she mentioned the bed? A sudden image of James’s tanned skin against the white sheets made her mouth dry. Down, girl. On the night table was a battered paperback by Harlan Coben. A clock.

The room was as neat as a pin; neater than her room, which always seemed to have a towel or a pair of shoes lying around somewhere, no matter how she tried to keep it tidy. His room was like a monk’s quarters. No porno stash anywhere that she could see. She got a towel from the bathroom and draped it over Apollo’s tank so she wouldn’t have to see the creature.

There was a single framed photo on the bureau. Parker went over and picked it up. It was of James hugging a woman with dark hair. The woman’s face was buried in his shoulder, but Parker could see enough of her face to tell that the woman was laughing. James was smiling, his chin resting on the woman’s head, his eyes crinkling. A happy, happy picture.

Had James ever been married? The thought lanced Parker with an abrupt arrow of shame. She’d never asked. Was he divorced? A widower? Or was this laughing woman his sister? He had mentioned a sister, as well as three brothers, but Parker couldn’t see enough of her face to tell if they looked like each other.

But she could see that the woman had curly hair, beautiful skin and that she loved James. And he loved her back.

Very carefully, she put the picture back and started on the taping. When she was done with that, she pulled the bed away from the wall. There was hardly enough room to get past, as James’s room was significantly smaller than her own. A thought occurred to her. “Hey, James?” she called, going back into the hallway. He was right there, and she jumped back. “Oh. You’re in. I thought you were, um, still outside.”

“I’m gonna shower and head for Dewey’s,” he said.

“Oh.”

“It’s Malone’s bachelor party,” he added.

“Right. I knew that.” Too bad they couldn’t shower together. Save time and all. Wet, naked, soapy James and her own wet, naked self—holy halos, Batman. Her knees softened, then thunked into place, locked. Great. She was staggering without even taking a step. “Well, have fun, Thing One.” Her voice was brisk. “Don’t drink and drive, of course.”

“I never do.” He leaned against the wall and looked at her. He hadn’t shaved today. He was still fairly baby-faced, in fact, not one of those men who could grow a beard in a couple days, like Malone or, um, what’s-his-name. Ethan.

“What did you need?” he murmured.

What indeed. She felt her cheeks warm. God, this was just not her, all this swooniness and blushing! “Well, if I start painting tonight, the fumes might bother you. So maybe you should sleep at your uncle’s house. Or on the couch. Or something.” Your bed is pretty big, Parker, the Holy Rollers pointed out. Great. Now her angels were becoming pimps.

“Okay. Want me to move Apollo while you’re painting?”

“Sure. Your call. Whatever. It’s all good.” You babble when you’re nervous, the HRs noted. “Thanks,” Parker added, then closed her eyes. “So who’s the woman in the picture?” She inclined her head toward his bureau.

“My sister.”

Oh, goody. Sister. Not wife. “You guys are close?”

“Yes.” His mouth pulled up on one side, and her knees wobbled again.

“Well. You have fun tonight, James.”

He smiled and went past her, and the brush of his arm against hers was enough to make her entire side tingle.

Fling.