Kissing Under the Mistletoe

chapter 12





Regan watched as Gabe’s mouth kissed its way down her hip, getting closer to the impact zone. With agonizing slowness, and a gentleness that stole the air from her lungs, he sucked and licked and kissed until her whole body tensed in anticipation, nerve endings stretching out to meet him.

Regan didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t even beg him to hurry up. She couldn’t. Just like she couldn’t look away when he smiled up at her right before he ran his tongue in one long, thorough swipe straight up her center.

“Oh, God!” Heat shot though her, warming her entire body and making her stomach clinch. She’d known that he would be amazing—just the way he kissed was enough to tell her that. But amazing didn’t even begin to explain what he did to her body as he explored, sucking and teasing, until her legs were shaking so bad she thought they were going to buckle.

Gripping his shoulders for support, she moved restlessly against his mouth, wanting to get there. But Gabe seemed in no hurry. His hands tightened, holding her still as he worked his magic. And that mouth of his had enough magic to be considered a Christmas miracle all on its own.

Then his fingers joined the festivities, and Regan thought she would die from the pleasure. Tension built, making her back arch and hips push forward, striving toward an invisible finish line that she could feel was right there. Just out of reach.

Gabe finally picked up the pace, sliding a second finger inside her and bringing her so close all she had to do was press down and—

Her breath stopped, right there in her throat, making her vision blur and her mind turn to mush. Making her forget that she had a slew of costumes to stitch, that Holly wanted tacos for dinner, that she was out of milk, that she was naked on the balcony of a winery with a man buried between her legs where anyone could walk by and see.

None of that mattered, because in the moment of forgetting, she remembered that she was a woman. And nothing had felt this right in a long time.

And then her mind emptied as Gabe gave a final swirl and gently bit at her bundle of nerves. She heard herself scream and she felt as if she was falling, fast and hard, without a care in the world.

Thunder cracked overhead and the rain came down, pounding the tile floor. When she finally opened her eyes and came back to herself, she was straddling Gabe’s lap, the heels of her boots digging into her bare ass, her face smashed into the curve of his neck.

“That was about the sexiest damn thing I have ever seen,” he whispered gruffly, his hand under her hair kneading the back of her neck with such tenderness that it made her throat close. “Are you okay?”

No. She wasn’t. He was holding her as though, to him, she were precious and special. Which made her feel precious and special. Made her feel as though in that moment maybe she could be the kind of woman a man like Gabe would want to spend the rest of his life with. Would want to call his family.

He isn’t looking for permanent.

She knew that. She also understood that if he was, she wouldn’t be the kind of woman to inspire that kind of commitment. So she stared out at the sky and watched the rain cast a glassy shine over the vineyard below, listened as it danced across the roof overhead.

“Hey.” He dipped down and looked into her eyes. “Are you thinking again?”

“Not anymore.” She kissed his neck, his chin, working her way to his mouth, where she kissed him long and slow. She could feel his erection pressing against her and she pulled back—on so many levels. “But I think you need to catch up.”

She slid her hands under his shirt, loving how his muscles bunched and tightened under her touch. Needing to see him, she pulled his shirt off and threw it on the chaise longue next to them.

His eyes turned dark and hot when she lifted her arms over her head, asking him without words to help. Which he was more than happy to do. He helped her right out of her shirt, skirt, and bra, stopping when he came to the boots, saying he wanted those left on. Then he went to work on himself, quickly dispensing of his clothes, until he was gorgeously naked and—holy moly—impressive package indeed.

He must have seen the mix of fascination and, if she were being honest, a little fear in her features, because he flashed her a cocky smile. She rolled her eyes and took his hand.

Not only had it been a while for her. A six-year while. But she was also vanilla when it came to sex. So getting wild on a chair in the middle of a vineyard was too much. They could start on the chaise longue and maybe work their way up to the armchair cha-cha. Plus the cold winter air bit at her skin, causing her to shiver. Why be cold and bare-ass naked in public when there was a snug-looking blanket draped over the back of the chaise?

She led him toward the chaise, but Gabe obviously wasn’t thinking vanilla, because two steps from the sofa she found herself pinned against a stack of oak barrels by a mass of muscles with magical hands.

“The chaise,” she said, his mouth already on her neck, his hands going for Christmas miracle number two. Not that she didn’t want a second feliz navidad. She did. A lot. More now than she had two seconds ago, before his head dipped to kiss her breast, before his thumbs circled her navel, and even more than before his erection slid against her stomach.

