“Felix…” Connie said midway through her Monday afternoon show to the pudgy, bald guy barging into the cramped broadcast booth. While hourly local and national news was being delivered from another booth, Garret and Connie were supposed to be indulging in a much-needed breather, not entertaining. “…meet the Military Man—Garret Underwood.”
“It’s a pleasure,” the guy said with a broad grin. Garret hadn’t met him earlier because he’d been out for a long lunch. Felix’s gold canine had jerk written all over it. No wonder Connie had been freaked over losing her job.A guy like him wouldn’t recognize a gem like Connie if she jumped up and bit him on the— “With you on board, I smell statewide, maybe national, syndication.”
Crushing the guy’s outstretched hand, meeting his brash grin with a tight smile, Garret said, “To reiterate our earlier discussion, I’m only here as a temporary favor. Soon as I get the okay from my doc, I’ll be out of here.”
“Oh, sure,” he said, gesturing to Garret’s leg. “Then we’ll work something out. Have you call in. With today’s technology, you could be in Thailand for all I care—just as long as the chemistry between you two keeps sizzling.” He licked his finger, holding it to the wall with an obnoxious hiss. “Hot stuff.”
After a few more minutes of small talk, the man finally left. Garret hoped his departure was more because he’d given Felix his most lethal stare than merely because the break had almost ended.
“Sorry,” Connie said. “Under Webster’s definition of obnoxious, there’s a picture of my boss.”
Sipping bottled water, Garret chuckled. “I’m the sorry one. I should’ve trusted you to have told the truth about your predicament.”
“Why?” she asked softly, not meeting his gaze.
“Why should I trust you?”
“After the way things were left between us, I wouldn’t blame you for thinking me an opportunist.”
“Yes, I’m not happy you chose Nathan over me, but it happened. Sure, you could’ve chosen a kinder way of letting me know than me stumbling upon you, finding you kissing him in front of our friends, but I’m dealing with it.” At least in public.
“Me, too,” she murmured, running her fingers along the brown laminate counter holding the old-fashioned mics.
“Cool. Then let’s leave the past in the past.” That way, when it’s time for me to head back to Virginia, I won’t remember this moment. The way Connie wore her hair down and each time she crossed or uncrossed her legs in the close space, he smelled her tropical perfume and a hint of the syrup he imagined her having eaten for breakfast.
“Constance,” the show’s producer said over a static-filled intercom. “You’re on in thirty.”
Connie pressed a button, then said, “Thanks.”
Garret had just taken another chug of water, thrilled to get his mind on anything but the sexy swell of Connie’s bare calves when the producer said, “In, three, two…” She mouthed the one, gesturing for Connie to jump in.
“Welcome back,” Connie said, her voice a shade husky, her mannerisms natural and at ease—despite the tic he’d noticed alongside her left eye. So…he made her nervous?
The feeling was mutual.
“Thanks for staying with us through the break. As a refresher to those of you just joining in, today’s scintillating topic is Thank You Notes—Not Just For Great-Aunt Mary. I want to hear not just your tips on how to write great, heartfelt notes, but your feelings on the matter. Are you upset when you send a toaster for Cousin Tammy’s wedding and never hear from her again? Are you Cousin Tammy and haven’t had time to send formal thanks? Let’s hear from both sides. Now, as a special treat for the next few weeks, we have an in-studio guest, Mr. Garret Underwood. An old friend some of you regulars may already know as Military Man. Welcome, Garret.”
“Thanks.” He tried not to snicker at again having to hash over what he considered a ridiculous subject.
“For those just joining us, would you please restate your views.”
He cleared his throat. “In my line of work, we have strict protocol about this sort of thing. If the Flag’s wife—sorry, Admiral in Charge’s wife—so much as bakes you a cupcake, there’d better damn well be a dozen roses along with a sincere note of gratitude on her doorstep by 09:00 the next morning. The damned nuisance notes are a necessary evil—one that, if you’re lucky, can be pawned off on someone you outrank. I’m all about gratitude, but personally, if I do a kindness for someone, a verbal thanks is all I need.”
“So,” Connie asked, “if you gave a friend’s son or daughter a graduation gift, you wouldn’t be offended by never knowing if they received it?”
“Language.”
“Sorry.”
