ARKER WOKE UP at five—the curse of a parent. Nicky had always been an early-to-bed, early-to-rise kind of kid. He could sleep through fireworks, thunderstorms and alien invasions, but he was bright eyed and bushy tailed long before the sun came up.

Well, the one small benefit of having him with Lucy and Ethan for three weeks was that at least she didn’t have to answer his endless stream of questions before having two cups of coffee. She stretched, and her little dog did the same.

“Sleep well?” Parker whispered, petting the dog’s silky head. She’d have to make sure Nicky understood how shy Beauty was, as the little guy tended to charge toward whatever caught his fancy. “You’ll be sweet to Nicky, right?” Parker asked the dog, and Beauty’s tail gave a slight wag.

Today was the wedding, and she had a ton to do. She got out of bed, pulled on jeans and a Joe’s Diner sweatshirt—because prior to this month, she hadn’t owned a sweatshirt, for heaven’s sake.

James wasn’t on the couch; Parker figured he must’ve opted for his uncle’s place instead.

Or maybe he’d found some cute woman who didn’t have so many hang-ups and suspicions. That was a definite possibility. Sure, he’d kissed her the other night. And she’d told him not to do it again.

You really need to figure out what you want, Spike advised sagely.

“Shush,” she told him.

When the coffee was finished brewing, Parker filled a travel mug, clipped a leash on Beauty and got into her car. She drove through the silent town, past the lovely brick town hall, the more modern and uglier police station, where she’d been a guest. Across the diner was a paper banner—Congratulations, Maggie and Malone!

The couple was getting married by a justice of the peace right on the town green, in the little gazebo next to the flagpole and war memorial. A potluck reception—Parker had never been to one of those—would be held under the white tent. The tables and chairs were already there, Parker could see, though not yet set up.

They might not have much in the way of a flower budget, and Maggie was definitely a casual bride, but there was something really touching about the two of them—lovely, outgoing Maggie and the quiet, honorable Malone—and Parker wanted to make their day beautiful. Going to all those wildly expensive, over-the-top weddings of her cousins and family friends and college mates…well. She knew something about floral arrangements.

A short way out of town she pulled off the road. A field rich with lupine was just past the scrubby pines that lined the road. Parker had never seen the cone-shaped wildflowers in bloom before, but last week, she’d nearly driven off the road at first glimpse.

She pulled over, got a few buckets out of the back of the Volvo and started cutting.

* * *

BY THREE O’CLOCK that afternoon, Parker was finally satisfied. Everything looked…well, stunning; she really had to give herself credit here.

The gazebo was twined with garlands of ivy and hydrangea blossoms, most of which she’d, er, appropriated from a lush bank at the edge of the Pines property. Collier wasn’t around, but Parker figured that he wouldn’t mind—or even notice. On the wide steps leading into the gazebo were two huge arrangements of pine, lupine, twigs and more ivy and phlox, a riot of color and deep, dark green. Parker had filled eight tin buckets with smaller versions of the arrangements and set them out at intervals along the makeshift aisle.

Inside the tent, she’d strung up fairy lights; Vin had had some in a closet, and last week, Parker had emptied a going-out-of-business craft store of its cache. All the supports and poles were lit up like the old Tavern on the Green in Central Park and twined with more blossoms of hydrangea, wild roses, baby’s breath and lupine. For the centerpieces, Rolly had helped her drill holes into split white birch logs, into which Parker had put tall white candles, then set that into a bed of pine, roses and fern.

It was magical and lush and uniquely Maine, and she couldn’t wait to see the look on Maggie’s face.

Lavinia was delivering the bouquets and boutonnieres to the bride and groom, so Parker was free to go. She took one more smug look around the tent. Time to go home, shower and change. Good thing Lucy had convinced her to bring a really nice dress in case of a fling.

And speaking of flings and weddings, it was hard not to remember Esme’s big day, when Parker had ended up with James. He’d been little more than a stranger back then.

This time, she had reason to like him.

The thought made her knees wobble a bit.

* * *

LIKE MOST MEN, James wasn’t crazy about most weddings. Ceremonies were mostly the same, give or take. Brides looked pretty. Food was mediocre and took too long to be served. The expense always seemed a little grotesque. Single women tended to eye him the way a starving coyote might eye a plump, blind baby bunny, then make their predictable and unsubtle advances. In fact, that’s how he and Leah had met. A New Year’s Eve wedding. She’d been cute, she eyed him, she kept positioning herself closer and closer, till she could accidentally bump into him and apologize, with plenty of hand laying and hair tossing.