“Chaise,” she repeated.

Gabe looked up, his eyes firm. “No. You said I have one day. Which means I need to get you to stop thinking about groceries and PTA shit if I want a shot at a second day. And a third.”

“One day, Gabe. That’s it. I don’t think that—”

He kissed her silent. When he pulled back she studied his face, trying to figure out what he was feeling. If he was asking for more sex, or just more. More her, more him, more them. At the thought, her heart fluttered a little. Okay, a lot. She was already treading dangerously close to falling and didn’t know if she could handle more.

“There you go with the thinking again.”

“I’m just trying to read your face, figure out—”

Before she could blink, Regan found herself facing the wine barrel with Gabe’s hard-on pressing into her lower back. His hands came around her waist and when he spoke his breath tickled her ear, making her shiver again—but for a whole different reason. “Don’t read, don’t think, don’t figure, Regan. Just feel.”

His hands slid up to cup her breasts and feel she did.

His skin felt hot, telling her just how cold it must be, but she didn’t move away; if anything, she leaned into his touch. Giving herself over to the experience—and to Gabe—she dropped her head back against his shoulder and blocked out everything but his touch.

His mouth worked hot open-mouthed kisses along her neck and spine while his hands worked her into a frenzy. He bent a little at the knees, and when he stood back up his erection slid between her legs from behind. He eased across her, pulled back, and eased across her swollen flesh again, releasing a low “Ohhhh” from her lips. He kept up the pace until she was helplessly panting and her body felt like it was too small to hold in all of the pressure.

“You. Inside me,” she whispered, reaching around with both hands and digging her nails into his ass. “Right now.”

“Best idea you’ve ever had.” He tightened his grip on her hips and, in one fluid motion, Regan found herself turned around and seated on an oak barrel, Gabe nudging his way between her thighs.

He tore open the condom packet that appeared out of nowhere, which meant she was getting an A+ in the “no thinking” department. He slid it on and Regan attempted to help. Attempted being the operative word, since she spent most of her time teasing and kissing. But he gave her a resounding A+ in that department too. He also gave her a kiss that almost knocked her right off the barrel.

He slid her forward, placed her feet on the edge of the barrel beneath, and in one smooth, gentle slide, seated himself fully inside of her. Shocked at how perfect he felt inside of her, Regan let out a sigh of contentment. Even began to wonder if they had been building toward this moment their entire lives. It sounded ridiculous since they hardly even knew each other, but something about this moment felt so right.

“God, you feel”—he pulled out slightly and rolled back in—“so f*cking incredible.” He filled her again, picking up the pace until the world shifted beneath her. Literally.

“Gabe, the barrels,” she moaned, not really caring if they came tumbling down, as long as he didn’t stop until she came tumbling down.

“Shit,” he said. “Wrap your legs around me.”

She did and found herself pressed against the cold stone of the wall, Gabe never breaking the connection. He felt so good, Regan didn’t even mind the freezing wall or the stones pressing into her back. Her hand roved everywhere, and her legs squeezed with everything that she had. All she could do was feel Gabe’s lips on her neck, his body slam in and out of her until everything went black and she couldn’t feel anything.

She heard Gabe moan her name and he followed her into a floating oblivion. When she came back to herself, he looked up at her and smiled. “Now the chaise.”

She thought he meant for another round, maybe two. Instead he walked them over to the chaise and placed her on the cushion, only to crawl in next to her, hold her close. He pulled her hair off of her shoulder and placed little kisses on her spine.

“I’ve been dreaming about that for years.” He pulled the fuzzy blanket over them.

“Years?” She turned over to face him so she could smack his chest. Which she did. All six of his packs. “You mean weeks.”

“Years.” He trapped her hand against his chest with his, the expression on his face serious. “Now, you want to argue some more or can we take a nap?”





“Did you hear that?” Regan whispered. And if she was talking about all those sexy little noises she was making a little while ago, his answer was yes. But he was too spent to talk, so he shifted closer, smelled gingerbread, and tightened his arms.

“Gabe, I’m serious.” She elbowed him.

“So am I,” he said, eyes firmly shut but still managing to find all her curvy spots with his hands. He pulled her to him, loving how she gasped when she discovered he was already hard. “I take this problem very seriously. And think it is our duty to solve it.”

At that she smacked his chest. “Someone is coming. And I have to get my clothes.”

“Then get your clothes,” he said, nibbling on her earlobe.

“I can’t,” she hissed. “You’re practically laying on top of me.”