“So am I,” she said with a cute scowl he had the craziest urge to kiss right off her grumpy face. “Sorry that you’d be so cavalier about a decaying part of our society.”
“Huh?”
“First, our youth are slack about thank-you notes, then school, then—”
“Whoa,” he said over her. “What does a waste-of-time piece of paper have to do with slacking? If a person says thank you, why isn’t that enough?”
“So then phoning in a thank-you would also be sufficient?”
“Heck, yeah.”
Viewing him with a pinched expression of what he could only assume was utter disgust, she sighed, then turned to the producer. “Renee-Marie, do you have our next caller?”
“Yes, ma’am. Craig’s on line two.”
After shooting Garret one last dirty look, his cohost switched on the charm. “Welcome, Craig. Are you a proponent of the lost art of formal thank-you letters?”
Best as Garret could tell, what he just heard was a genuine guffaw.
“Lady,” the caller said, “I run a steel fabrication shop. Let’s just say that around Christmas bonus time, I’d take a heartfelt handshake over some sterile piece of paper with a stamp on it any—” beeeeep “—day. I mean, my guys work hard. They should play hard, too—not spend their off time penning some stupid note that’s just going to end up filed in my office trash.”
“Thanks, Craig,” Garret said, “for proving my point.”
“My pleasure,” said the caller.
“What?” Garret asked his gaping cohost. “I take it you disagree?”
“For once,” she said with a firm shake of her head, “I must’ve been so shocked I found myself at an actual loss for words.”
“Hear that, folks?” he teased. “It’s a miracle!”
“You’re a beast,” his fiery cohost all but spat. “Renee-Marie, next caller, please.”
“Parrish on line three.”
“Welcome,” Connie said, fingers to her temples. Were his views giving her a headache? Good, because his proximity to her was sure causing a myriad of aches in him. “Would you be so kind as to share your views?”
“Ask me, I think that holier-than-thou, high-on-his-horse, lazy man of yours needs a swift kick in the britches.”
“Let’s get one thing straight,” Connie said, challenging Garret with a stare, “he’s not my man.”
Garret couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well, now there’s a dare if I ever heard one.”
“L-let’s try to stay on topic,” Connie said, gulping her sweating bottled water.
“So sorry for the mistaken identity,” the caller said. “The way you two carry on, reminds me of an old married couple.”
“Apology accepted,” Garret’s cohost said.
He, on the other hand, wasn’t nearly done gnawing this highly entertaining bone. Lord knows she’d bugged the hell out of him for years. It was high time she felt a fraction of his brand of discomfort.
“Wait a minute,” he said, leisurely chewing on the cinnamon toothpick he’d used after lunch. “Tsk, tsk. Miss Manners, are you telling me and all these fine listeners out there that you’re not the least bit attracted to me?”
“I’m telling you to knock it off and get back on topic.”
“Ouch.” Hand to his chest, he said, “I’m wounded. No woman has ever minded kissing me before. You saying you’d be the first actually to object?”
“I don’t know. Are you asking me for a kiss?”
“Though your Military Man annoys me to no end,” the caller said, “I’d probably break down and kiss him. You know—strictly as a tame-the-beast kind of thing.”
“Mmm, Parrish…” Garret teased, “you’re seriously turning me on.”
“That’s it,” Connie said, storming to her feet and taking her mic along for the ride. “This was supposed to be a thoughtful program on reprising a dying art—not raising your libido. Thank you, Parrish. Renee-Marie, next caller, please.”
“Kelly, line six.”
“Welcome, Kelly,” Garret said. “You like getting thank-you notes?”
She giggled. “Thank-you kisses are more fun. Go for it, Miss Manners. Kiss him. You might like it.”
Off air, Connie hissed, “Hush! You’re ruining my sweet show.”
“Lest you forgot,” he said with a slow grin, “your sweet show was about to be canned without my help.”
The producer chimed in with, “Welcome, Doris, you’re on the air with Miss Manners and the Military Man.”
“Kiss him,” said Doris.
“Go on, Military Man,” said Doug a short while later. “Show her what it’s like being with a real man.”
“You might like kissing him,” Claire from Conway said next.
Tina in Tulsa chimed in with, “If you don’t kiss him, I sure will.”
Still grinning about having gotten under Connie’s skin, Garret topped off the rally apparently in his favor with, “Well, Miss Manners, I’d say it’s unanimous. We might as well give the folks what they want—kiss me.”
