The push of back-to-back bridal party appointments the following Saturday should have kept Tara’s mind off Greg.

It didn’t.

Her ears strained to catch his voice, and her eyes strayed to the front desk regularly, hoping he’d come in. By late afternoon they’d racked up significant sales and Kathy had booked twelve new appointments for the coming week. “Greg will be pleased,” she exclaimed as she finished jotting number thirteen into the book. “And we’re plenty full for our afternoon tomorrow. This is a big step in the right direction for Elena’s Bridal.”

“Is Greg working?” Donna asked as she organized the tiara case. “I thought we’d see him today.”

Tara pretended disinterest as she filed the hard copy of each bridal party’s sales folder.

“I expect he’s hunkered down, doing lawyer stuff,” Kathy noted. “He got a call from New York last week. He’s made the short list for a major opening there, and we know that’s been his dream from the get-go.”

Tara’s fantasy ending dissolved.

Greg was a ladder climber. He was driven. And while she liked his strength and aptitude, success at any cost went against everything she believed in. She’d taken up law for the exact opposite reason.

And you hate it.

She retracted the thought immediately. Hate was too strong a word. She put two sold gowns on the ironing rack and let her hand trail along the lace edge of the nearest one.

She loved this. Who would have thought her heart’s desire lay in helping women plan for the least stressful, most perfect wedding day possible?

“You’re quiet today, Tara.” Kathy exchanged a look with Donna. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” She aimed a bright smile their way, but their expressions said they weren’t fooled, so she kept the subject on business as usual. “Meghan offered to do the decorating for the reopening. I was thinking of ways I can help her get it done.”

“She’s got flair, that’s for sure,” Jean offered as she came up front. “I’ve got a growing list of reception venues, caterers, rental companies, bakeries, florists, photographers, and linen providers who’ve accepted the invitations. That’s the makings of a great kickoff party.”

“We’re going to build Meghan’s historical display on Monday in that front corner.” Tara pointed left. “Unless someone else had their eye on it.”

“All yours,” Donna replied. “Her sketch is a showstopper. That corner is the perfect place to spotlight it.”

“They’ll be installing new tuxedo racks while you’re building a medieval forest.” Kathy smiled. “Elena would love this.”

“She would,” Donna agreed. “And with every change we make, I miss her more.”

“Was she nice?” Tara turned toward Donna and Kathy. “Like Greg?”

“She was far nicer than I could ever hope to be.”

Tara turned, surprised. “I didn’t know you were here.” She touched a hand to her collar, embarrassed because she’d been looking for him all week, and of course he came in the minute she started asking about him.

“Well.” He extended his hands. “I am here. I’ve been working extra this week, but I’ve got some time now, so I’m going to rough in those tuxedo rooms tonight. That way the drywall guy can finish them on Monday. And yes, my mother was one of the nicest women you’d ever meet. I’ve always been more like my father.”

Kathy rolled her eyes. “Your mother was proud of you. She encouraged your dreams. And from where I’m standing, the way you’ve helped spur things along here says she raised a pretty nice guy.”

“She’d be thrilled that you’re getting the chance you’ve always wanted.” Donna slung her arm around Greg. “Mothers want their children to be happy.” She moved to put the final gowns away.

Greg turned toward Tara, and she met his gaze straight on. “Some of us are meant to be movers and shakers,” she said. “That’s a good fit for you, Greg. You’re strong and tough. New York won’t know what hit them.”

Still, she couldn’t help wishing things were different. Wishing she could find a way to mentally separate Greg’s job from her own values, and from the memory of a simple man who trusted the wrong lawyer.

Tara was right. Greg wanted to be at the top of his game, and he was on the verge of realizing his dream. Why did the thought of success feel suddenly tainted? He’d done nothing wrong.

Not wrong, per se. But not all that right either.

