“I introduced you to my kid brother, that’s all.”

“He’s no kid.” She couldn’t get the image of Logan O’Donnell out of her head. Tall, athletic build. Blaze of red hair—not the dorky kind of red hair, but deep glossy waves of auburn, which she found ridiculously sexy. And his smile. He had an easy smile that made her forget, if only briefly, that she’d ever been hurt by a man. “He has a kid,” she added.

“That would be my adorable nephew, Charlie,” India said. “Thank you for reminding me.”

“Listen, because I don’t think you heard me the first time,” said Darcy. “The only thing I want less than a guy is a guy with a kid.”

“All men are not all like Huntley Collins,” India pointed out.

“I realize that. One day, I will embrace that truth. But I’m not ready to meet anyone.”

“You’ve been divorced a year.”

Divorced. Destroyed was a more apt word for it.

She had married a man who had seemed perfect for her in every way. Huntley was a single dad, sharing custody of Amy and Orion with his ex. Darcy had fallen for the three of them, opening her heart to a ready-made family.

Yet the children, dear as they had been to her, had also taken a hand in the demise of her marriage. As they grew older, they distanced themselves from Darcy, and eventually convinced themselves—or let their mother convince them—that their parents wanted to get back together.

Darcy still recalled the day her marriage had unraveled, though the memory no longer made her cringe. Huntley’s daughter, Amy, had come to her with a bright smile on her face, false as sunshine in November. Darcy had learned to recognize that hollow smile. It was hard at the edges, the grin of a not-very-skilled actress who knew her range was limited, and didn’t care.

“He’s cheating on you,” Amy had said. “With our mom.”

Darcy’s heart had stumbled. Then, clinging to well-honed denial, she had dismissed the notion out of hand. “Your mom and dad are just friends.”

“Nope, they’re back together. Check his email,” Amy said, a clean blade of triumph sharpening her tone. “In the drafts folder. That’s how they communicate. They never hit Send, just log in to the same account and read the drafts. They’re so stupid about it, though. They don’t delete correctly, so the notes still are all there.”