Yeah, he’d noticed. Liked it, even. And though he too could hear movement coming from down below, he was fairly confident that whoever it was would go away. Fairly. Not many people knew about this place, but he didn’t need to let her know that.

“Better?” He rolled all the way on top of her, since the “practically” seemed to irritate her.

“No.” She glared up at him. He smiled back down at her. Then he kissed her, taking his own sweet time about it and waiting until she was as hot and bothered as he was before pulling back.

“How about now?” When she just stared up at him with dazed eyes he knew his job, for the moment, was complete. So he rolled off of her, giving her that space she was so adamant about.

It took a moment for her brain to unscramble, a condition he sympathized with, and then she stumbled to her feet. She gathered up most of her clothes, frantically searching for her bra, which he had tucked under the blanket. He, on the other hand, put his arms behind his head, leaned back, and watched the show. And what a show. Regan Martin had one hell of a smoking hot body. She was lean in all the right places, soft where she needed to be. And he didn’t even want to talk about how sweet she tasted.

Prickly and stubborn and so damn sweet she made his heart do stupid shit. Like feel.

“What are you doing?” She threw his shirt at his head.

“Thinking up how we’re going to spend our next rainy day.”

“Yeah, well, if you don’t help me find my bra, you might not see the next rainy day.”

She was about to get all worked up. Which made them even, because watching her prance around in a skirt and no bra had him all worked up too.

He pulled her bra out and dangled it from his fingers. She reached for it, and he yanked it just out of reach. Meaning she had to reach across him and he got another up close and personal of those perfect tens.

“Gabe,” she said, crossing her arms and only managing to make him hotter. But then he saw the look in her eyes. She wasn’t having fun.

“Hey.” He stood up and helped her get in her bra, which went against every man rule, helped her into her sweater and then pulled her into his chest. “I’m sorry, I was just screwing around. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not mad. I just don’t want someone to catch us up here and for everyone to think that I got my job by...”

Ah, hell. She didn’t say “banging the boss’s brother,” but it was what she was thinking. And it was what the gossip mill would say if Isabel and her PTA buddies found out. He kissed the top of her head and then helped her into her jacket.

“First off, you got that job on your own merit.” And because his brothers wanted to make sure she stuck around. Shit. “The stairs are hard to find and very few people know about them.”

“I found them,” she said, looking up through her lashes at him and damn near slaying him on the spot.

“And I used to sneak up here and have sex when I was in high school,” Jordan said from the doorway. “Never saw a naked ass like that, though. Impressive, boss.”

“Shit.” Gabe grabbed the blanket and draped it over his body, careful to cover Regan in the process. Clothed or not, she was feeling exposed and embarrassed. He could see it in every detail of her face.

“I hope you have a damn good reason for coming up here,” Gabe said, harsher than intended.

Jordan’s eyes went wide a moment before narrowing into two slits of pure attitude. “Although not as fun as yours, I do have one. Want to hear it, or are you going to yell at me some more?”

“Sorry,” Gabe said, guilt weighing hard. He never snapped. But hell, he could feel Jordan’s disapproval all the way in his conscience. The problem was, even though she was aiming it at Gabe, he could tell Regan was taking it personally.

“Apology accepted, although I think it is chivalrous of you to get surly on your woman’s behalf.” Jordan offered “his woman” a warm and supportive smile, making it clear that it was just Gabe who was the disappointment.

“Sorry. I was coming up to...how did ChiChi put it in her threatening call? Ah, yes. That I was to come up here and tell Regan that I would be thrilled to join the Costume Committee. And that since it happens to fall under my new job description as committee grommet, it is my task to find a location for Thursday’s sewfest, which I think will also double as a bitchfest.” Jordan’s smile told him just who they would be bitching about. “And since Regan’s place smells like decomposing fur, I was wondering if we could use yours?”

“My pla—”

“Yes? Great. Thanks, boss. You’re a stand-up guy.” With a final glance at Regan, one that women shared when bonding over castrating the opposite sex, Jordan turned and left. And with her she took all of the ease and comfort that Gabe and Regan had accomplished that afternoon.





“Explain to me how I ended up here, sewing glitter and shit on a costume for some kid that I don’t even know,” Frankie said, peeling dry, hot glue off her fingers. “Especially when I was supposed to be one of six committee members.”

“Pricilla and Lucinda are finishing up the last-minute details on the cupcakes for Holly’s party tomorrow. And ChiChi had a headache,” Regan explained, and didn’t believe the excuses any more than when the Mrs. Clauses had explained them to her.