“AW, NOW, DON’T BE MAD,” Garret said, standing outside her home’s front porch screen door late that afternoon, hot sun beating down on him and his disgustingly pretty, dozen white roses.
“Mad? Mad?” She sort of laughed. “Oh, I passed ordinary mad a good two hours ago. At this stage, I’m immersed in boiling fury.”
“Look,” he said, wagging a white linen envelope addressed to her. His mother’s monogram graced the flap. “I even wrote you a formal apology. That’s what you wanted, right?”
“What I wanted,” she said, her voice more shrill than she would’ve liked considering Lindsay was at the kitchen table doing her word definitions, “was for you to be civilized. To show the macho types of Mule Shoe that real men don’t have to be afraid of manners.”
“Were you even listening to some of those callers, Connie?” He devastated her fury by tugging a rose from the bouquet, stroking it down her left cheek, then right. Under her nose, enveloping her in its heady scent. His touch featherlight, he then used the rose to caress her lips. “Did you hear that guy who owned the steel fabrication shop? He wanted his men to spend time with their families—not writing notes. Tell me what’s wrong with that? I wrote you this,” he said, brazenly tucking the rich paper envelope into her blouse’s open V. “But wouldn’t my time have been better spent making tangible amends?”
“Such as…”
Heart pounding, Constance feared what he was about to do almost as much as she looked forward to it—his kiss. She knew, not because of anything he’d verbally said, but because of the way, even ten years later, she recognized the quickening in his eyes.
She wanted to stay mad at him. She wanted to stomp her feet and rail about the injustice of having her very own callers turn on her, but what he honorably hadn’t mentioned was that, after the show, Felix had been so impressed by the constant stream of passionate callers, he’d given them both a thousand-dollar bonus. Garret had turned his down, offering it to her, which she’d refused. Upon arriving home, a teller from First National Bank of Mule Shoe had called. It seemed an anonymous deposit in the sum of one thousand dollars had been placed in Lindsay’s college account.
“I know what you did,” she said, licking her lips, still only halfway out of the house and onto the porch. “Putting that money in Lindsay’s account. I’ll pay you back.”
“Ironically, the only repayment I need is your thanks. Do you need my mother’s address?”
“Touché.”
He winked. “Just take the money, Connie. For Lindsay. It isn’t much, but at least it’s a start toward helping her achieve the dreams of going to college you always had.”
“I’ll still go,” she said bristling.
“I’ve no doubt you will.” Favoring his leg while still holding her roses, he said, “Trust me, no one hates admitting this more than me, but for today, at least, you win. Could I please crash on your couch and get a glass of water? This leg is freakin’ killing me.”
SO MUCH FOR THAT KISS.
Carrying Garret’s water, Constance froze on the threshold between the dining room and living room to find the great Military Man sound asleep, lightly snoring.
Oh, how the mighty fall…
But then even though he was temporarily out, wasn’t she the one growing more confused by the second? In the short time Garret had been back in her life, he’d turned her world upside-down.
Lindsay’s meager college account could seriously use that money. But in light of the way Garret felt about Connie, the donation was outrageous. What did it mean? Was it an olive branch? If so, Constance was all the more horrible for denying him the truth. She had to tell him. But how?
“He all right?” Lindsay whispered from behind her.
“I’m sure he’s just tired,” Constance said. “It’s been a long day.” Physically, mentally and every other way in between.
“Should we call his mother and tell her he’s okay?”
Resting her arm atop her wise-beyond-her-years daughter’s shoulders, Constance agreed. “Where’d you learn to be such a sweetie?”
“You,” Lindsay said with a swift hug and giggle before getting back to her homework.
Her child’s answer was ironic, given Constance’s current situation. Never had she felt less sweet! Keeping Lindsay a secret was bad enough, but then, out on the porch, she’d wanted that kiss from Garret so bad, her lips had itched. So what happened? She knew he’d been about to kiss her. What’d made him change his mind?
Assuming she’d never know, she marched into the kitchen to put her flowers in water and phone Garret’s mom. Constance had expected the call to be awkward, but Mrs. Underwood was easy to talk to and seemed thankful for the update. She even complimented Constance on her portion of that afternoon’s show, then apologized for her son’s boorish behavior.