Parker’s wedding pass had been, by far, the least subtle ever. She’d been no sneaky coyote, no. More like a strike from a great white. Didn’t see it coming, was completely stunned.

Not that he’d complained.

This wedding, he acknowledged, was nicer than most. Parker and Vin had done a great job on the flowers; in fact, Maggie’s mouth had dropped open when she got out of the limo, and people couldn’t stop talking about how pretty everything looked. Every time he heard someone gushing, he felt a little rush of pride for his housemate.

And speaking of, she looked…perfect. Wearing a long blue dress cut low in the front and low in the back. Hair up in a twist. She wasn’t wearing shoes, and the sight of her toes peeping out from under the silky fabric was getting him a little aroused. Didn’t take much where she was concerned. Whether she wore that horrible Yankees cap and stained jeans or a gown, she was beautiful.

She was also avoiding him. She’d waved. He’d waved back. She seemed to be arming herself with babies; first Chantal’s fat little package, then a smaller baby, then one that could walk.

The bride herself appeared. “Jamie, you don’t have to stay glued behind the bar,” she said, her cheeks flushed with happiness. “Eat something! We can pour our own wine.”

“You sure look pretty, Maggie,” he said.

She smiled, and for a second, she looked exactly like the cute waitress he’d had a crush on way back when. “Thanks,” she answered. “But go. I’m the boss of today, right? Go eat something. Dance with someone. Parker, for example. Malone said you have a huge crush.”

James shot Malone a look. “Thanks, pal.”

Maggie leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m so glad you came up this summer.”

“No kissing other men,” Malone said. “Wife.”

“Oh, that’s right, we’re married,” Maggie said. “I forgot why I was wearing this white dress.” She slid her arms around Malone’s waist. “Go, James. I am queen and therefore dismiss you. Have fun. Oh, hang on, there’s Parker. Parker! Over here!”

“She’s really bossy,” James muttered to the groom.

“Ayuh,” he agreed.

Because Maggie was queen, Parker came over, and James felt his nerve endings do the now-familiar howl.

“Parker, these flowers are amazing! I can’t get over it!” Maggie said, hugging her.

“Thanks, Maggie. So glad you like everything.” She paused. “Hi, James.”

“Parker. Always lovely to see you,” he said. Her cheeks grew pink. James smiled. Used to be, he could only make her ears turn pink. Now he had the whole face. Progress.

“Oh, I love this song,” Maggie said. “Come on, Malone, let’s dance.” Malone grimaced—what straight guy wouldn’t—it was something by Beyoncé about all the single ladies.

“You have to obey her,” James said. “She’s the queen…”

“Thanks for nothing,” Malone muttered, following his wife as she dragged him onto the dance floor. Poor slob. Well, he wasn’t that poor. He was smiling.

James turned to Parker. Her blush deepened. “Did you have fun last night?” she asked.

“Sure.”

“You stayed at your uncle’s?”

“Yep.” She smelled so good. “You look beautiful,” he said quietly.

“Thank you,” she answered, then cleared her throat. “You look very…um, nice to see you dressed.” She winced, closing her eyes. “Dressed up, I meant. In a suit. More like yourself. Whatever, don’t listen to me. Nice wedding, don’t you think?”

She was nervous; he could feel the electrical current radiating from her. She licked her lips—God—and the blood made the cheerful and familiar flight from James’s brain straight to his groin. “The flowers look great.”

“Thank you.”

Such pleasant chitchat, when what he really wanted to do was…her. Yeah. That was right. Just clear off this table and tip her back on it, and let nature do its sweet thing.

A lock of her hair slipped out of its twist, brushing against her cheek. James reached out and slowly tucked it behind her ear, his fingertips brushing her silken skin, touching her earlobe. Her lips parted. He looked in those green eyes, which had grown soft and unguarded, and felt his heart slow to thick, solid beats.

The Beyoncé song ended, and something slow came on. “Want to dance?” he murmured.

“Excuse me?” she whispered.

“Would you like to dance, Parker?”

She blinked and seemed to come out of the trance that had wrapped around them both. “Oh, I should— I have to check something. Um, rain check?”

“Okay.”

With that, she turned and fled, like a scared little horse or something, stopped and fussed with an arrangement, and glanced back at him, then looked quickly away.

James felt a smile begin in his chest. Parker was afraid of dancing with him. Had to be a good sign.

He looked over the guests. There were a couple of age-appropriate women there, giving him the coyote stare. Not today, ladies, he thought, and approached a tiny, ancient old lady who was looking at the group on the dance floor with a bit of longing on her face. Bingo. His date for the evening. “Would you do me a favor and dance with me?” he asked.

