“I’m good.” The wind blew then, and he pushed my hair back, his fingers sliding against my scalp. I closed my eyes for just a second. Then I was in his arms, and he was hugging me . . . not kissing, but a full-on, all-enveloping hug that made me feel so good, so safe and so . . . loved. I could feel his heart slamming against my chest. He smelled like home. Felt so perfect. I hugged him back for all I was worth, feeling his solid muscle, his collarbone against my cheek.

“I better go,” he whispered.

“Okay.” Neither of us let go. For a second, he hugged me that much closer, and every inch of me wanted him.

Then he stepped back, took a shaky breath and said, “Okay. Bye.”

And that was that. A second later, he started up his truck and backed out, and I stood there, watching him leave.

Story of my life.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Juliet

Juliet hated throwing parties. This was unfortunate, given that she was doing just that.

Even having her small book club over caused her a great deal of agita—what drinks should she serve? If she made cocktails, would everyone be okay to drive? Was wine boring? Should she have baked something? Why had she chosen a nonfiction book? Was popcorn an acceptable snack?

This party was ten times the size of her book club. Had she had a couple of horse tranquilizers, she would happily take them. At least she had help for this one, but the stress level was even higher, given the work week she’d had.

But it was May first, and this was their tradition, hers and Oliver’s. When they first moved to Stoningham, bought the old house that had once stood here, torn it down and created this gorgeous structure of wood and glass, they’d had a housewarming party on the first of May. It became a tradition. Cocktails served by a bartender, caterers with trays of food, fairy lights strung in the trees, the house filled with bouquets of lilacs, and the rooftop deck shaded by the retractable awning. Square cement planters burst with ornamental grasses, and every table had a centerpiece—pots of live moss and ferns, very Brooklyn, very cool. The food was all farm-to-table, and four high school girls were earning twenty-five dollars an hour to serve and clear.