Upon hanging up, while Lindsay stashed her books and pencils in her backpack, then headed outside to play with her rabbits, Constance rummaged through the freezer, wondering what in the world to fix for supper. At the same time, she prayed Garret would wake up and go straight home. In the same breath, she hoped he’d be intrigued enough by the enticing scents escaping the kitchen he’d want to stay.
After finding a round steak, she popped it in the microwave to thaw, then chopped an onion. Apparently, luck was on her side as she had all the ingredients for beef Stroganoff—one of Lindsay’s favorites. Would Garret enjoy the rich combination of beef, sour cream and white wine, as well?
She shouldn’t care, but did.
Speaking of the devil… A noise in the living room made her glance over her shoulder to find Garret hobbling her way.
“Mmm…something smells good.”
“You’re welcome to stay,” she somehow managed to say.
“I, um, already did—not to tell her you’d be staying for dinner, just that you’d fallen asleep on my sofa.”
“How sweet of you.”
There was that word again. “It, um, was actually Lindsay’s idea.”
“She’s a cutie,” he said, easing onto one of the kitchen table’s maple chairs. “Nathan must be even more of an oaf than I’d imagined not to want to be with her every chance he gets.”
“Stop it with the Nathan bashing. He’s busy,” Constance said, back at the stove, stirring, wondering what had stopped her from booting Garret out the door.
“That’s a cop-out excuse. Why are you protecting him all the time?”
“I protect Nathan because he’s a good guy. He spends lots of time with Lindsay. As for financial support, he offers money all the time. I don’t want it.”
“Then how come you accepted my gift for Lindsay?”
Great question.
One she had absolutely no answer for. If she were consistent with her making-it-on-my-own rule, then she’d have politely returned the gift. Why, why hadn’t she? Surely not because Garret was Lindsay’s dad? And as such, the sentimental value had been worth far more than the money itself?
Garret shot her a look that could only be utter contempt. It shocked her how badly his disapproval hurt. Still, she held her chin high and her stare locked with his. There was no backing down now—not if she didn’t want her daughter carried off halfway across the world. Pushing himself up from the table, he braced himself, then set off hobbling toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Home. I’m no longer hungry.”
“What don’t you get about the fact that this is my life, Garret? Remember how I told you about what happened with my dad when I was little? Please, try to understand, I can’t—won’t—have Lindsay going through the same pain.”
“You’re honestly afraid Nathan’s going to take her from you?”
Crossing her fingers behind her back, praying for forgiveness for her ever-deepening lies, she nodded. It was best Garret left. Thanks to Felix, they were being forced together at work, but having him here—at home—was far too dangerous.
The back door crashed open. Lindsay hurried through, cheeks sweaty and flushed, smile brighter than the sun. “Got everybody fed and watered. I played with the bunnies for a while, but I’m really hungry. Dinner almost done?”
“Just about, sweetie.” Constance gripped her daughter in a desperate hug. “Go wash up and I’ll set the table.”
“’Kay.” On her way out of the kitchen, to Garret she said, “Mom’s Stroganoff is the best. Promise you’ll like it.”
“I’m sure I will,” he said, “but will there be ice cream for dessert?”
“Hopefully lots,” the girl said with a giggle before running off.
“Thought you were leaving?” Constance reminded, heart pounding.
Head bowed, he fell back into his chair. “Sorry. My constant need to save the world is a problem I need to work out.”
“I don’t follow.”
Cradling his forehead, he said, “I’ve seen a lot of things. Inherently wrong, vile, sins-against-God-and-nature kinds of things. Injustice pisses me off on a level I’ve never seemed able to get a grip on.” Looking up, eyes red he shook his head. “You and Lindsay don’t have a financial pot to piss in—pardon my French—yet she seems incredibly happy and well-adjusted. When you let down your guard, you do, too. All the money in the world’s not going to change that, and yet I can’t seem to keep my nose out of your affairs. That’s what I’m sorry about.”
Relief shimmering through her, Constance exhaled sharply, then wrapped her arms around Garret in a warm hug. “Thank you for understanding. For agreeing to let it go. Despite what you think, Nathan’s a wonderful man and, um, father. He loves Lindsay very much. It’s just that because of what happened to me, I have this sense that I can never be too careful.”
“For the record,” he said, his voice gruff, “I ever come across that prick in a dark alley, he’s going down.”