“They didn’t know I had agreed to actually show up and help,” Jordan said, finishing the last stitch on the frog’s body and knotting it off. She cut the thread with her teeth and went on, confirming Regan’s suspicion. “Effectively ruining their matchmaking plan.”

“That still doesn’t explain why I got sucked into this.”

“Because scaredy-pants Regan didn’t want to do this alone,” Jordan said, jerking an obvious chin at Gabe, who sat on the couch with Holly watching Puss in Boots. “I figured since I had to be here, between the two of us we could pry out of her what’s going on between her and Gabe.”

Regan’s foot froze on the pedal, running the needle right up the crotch of the pantaloons and almost sewing her finger to the fabric. The Band-Aid, already firmly in place from her last needle run-in, saved her. She grabbed the seam ripper and angrily tore out each stitch.

“Nothing.” And that was the God’s honest truth.

Since Monday, absolutely nothing had happened. He hadn’t called or e-mailed or done more than send her a friendly smile when he’d come to visit Marc at the hotel. It should have made Regan happy. It was exactly what they had agreed upon. It didn’t. It actually made her feel a little foolish and a whole lot confused. And every time she thought she’d gotten a hold on her emotions, Gabe would show up and remind her that casual was a hard concept for her to grasp.

Tuesday she’d gone to Pricilla’s to pick up Holly after school, something that was quickly becoming the norm, and found Gabe building a throne out of plywood and PVC piping, the three Mrs. Clauses sipping peppermint lattes and acting as backseat builders from the comfort of their chairs. Gabe had been sweaty and manly, and the second she’d walked in the Mrs. Clauses had made a sudden and obvious exodus, leaving them all alone. Then Gabe said he had to go, tearing out the door and leaving Regan with the PVC and not a clue as to what she’d done wrong.

Wednesday she’d been at Stan’s Soup and Service Station, eating a bowl of chipotle tomato bisque while Stan ran a diagnostic on her car, when Gabe walked in to buy a part for one of the work trucks and to grab lunch. With a sexy smile he’d walked over, and Regan, determined to bring things back to seminormal, had asked him if he’d like to have a bowl of soup with her. He’d just taken a seat and inquired about Holly’s play rehearsals when Trey walked in. The youngest DeLuca shot one look at them and Gabe had immediately asked Stan to make his order to go.

By Thursday, Regan had accepted that whatever she’d felt had been one-sided. Even worse, she accepted that Gabe not only regretted their day together, but it had been such a bad experience that he was going out of his way to avoid her. Whether he was afraid she would get clingy or he was embarrassed to be seen with her, either way it hurt. A lot.

She told herself that it was for the best. Even convinced herself during the day, but at night when Holly was asleep and Regan was left alone with her thoughts, she would try to figure out what had gone wrong. And how to fix it. Leaving her tired and miserable and without a clue as to what to do—other than cry.

She’d been reminding herself that this was why she didn’t date—not that they had even gone out on a date, as date usually implied a meal or some kind of public statement—when she walked inside Picker’s Produce, Meats and More to get something of the more variety. Specifically, Rocky Road.

She had just dumped the second gallon in her cart and was on her tiptoes reaching for a third when a really nice pair of arms stretched around her and grabbed the last carton from the back of the refrigerated case. When she turned, she found Gabe looking stressed and uncomfortable.

So she was shocked when he apologized for not calling and asked if maybe she could stay after the sewfest so they could talk. Which ruined her day even more, because it reminded her that the sewfest was still planned for his house.

Instead of shoving the ice cream down his pants and calling him a jerk—or shoving her hands down his pants when he pressed her up against the frozen peas and said he’d missed her—she had agreed to give him ten minutes and then proceeded to buy her ice cream like any sophisticated woman who dabbled in casual sex would do.

Too bad her heart wasn’t up for casual. Which was why sitting in his kitchen, watching him pad around barefoot with Holly tossed over his shoulder like a sack of flour and acting as if the last week hadn’t happened made her want to scream—at him for making her feel not enough, at herself for believing he was different. Which was why when he came in to grab a beer from the fridge she glared at him.

He glared back.

Jordan was right. This session was going to double as a bitchfest.

“Absolutely nothing,” Regan confirmed, after Gabe had taken a seat on the couch, far away from the women and right next to a sleeping Holly.

“Really? Because you both looked to be doing a whole lot of something when I saw you Monday,” Jordan said, hand-stitching the gold piping on the frog prince’s cape.

