But most of the girls I went to school with? I always got the sense that they were rushing toward that life because they thought the good life was something that was just handed to them. And believe me, if you were young and beautiful, there were scores of men who were interested in arm candy. And sometimes arm candy turned into wife candy. That was the endgame—that was the pinnacle. Marriage was just a means to an end.

I’d hoped to marry a man I loved. And now, listening to Clark talk about Viv, I thanked my lucky stars once again that I’d panicked and fled the morning of my wedding. One day I might crave pickles, and I’d love to think I’d be craving pickles with a man who also wanted to learn how to make pickles. Charles would have just bought pickles. Nothing wrong with that. But I wanted something a little more homegrown.

As Clark the Pickler and I ended the call, I agreed to keep in touch about a dog that might be right for them, and he agreed to keep me up to date on their ongoing adventures. I sat back in my chair in the breakfast nook, coffee cup in hand, and thought about what I wanted to eat for breakfast. I’d been buying donuts too often lately, and it hadn’t gone unnoticed that my pants were feeling a little more snug than they used to.

I headed over to the fridge and began poking around, deciding to make an omelet. I was just starting to chop up some onions when I heard a car in the driveway. I’d gotten used to workmen coming at all hours of the morning, but on a Sunday? I looked down at my nightgown, and hastily tied my robe around me. Which I was glad to be wearing, when I saw the truck coming around the corner with the Campbell Veterinary Hospital decal. And before I knew it, I saw Lucas climbing out of the front seat dressed in old jeans and a paint-splattered T-shirt, carrying a bucket of painting supplies.

I waved at him through the kitchen window, and he approached.

“What’s going on?” I called through the window screen.

He held up his bucket. “You told me you needed help painting, so here I am.”

“But I haven’t even had breakfast yet!”

“Great!” He set the bucket down in the yard and grinned. “I’m starving!”

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” I mumbled under my breath, and pointed him toward the front door. As I walked, I saw him following me around the side of the house, each huge window providing me with another glimpse of this dangerously charming guy. I tightened the ties on my robe, and opened the door.

“Good morning, Rebound,” he grinned, stepping up onto the porch. “Nice,” he complimented, his eyes raking over my nightgown and robe.

My hand gripped the knob. Doorknob. “Well, I was hardly expecting company this morning,” I answered. “And don’t call me that. No one is rebounding anything.”

“Hmm,” was his reply, then he looked past me into the house. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“You’re used to getting your way, aren’t you?”

“Pretty much,” he replied, letting loose the grin.

I smiled back in spite of myself and waved him in. “Come on, then; hope you like omelets.”

“I love them.” He followed me into the house. “Whoa, time warp,” he exclaimed, taking in the retro styling.

“Oh, yeah, wait till you see the kitchen. It’s where orange Formica went to die.” I laughed, pointing out some of the more kitschy features. “I still can’t believe you came to paint.”

“We made a deal last night, and I intend to honor my commitments,” he replied, leaning in a bit closer. “Unlike my ex.”

“Ouch. I winced, a tiny ball of awful bubbling up unexpectedly.

“I shouldn’t say that. It makes me seem pathetic, doesn’t it?”

“Pathetic, no, not at all,” I said, tightening my ties a little more. “But maybe it was the best thing? I mean, obviously it was hell, but wasn’t it better to find out before rather than after?” I asked, and not just to Lucas. Justifying to the universe a little?

“Pretty and practical,” he mused, smiling down at me. “You’re lethal, you know that?”

My breath caught as I looked up at him through my lashes, peeking at the cute in front of me.

“You’re blushing,” he murmured, and I turned toward the kitchen, knowing he’d follow.

“Let me blush while I make breakfast,” I said, keeping my tone light.

“Challenge accepted,” he said, stepping into the kitchen behind me.

“No challenge was offered. You can’t accept something that wasn’t offered,” I said, taking a position on one side of the enormous kitchen island. I leaned forward a little, my robe falling open just slightly.

“Lethal,” he whispered, leaning against the island on the other side, eyes a bit dazed.

“I’m going back to my onions now, okay?”

“Do it,” he breathed, and a maniacal giggle escaped my lips.

Shaking my head, I turned to the stove. “Can you grab the butter from the fridge? Top shelf, on the right.”

“Got it. Need anything else in here?”

“The cheddar cheese, actually, bottom drawer.”

“Cheese doesn’t go in the bottom drawer.”

“Sure it does.”

“No, it doesn’t. Vegetables go in the bottom drawer. Cheese goes in this small drawer here, marked Dairy,” he insisted, pointing it out to me. “But you’ve got—good lord, are you hoarding pudding?”

“You. Get. Outta there.” I laughed, tugging at his arm and moving him away from my stash.

“Seriously, I’m pretty sure that’s all the chocolate pudding in town. You some kind of doomsdayer?”

“What?” I asked, grabbing the cheddar cheese and shooing him away from the fridge.

“You know, like those guys who hide out in bunkers and squirrel away canned food and guns in case of a zombie apocalypse. Except you’re going to fight the zombies with pudding,” he explained as I marched him to the table in the breakfast nook and sat him firmly in a chair.

“Yes, that’s exactly my plan. However did you guess?” I replied deadpan, batting my eyelashes at him. “You want bacon in your omelet?”

“Of course,” he answered, and I started whisking eggs and crumbling up bacon I had left over from yesterday. I began sautéing the onions in a bit of butter, then turned to ask him why he had nothing better to do on a beautiful Sunday morning than paint my barn, when I noticed he’d disappeared.