She winced. “Language.”
“Give me a break,” he said, once she’d headed back to the stove to ladle their meal into a serving bowl. “Can you honestly think of a polite way to describe him?”
“Yes. As my friend. He’s as sorry as I am for what happened when we were younger, and—”
“I’m starving,” Lindsay said. “Want me to set the table?”
“Please,” Constance said over the clatter of her daughter already yanking the dish cabinet door open, then gathering three plates.
“Anything I can do to help?” Garret asked, wondering at the efficiency flowing between mother and daughter. He hadn’t considered the fact that Constance might actually fear reprisal from her ex. Garret might’ve told Constance he’d let it go, but before leaving for Virginia, one way or another, he’d find out what was really going on.
“Garret, you’d better just sit,” Lindsay directed with the concerned tone of a little nurse.
Constance laughed. “I concur. We can’t have you falling asleep at the table.”
“Sorry about that,” he said with a chuckle. “Sometimes this da—bum leg of mine hurts more than my pride likes to admit.”
“It’s okay to say you’re hurt,” Lindsay said, setting his plate in front of him, then a bundle of napkins and silverware. “Otherwise, how will anyone know you need help?”
“From the mouths of babes,” he mumbled, sharing a look with the girl’s mother.
Constance set the food on the table and then they were off, sharing a meal like the real family he’d once invested all of himself into wanting.
He still did want a family all his own with a sometimes fierce longing, but his line of work was one you didn’t just up and quit. Sure, guys on his team had wives and kids, but secretly, Garret had often thought they were irresponsible. Make no mistake, every mission they embarked upon, no one planned on returning home in a pine box. But it happened. If Garret were ever fortunate enough to be given the gift of a woman’s love, then a child’s, he wasn’t sure he could bear leaving them, perhaps not to come back. Sure, he could just as easily take a factory job and die in a machinery accident. Or even be a lawyer like his dad and suffer a heart attack behind his desk. But to carry on as a SEAL seemed like asking for trouble. In his experience, fate had a funny way of screwing with you—just when you started to feel safe was when most things went wrong.
“That was delicious,” Garret said when he was done.
“Told you,” Lindsay said.
“That you did.” Returning her grin, he ruffled her hair, wondering at the downy softness. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d touched a child. But this…it somehow felt different as if his history with Constance gave him a stake in the girl’s well-being. Ridiculous, seeing how he hardly knew her, but he couldn’t help what he felt, and so he went with it, thoroughly enjoying every aspect of the night.
After dinner, leaning against the counter, Garret dried while Constance washed. Along with Constance, he helped Lindsay practice lines for an upcoming school performance of Red Riding in the Hood—only, instead of the big, bad wolf, Red encountered numerous unsavoury characters representing smoking, gangs and drugs. Again, the warrior lurking within him rose, wanting to protect this child—and her mother—from the big, bad world.
Constance announced Lindsay’s bedtime and, after a few obligatory grumbles he’d have expected from a girl her age, she wrapped her mom in a fierce hug, then him.
“Thanks for helping with my lines,” she said, enveloping him in her little girl sweetness. Or maybe it was the apple cobbler à la mode she’d spilled on her red T-shirt during dinner. Either way, her gesture deeply touched him.
“You’re welcome,” he said past a surprising knot in his throat. Something about the kid tugged at his heart. He felt connected to her. Stupid, but there it was.
Constance excused herself to tuck in the girl.
Alone on the same sofa he’d earlier conked out on, in the sparsely furnished living room with its ancient TV and threadbare, lumpy furniture, Garret thought of plenty he’d like to change about the place, but despite its shabby appearance, there was no mistaking the house’s love. The realization made him not want to change a thing, but rather be a part of it.
He led a full, exhilarating life in Virginia, but on those nights when he was alone in his condo, listening to the faint sounds of lives going on around him, the snippets of laughter next door, or the father and son living above him who playfully wrestled like a herd of stampeding buffalo, he wondered. What would it be like to share his life with someone? Which inevitably led him back to that brief, shining time with Constance, as she was the only woman to ever breach the loneliness in his soul.
And then she was back, flooding the room with her warm, breathy laugh. “Judging by how long Lindsay brushed and brushed and brushed her teeth, she didn’t want to go to bed.”