“Oh, my word!” she exclaimed. “I can barely stand, let alone dance, sweetheart!”

“I’m extremely handsome and strong,” he said. “You sure you want to turn me down?”

“Fine. You’ve convinced me,” she said, standing with the help of her cane. She came up to his chest. “What’s your name, young man?”

“James Francis Xavier Cahill.”

“Oh! What a lovely name! I always did love the name James! I was so sorry when they shortened James Stewart to Jimmy.” She patted his shoulder fondly. “You can call me Bess. Do you know it’s been at least a dozen years since I danced?”

“I think you’re lying,” he said, maneuvering very carefully among the other dancers. “You’re too pretty to be on the sidelines. You must have at least three boyfriends.” He grinned as she laughed.

Parker had made herself scarce.

Well. They happened to live together, so she couldn’t hide forever.

James also danced with Lavinia, danced with Maggie’s mother, dodged a pass from a woman he didn’t know, and made his way back behind the bar and stayed there, watching the crowd. Parker stayed on the sidelines, though she did dance with one of the Three Musketeers, the guy whose wife died earlier this year.

She didn’t come his way again.

A while later, his uncle approached, sweaty from having danced with Maggie’s twin. He sat down in front of the bar and eyed James. “Why don’t you go home, kid?” he said, wiping his forehead. “We’re all set here.”

“No, I’ll stay, Unc. Help you pack things in later on.”

“Nah. You did all the setup. Don’t worry. The McConnell kid will do it. He needs a little money. Going off to Dartmouth this fall.”

James hesitated. “Okay.” He started to walk off, then stopped. “Dewey,” he said, “I wanted to thank you.”

“What for?”

“For letting me come stay with you when I was a kid. When things were tough.”

Dewey’s expression changed. “Sure, kid. Now go home. Go. Git. I’m gonna see if Chantal will dance with me for old times’ sake.”

* * *

LITTLE MONKEY WATCHED the other monkeys swinging through the vines. Gosh, it looked like fun! But what if she missed the vine? She might fall, breaking her bones as she crashed through the branches, possibly rupturing some organs as she fell to the jungle floor, where Hungry Jaguar was waiting to gobble her up. On second thought, maybe she’d stay in the tree instead, make a martini and call it a day.

Parker sighed, put aside the red notebook and sat back in the old wooden chair. She’d slipped away from the wedding and was down on the dock, still in her dress. Beauty lay at her feet, contentedly staring out at the water, which was a purplish-blue under the darkening sky.

Lovely wedding. Just lovely, all that happiness so palpable. She’d laughed and eaten and truly enjoyed sitting with Lavinia and watching the bride and groom. Little Violet Jones fell asleep on her lap, an achingly wonderful moment, the sweet smell of the little girl’s head, her limp, warm weight so welcome.

But mostly, she’d felt James. Felt his every smile, directed at her or not. When he’d touched her face, his eyes so dark, she’d been unable to even breathe. Thought he might kiss her for a second. So, in typical fashion, she bolted, but from that moment on, she’d felt him. His laugh hit her in the stomach in a warm, aching squeeze, and each time those smiley, dark eyes met hers…well, hell, there it was again, that strong, tingling pull she’d only ever felt around him.

Music from the reception drifted down from the green and out over the water, the thump of bass and occasional roll of laughter easily heard from the dock. The music changed from fast to slow…something by Norah Jones, the words just out of reach.

The tingling pull started again. She turned her head, and there he was, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, his tie loosened, standing at the foot of the dock, watching her. Beauty’s tail swished.

“Hey, James,” she said mildly.

Mildly, right. Her heart was shuddering, it was beating so fast. Jump him, Spike advised. He’s a guy. He’ll love it. In her mind, the former child angel wore a black leather jacket and squinted through a haze of cigarette smoke. She should look into medication for this.

James came over to her, the dock rocking gently. He stood in front of her and held out his hand. “Come on, coward,” he murmured. “You owe me a dance.”

His hand was warm and sure. He pulled her to her feet, right against him, and Parker thought she might actually swoon, because he smelled so good, was so warm. Her entire body seemed to melt into his as his arm slipped around her waist. Her hand went to his shoulder, and James tipped his head and smiled at her, just a little. Parker swallowed, then put her cheek on his solid shoulder.

Norah Jones’s smoky voice floated across the water, and the waves lapped against the dock, and she and James stood there, barely moving. Do something, James, she thought. Help me out here.

Slowly, slowly, he slid his hands down her bare arms, threading his fingers through hers. His hair tickled her neck as he bent his head, his lips warm as he kissed her shoulder, and the relief was so immense that her knees wobbled. He smiled against her neck.