He slung his jacket across the back of a chair and rolled out a bag of power tools from the back room. Framing the tuxedo fitting rooms was the kind of muscle work that took his mind off corporate law and New York City. Not to mention an unforgettable woman who had walked in the door a few weeks ago and made him start seeing life and love through very different eyes.

“Are you doing this alone?”

Tara stood between him and the front door. She was ready to go, her coat on, a cute hat pulled down over the mass of golden brown curls.

“The rooms are small, and I’m just roughing in tonight. I thought I’d be in earlier, but—”

“Duty called.”

A new kind of duty, but yes, one that felt good by the end of the day. He hoped the city judge would see things his way and smack down the mission landlord’s illegal notice of eviction.

She took a step forward. “That didn’t answer my question. There’s no one to help you hold things in place?”

He shrugged but couldn’t deny how her words ignited a spark of hope. “Nope.” He gave her a hang-dog expression. “Just me and a really big stack of two-by-fours.”

“I’d stay, but I’m not exactly the build-a-room type,” Kathy said as she prepared to leave. “Everyone else has gone home. I’ll lock up, Greg, but I won’t set the alarm.”

Tara started to slip off her coat. Kathy ducked her head, but not before Greg saw her smile of approval as she went out the front. “You don’t have to do this.” He gave the pile of wood a quick glance. “I can erect the walls on the floor, then stand them up. It’s not as hard as it might seem, and they’re small rooms.”

“I’ve helped my mother with a lot of DIY projects,” Tara replied. She grabbed an old sweater from the office and pulled it on to protect the nice clothes she’d worn that day. “And it’s not in my nature to walk away when a friend needs a hand.”

He stopped laying wood at designated spots on the floor and looked up at her. “What if I want to be more than a friend, Tara? Would you walk away then?”

She had been moving toward him, but then she paused, looking down. “I—”

“Because—” He stood and halved the distance between them. “I managed to stay away all week, when what I wanted to do was drop in here, pretend to help, and see you. Just you. So why don’t you look me in the eye and tell me you feel the same way, and then . . .” He smiled and stroked the curve of her cheek with one finger. “Then . . .”

He glanced at her mouth, took a half step closer, and waited, because after staying away for days, the last thing Greg wanted to do was take a step back when he was this close to kissing Tara Simonetti.

Wasn’t that what she’d hoped all week too? For Greg to show up and share a smile or a coffee or a lifetime of happiness?

Greg moved closer, until she had to tip her gaze up to meet his eyes, and when she did, the most natural thing in the world was to wonder what it would be like . . .

He didn’t leave her wondering long. He wrapped his arms around her slowly, drawing her in, his gaze on hers.

He smiled.

And then he kissed her, cradling her in the strength of his arms while the aromas of fresh-cut lumber and spicy guy-soap filled her senses.

This couldn’t be wrong. Not when it felt so absolutely right. And yet, how could two people with polar opposite goals come to common ground?

He paused the kiss and pulled her in for a long, slow hug. “Tara.”

He breathed the name as if imprinting his soul, the husky word making her feel precious and beloved.

The desk phone rang. Tara moved to get it, but Greg held her hands. “The machine’s on; it’s after hours.”

The phone quit ringing. But then his cell phone buzzed. He scowled, checked the readout, and stepped away. “Gotta take this.”

She watched him stride away, all business, as awareness hit home. Work always came first with the Gregs of this world. It was better to understand that now and not let amazing kisses tempt her into settling for second place or standing witness to his power quest. A man who drew her heart with such fierceness wouldn’t just break her heart if things went bad. He’d shatter it.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, then picked up her jacket, scribbled a note, and slipped out the front door while he took the call.

Her cell phone rang as she trudged toward Germantown Avenue. She grabbed it out, certain it was Greg.

It wasn’t.

She let the call go to voice mail and walked home—cold, wet, and disheartened. Greg was wired to put work first, always.

She wasn’t built that way, and better to find that out now. But oh, how she wished it were different.

Because she could have spent a lifetime enjoying long, slow kisses like the one they shared tonight.