“I remember pulling that stunt,” he said, joining in her laughter.
She parked beside him, patting his thigh. “Seriously, thanks for your help with those lines. Lindsay always giggles when I deliver the tough guy lines. You added so much realism, you might have a second career in acting.”
“Good to know,” he said, covering her hand with his. “In case the Navy should ever decide to let me go.”
As if only just now realizing where she’d placed her hand, she moved it, but he held fast to her slim, cool fingers. “This has been a nice night. I should be the one thanking you.”
A faint smile tugged the corners of her lips. “How about thanking me on air tomorrow by behaving?”
“Aw, now,” he said, leaning into her, nudging her shoulder, “where would the fun be in that?”
She snatched a green corduroy throw pillow, tackling him with it. “The fun would be in actually being able to breathe since I wouldn’t be afraid of what you’re about to say next.”
“Breathing’s highly overrated,” he teased, still holding her hand. Her fingers had warmed. He’d done that, given her this small bit of comfort. Yet why should he care? She’d hurt him worse than the fall that’d broken his leg.
“What do you suggest as a replacement?”
“To breathing?”
His own breath hitched as he once again found himself in the torturous position of wanting—no, having—to kiss her. “Best replacement I know, is this….”
The distance between them was penetrated in a heartbeat. Her lips were hot, moist. And when, by mutual consent, their lips parted and he commenced with stroking her tongue, an overwhelming sense of coming home flooded his soul. Her breath was indescribably, deliciously laced with after-dinner coffee. Even awkwardly perched beside him on the sofa, her lush curves gave purpose to his strength.
Hands cupping her face, smoothing her hair, he kissed her, kissed her till she was moaning. This was wrong. Kissing her, holding her, wanting her worse than life. Wrong, because she’d hurt him once and would only do it again. A fiercely independent woman, Constance didn’t need a man in her life.
“My God…” she said, once he’d drawn away. Pressing trembling fingers to her lips, she shook her head, then smiled. “I feel transported in time.”
“That’s your second serving of cobbler talking through indigestion.”
“No,” she said with a firm shake of her head. “Garret, what have you done to me? That kiss. Didn’t you—if only for an instant—get the feeling things never changed between us?”
Yes. Trouble was, everything had changed. No-where near for the better.
“I should get going,” he said. “It’s late. What time do you want me back in the morning to help plan the next show?”
“Garret?”
He pushed himself up from the sofa.
“Everything okay?” Her gaze followed him as he hobbled across the room.
“Sure,” he said. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
She lightly shook her head, touched her brows. “Did I miss something? Literally, a few seconds ago, we were connecting on a level I never thought possible, yet now…”
“I have to go,” he said. “Mom will be worried.”
“Of course. But still…”
“I’m just trying to be considerate. Isn’t that what you’d do?” His sarcastic tone was accidental. One that’d cropped up right when he knew falling for her all over again could be the worst mistake of his life.
“Whoa,” she said, struggling to her feet, striding to where he stood beneath the entry hall arch. “How dare you speak to me about consideration? I just—”
“You just had the audacity to sit there, crooning about how it felt like things have never changed between us, yet right upstairs,” he spat in a stage whisper, “is a child you had by another man. A child—to the best of my calculations, you could’ve conceived with me. So pardon if I don’t get warm and fuzzy tripping down Memory Lane.”
Though she visibly trembled under his verbal attack, he was powerless to comfort her, seeing how giving voice to his suspicion that she’d been sleeping with Nathan at the same time as him made Garret’s stomach roil. He’d loved her. Loved her with frightening intensity. He’d been so damned certain she’d loved him back. How could she have betrayed him that way?
“For the record,” she said, her voice hollow and shaded with infinite levels of pain. “I never slept with Nathan until after we’d already broken up.”
“I’m not dumb, Connie. I did pretty well in math.”
“How’d you do in med school? Lindsay was born premature. It happens.”
“You exhaust me, having a ready-made excuse for all occasions. Why, for once, can’t you just say, ‘Garret, I screwed up. Sorry.’”
“I don’t say that word.”
“Screwed?” he said with a brittle laugh. “Or sorry?”
“Get out,” she said, tears shimmering in her eyes. “Get out and stay out. You’re no longer welcome in my home.”
“Great.” Sounded like a fine solution to him. Now the only problem was, how did he get the woman out of his heart?