“Can you say it louder? I don’t think he heard you,” Regan whispered, glancing toward the front room.

“He was there,” Frankie mumbled around a bag of green glitter beads hanging from her teeth. She didn’t sew, but she was proving lethal with a glue gun. “It isn’t like she’s telling him something he doesn’t already know.”

“Oh, my God.” Regan slapped her hands over her mouth and looked at Frankie. Her voice dropped to a horrified whisper. “Do you know?”

“That you and Gabe had sex? Duh.”

“You were supposed to keep it a secret,” Regan snapped.

“We actually never had a conversation about keeping anything a secret. Maybe because we haven’t talked about it at all!” Jordan snapped back. “Every time I call I get your voice mail, and when I stop by work you’re busy. Some might even say you’re avoiding me.”

Which she was. But not because she didn’t want to talk about it. She did. She just didn’t want to put Jordan or Frankie in a position where they felt they had to choose sides. Because Regan would lose.

“I wasn’t sure what to say,” she admitted.

“Well, no one had to say anything to me.” Frankie’s tongue peeked out the side of her mouth as she put a dab of hot glue on the frog’s head and secured another plastic gem. “I figured it out. I mean, the look he shot you a second ago made the Kama Sutra look missionary.”

Really? She thought he’d looked mad. “Do you think anyone else knows?”

“How could they not?” Frankie snorted, confirming Regan’s biggest fear. St. Helena was a small town that loved to gossip. She’d spent her life being the subject of speculation. She didn’t want to go through that again. Didn’t want that for Holly.

“The way you guys are avoiding each other around town, it’s obvious you did the dirty and now you’re trying to play it cool,” Frankie added.

That was the problem. He was playing it cool. Regan, on the other hand, didn’t have a cool bone in her body. Not when it came to him.

“Hey,” Gabe said from directly behind her and Regan jumped. When she turned, her heart did more than jump. There he stood in jeans and a sweatshirt, his hair sticking up in the back, and a sleeping Holly snuggled against his chest. “I was thinking that maybe I should put Sleeping Beauty down in one of the guest rooms.”

No, there was nothing cool about her feelings for Gabe.

Regan nodded. It was all she could do. If she opened her mouth, she was sure something close to “I love you” would escape. And to a guy who’d made it clear he wasn’t looking for serious, those three words would for sure send him burning rubber out of her and Holly’s life.

Gabe blew so hot and cold she never knew where he stood. But she was pretty sure where she stood—right on the edge of heartbreak. And watching him tuck Holly in bed would send her over. So after Gabe disappeared down the hall, Regan turned back to the table and knew she had to tell her friends.

She needed a fresh perspective—one that would remind her that, Christmas wish or not, Gabe would not be under her tree come Christmas morning.

She took a deep breath and leaned in to whisper. “I think I blew it. I wanted to feel like something other than a stressed-out single mom for a day, and like a sex-deprived idiot, I threw myself at him.”

“You say it like he suffered some kind of hardship.” Jordan laughed. “I was there—well, for the post-nookie clothes scramble—and trust me when I say, it didn’t look like you had to throw yourself too hard. The man couldn’t keep his eyes—or his hands—off you.”

“That doesn’t mean he likes me, though,” she admitted, humiliation making it hard to see. Or maybe that was the tears.

“Of course he likes you,” Jordan said, placing her hand on Regan’s. Gabe had said the same thing. Then again, he’d been trying to get into her pants. Sex did stupid things to men—apparently women too.

“Then why has he been avoiding me all week? I show up, he leaves skid marks out the door. I didn’t expect him to ask me to be his girlfriend or anything. I just didn’t think he’d be ashamed of me.”

Both women exchanged a look, one that Regan didn’t fully comprehend. But there was enough eyebrow quirking and pointed stares to send her stomach into a nervous nosedive.

“What?” Regan asked. “What are you not telling me?”

But she already knew. This was where her friends would tell her that Gabe was way out of her league, and wishing for anything more was dangerous. So when Frankie folded her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair and Jordan sighed, Regan’s stomach reappeared in her throat.

“Fine. I had a talk with Gabe.”

“What?” That was so not what she expected Jordan would say. And, oh, so much worse. “About what?”