“I’ll be there, Nettie, first thing in the morning.”

“Not first thing,” the director of the Old City Mission corrected Greg smoothly. “There are church services goin’ on first thing Sunday, and the neighborin’ churches have invited us to come by and worship with them, even though most of my regulars don’t have Sunday-go-to-meetin’ clothes at their disposal. We’ll meet after services, and I thank you, Gregory. I didn’t have a prayer of winnin’ this fight ’til you came on board. I speak for all of us when I say we are humbly grateful.”

“I’m glad to help.” He meant the words sincerely, even though grandstanding for charity broke new legal ground for him.

He finished up his phone call with the Old City Mission director and hurried back to Tara.

She was gone.

Greg spotted the note, read the short missive, then stared around the small construction area and back at the note again. Had to go. Sorry.

The front door opened. He moved that way, glad she had returned, but it was Kathy who bustled through the door. She waved a hand and hurried to the front desk. “My keys! I got all the way home and realized I left my house keys in the top drawer. What was I thinking?”

“I’d have run them over.”

She frowned at the pile of wood. “I called but no one answered, and I decided you’ve got enough on your plate tonight. Where’s your buddy?”

“Gone.”

“Oh?” Kathy glanced from the work area to Greg and back. “I thought she was going to help you.”

“Me too.” He sighed. “Guess not.”

Kathy looked at him for long, slow seconds, the kind of look that took great measure. She withdrew her keys and came around the desk, then paused in front of him. “She’s falling for you, Greg.”

He grimaced, because he thought that too, right before she disappeared. “Strange way of showing it.”

“Or maybe she’s uncertain where she fits into your busy life.”

Greg shrugged that off. “Everyone’s busy. In their own way.”

“But most of us take time for life in the middle of the busy.” The seriousness of Kathy’s expression deepened. “You’ve worked so long and hard that you don’t see the difference, probably because you’re surrounded by people doing the exact same thing. It feels right because you’re in the thick of it. But we normal folk like a day off now and again. And time with those we love.”

Remorse spiked his heart. “You’re talking about Mom.”

She didn’t deny the implication. “She loved you more than anything. And she was so proud of you, of your strength, your spirit, your accomplishments. But it’s a kick in the head when you have to make an appointment to see your own son.”

The regret pierced deeper, because Kathy wasn’t far off the mark. “Did she hate me? For being a self-absorbed jerk like my father?”

“Oh, please.” Kathy made a face of disbelief. “Your father was a two-timing belt-notcher. He cheated on three wives that I know of. Your ambition to do your best comes straight from your mother, Greg, because you actually care about the outcome. But if you want the fullness of life she had, it’s time to take a breath and think hard. Because while God hands out second chances on a regular basis, it’s not necessarily a guarantee.”

“You mean Tara.”

She gave him a quick, motherly hug. “I mean life,” she whispered. She backed toward the door. “Don’t be so busy climbing up that you forget to enjoy the scenery along the road you’re taking.”

She winked and waved, leaving him to his thoughts. He built the four short walls methodically, with plenty of time to think, and when he was done, he walked home, past the closed-down mission, past the church with the altruistic priest, past houses and shops that meant little to him because he never took the time to be a neighbor or friend to those around him.

The old stone church at the corner had a lighted sign out front. He’d passed this sign countless times, but tonight the words struck deep.

If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.

I gain nothing.

The simple verse struck him tonight. Was the constant quest for success destined to be his downfall? He’d sailed through life with clear goals until last August when he lost his mother.

He’d never even had a chance to say good-bye. And worse, he couldn’t remember if he had kissed her at their last dinner, nearly three weeks before her death. Did she know how much he loved and appreciated her? Did she die knowing the depth of his gratitude?

He stared at the sign, then walked the last block deep in thought. Nettie Johnson said her regular mission dwellers had been invited to share in the neighborhood worship services. As he unlocked the front door of his home, he wondered if they’d mind making room for a money-grubbing lawyer too.