Parker slipped one hand against his chest, feeling the solid thumping of his heart, such a sweet, intimate feeling that the ache in her grew sharply. His lips moved higher up her neck, his beautiful mouth smooth and warm against her skin.

Beauty suddenly decided that James was all right, because she chose that moment to stand, putting her paws against his knee, as if she was cutting in. James smiled down at the little dog, then looked at Parker, and honest to God, she was actually dizzy, his smile was that good, crinkling his eyes, changing his face.

He leaned in a little closer, still smiling, still not kissing her, but please, it’d better be soon or she might die. She closed her eyes, and thank goodness, his lips were against hers, the softest brush, so smooth and warm. Another brush. Then he did kiss her, a gentle, soft kiss that she returned carefully, almost shyly.

This was so different from that first time, so long ago, when she’d barely been thinking, when she’d used him to distract herself from loneliness. This was slow and tender and meltingly wonderful, James’s mouth against hers, waiting for her response. Then he cradled her head in his hands, angling for better access to her mouth, and kissed her more fully. Her hand slid into his thick, curling hair, and he held her closer, that beautiful mouth kissing hers as if there was nothing more he wanted to do other than stand out here and do exactly what they were doing.

Beauty whined, and James smiled. He pulled back a little and smoothed Parker’s hair back from her hot face.

“The blackflies are starting to bite,” Parker whispered.

“Maybe we should go in,” he said, that smile still playing at his mouth.

“Okay.”

Then he took her hand and led her off the dock, up the stairs and into the house, and Parker went with him as if it was normal, not as if her legs were watery and her whole body was pulsing with a warm, honeyed glow; as if this was old hat, no big deal, when the truth was, she felt something akin to terror here, all that warm, glowing stuff aside. Beauty leaped neatly onto the couch, ditching them, the good dog. James led her down the hall, past his room. There was her bedroom. Yep. Terror.

James stopped outside her door, tilted her chin up and kissed her again. He stopped almost immediately this time, pulling back to look at her. “You okay?” His voice was gentle. Which made sense. He was a gentle man.

The thought somehow made her more scared than ever.

“Yeah! No. It’s just…I’m a little…nervous,” she heard herself say.

Yes. The woman who’d given birth to an eight-pound, nine-ounce bouncing baby boy in a total of three hours. No drugs, either. Not really virgin-bride material.

His eyes were dark. “We don’t have to do anything, Parker,” he murmured, and his voice alone made Lady Land croon.

“Right. No, I know that. Which, thank you, by the way.” She took a shaky breath. “No, James, it’s just the last guy I was with was…” She felt her head wiggling around like a bobble-head figurine and managed to stop. She looked at his chest, which seemed like a safe place to park her eyes. “You. You’re the last guy I was with.”

He didn’t answer. She continued looking at his chest. Fascinating shirt, all white and, um…cottony. Then he cupped her face so she really did have to look at him.

His eyes were soft. And he was smiling. He looked so relaxed, how could he be relaxed when she was about to jump out of her skin?

“And that was… But this…” she said. “It feels—it feels different.” Her voice was a whisper now.

Very slowly, as if she were a skittish fawn—Why a fawn? Why not a skittish mule or ferret? Oh, Lord, her brain was going to explode—James kissed her, just a soft brush on the lips. “Maybe because we’re friends now,” he murmured.

And that was it exactly. Whether it was good or bad, she didn’t know.

It was probably good.

He leaned in, so slowly, and kissed her again, and without quite realizing she’d moved, she found her hands were sliding against his lean rib cage, up to his chest.

“Is that a yes?” he whispered, pulling back the slightest bit.

“It’s a yes,” she breathed.

“Good.”

“Yes.”

He reached behind her and opened the door, his mouth finding her again, hot and slow and sweet. Backed her into the room, one hand undoing her hair clip, sliding his fingers through her hair, down her back. Her dress was suddenly looser—he’d unzipped it, clever lad—and his tongue brushed hers, and suddenly her hands remembered what they were for. They were for unbuttoning his shirt, even if they were shaking a little. His skin was hot and smooth, and she jerked his shirt open, exposing that beautiful torso, and pulled him down on the bed, suddenly desperate to get him on her, in her.

He captured her hands in his and pinned them gently above her head, his fingers twining with hers. “Not this time,” he whispered, kissing just below her ear. “This time, we take things slow.”

Then, his mouth hot and sure as he tasted her neck, his hands releasing hers to slip her dress off her shoulders, James proceeded to show her why some things in life shouldn’t be rushed.

And you know what?

The guy had a point.