“About screwing around with single moms. About how the rules are different. About how he needed to really know what he was doing before someone got hurt.” Jordan lowered her voice, continuing before Regan could reply—well, scream. Regan had been on her own since she was eighteen; she didn’t need someone fixing her business. “I get it. I’m a single mom too. I know what it’s like to feel alone and how easy it is to forget you’re a woman. Then some good-looking guy with a great package comes along reminding you what you’re missing, and you drop your pants for a quick scratch.”

Regan felt her face heat with anger. “You had no right to talk to Gabe or anyone else about my itches! Quickly scratched or otherwise. I’m not Ava. I’m not part of your purity-for-eternity campaign.”

Lines of concern cut through Jordan’s forehead. “No, you’re not. But you’re also not the kind of person to take something like sleeping with a man lightly.”

“You don’t even know me,” Regan accused.

“Yes, I do,” Jordan said, and Regan realized it was true. They may have only met a few weeks ago, but the women in front of her had quickly become two of the closest friends she’d ever had. And Jordan was hitting painfully close to home with her assessment. “I also see the way you look at him, Regan.”

“We...love...you and don’t want you to get hurt.” Frankie forced the words out as if such an admission were painful.

Not nearly as painful as Regan’s next words. “Why? Because a man like Gabe could never love a woman like me?”

“God, no.” Jordan stared Regan down, not continuing until she knew Regan was listening. “Self-loathing is not and never will be the new black. At least not one that you could pull off attractively. You are smart and beautiful and a wonderful pain in the ass.”

“Is this where you tell me ‘It’s not you, it’s him’?” Regan smiled, a little.

“No, this is where I tell you that Gabe is not ready for a woman like you. He already raised a family and he’s convinced himself that he doesn’t want another one.”

The realization that Jordan was right knocked the wind out of her. Gabe had told her the same thing. And until this moment she hadn’t understood that deep in her heart she had been clinging to the hope that maybe he’d change his mind.

“Do I think he will always be a familyphobe? No.” Jordan took Christmas Kitty’s mittens out of Regan’s hands. They were wrinkled and the fur on the thumb was worried into small tufts. “But I don’t want you and Holly to be the experiment to see if he’s ready. Especially when, for a DeLuca, family always comes first.”

Even his home spoke volumes for how much he loved his family. Sure it was a bachelor pad with lots of dark furniture, stainless steel, and a television bigger than her Christmas tree. But on nearly every wall and surface were family photos, mementos, signs that Gabe DeLuca was a family man—and he already had a family.

“Maybe Jordan was wrong about talking to Gabe,” Frankie said, gathering up the leftover sequins and plastic stones and leveling Jordan with a look. “I know if she did that to me, I’d kick her ass. No question.” She looked back to Regan. “If you want me to, just say the word. But I think what she’s saying about the DeLucas is spot on. Do I think he could fall for a girl like you? Totally. You’re all girly and maternal and shit. Do I think he would someday screw you over if his family asked him to? In a heartbeat. So before you go bringing him home for dinner, remember that having someone you love walk out sucks golf balls. But when you’re a kid...you never get over wondering what you did wrong.”

With that, Frankie stood, shoving the fabric scraps and beads in a bag, and grabbed her keys. “I’ll finish the frog’s head on my own. I’m practically OD-ing on all the estrogen in the air.” She got to the door and stopped, her shoulders slumping. Without turning around she said, in a none-too-nice tone, “I would like nothing more than to hop on my bike and breathe concrete for the next two hours. But since Jordan refused to let me drive the hog in the rain, she’s my ride home.”

Jordan folded the cape and frog’s body. She was reaching for the broom when Regan grabbed her hand. “I’ll get it. You take Frankie home and I’ll clean up. Thank you...for everything.”

Jordan threw her arms around her and hugged her tight. “I never meant to make things harder on you. I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

“I know.” Regan tightened her arms around her friend.

“You don’t hate me?”

“No.” Regan laughed even though she felt like crying. Gabe had been put on notice, and Jordan’s intent was heartwarming. But the result was quite the opposite. Regan had worried all week about what she had done wrong. Now she realized that the answer was nothing. She was a single mom, struggling to balance career and family and toting around a lifetime of baggage.

Her problem didn’t lie in the fact that she wasn’t enough—she was too much.

She gave Jordan one last squeeze and pulled back. It was better this way. She knew the score, and Holly wouldn’t be hurt later on down the road.

“Good.” Jordan took her shoulders. “You gonna be okay?”

Regan nodded. What was she supposed to say? She’d already admitted to attacking Gabe. There was no way she was saying aloud that she might have been stupid enough to actually fall in love with the guy, and that her heart was breaking because she knew he would never love her back.