Bev and the other women leaned in, smiling encouragingly at her. Cruz was still silent, though. Listening. Up to now, neither of them had ever acknowledged the fact that they had met each other there, before their later, less fortunate, introduction.

“So there I was waiting for the lady to grab the bouquet I’d ordered from the cooler in the back when the bell rang over the door. I turned around to see Cruz standing there, looking so tall and impossibly big that he filled the doorway. He was soaking wet—it had been raining that night—water dripping down his face, his hair slicked back all dark and delicious. He walked so purposely toward me, and I worried he could hear my heart pounding as his gaze stayed on mine the entire time.”

“It was hard to take my eyes off of her.” His voice intruded, low and husky, and she froze as he took over, not daring to look at him. But his words washed over her, hot and thrilling. “She was wearing a long emerald gown—the color of her eyes.” That’s right. She’d been coming from a fundraiser she had chaired for Primary Children’s Hospital. “She was breathtaking. And that was before she smiled.”

There was a long pause and she realized that he was waiting for her now. To hear her version of things. “We made small talk, about the weather and it being unseasonably warm for January. But there was some strange pull between us, even as we talked about nothing. I think he mentioned something about Singin’ In the Rain. The movie?” She caught a glimpse at him from the corner of her eyes, saw him nodding as he remembered as well. “When the woman returned with my flowers, I was suddenly loath to go.”

But she’d also been engaged at that time. And the feelings she was experiencing, although thrilling and exciting, were foreign and entirely inappropriate. “But I was still in a relationship with someone, so it wasn’t like I could just ask for his number. In fact, I was so flustered, I thanked the woman and, turning to Cruz, told him I hoped he had a good night. To be honest, as I left, I was a bit disappointed that he didn’t stop me. Didn’t ask me for my number or at least my name.”

“Not that I didn’t want to,” Cruz said. “But I was already late with the flowers my brother had wanted so I grabbed the order and started back. She was on my mind the entire drive, though, and before I arrived I’d already decided to go back to the shop to convince them to tell me what they knew about her. A name, anything.”

He had? She turned finally to look at him, his eyes so dark but soft as he stared at her. There was that faintest smile on his lips again and she caught her breath.

“So imagine my surprise when a few minutes later, at the party, I turned around to find the same beautiful woman from the flower shop standing there with the flowers she’d left with. Yellow roses.” He didn’t go on to describe what he’d said and the crack that followed when she’d smacked his head with the vase. Accidentally. They both remembered that and what happened from there all too well.

“It’s like it was fate. Kismet. The two of you meeting like that,” Bev said and wiped a tear away. Payton might have had a few that were ready to drop as well.

She’d never known, all this time, if she’d imagined their connection or not. She didn’t have to wonder that anymore.

He’d planned on finding her.

“To kismet.” It was Lenny, holding his glass of tequila up, inviting everyone to join in his toast.

She paused before taking her own glass and met Cruz’s eyes again.

“To kismet,” they all repeated, glasses clanging. It was with some relief that she closed her eyes and tossed the rest of the contents down, the heat blazing a trail down to her belly that was already on fire.

When she opened them, it was to find Cruz looking at her more bemused. Speculative.

Time to regroup. “And that, ladies, is why I agreed to marry the knucklehead. He’s a man of few words except when it really counts. And when he does, every word has meaning.”

They all laughed but she felt Cruz’s gaze steady on her.

“Then there’s the fact his eyes positively burn whenever they settle on you,” Bev said next to her. “It doesn’t take a lot of words for a man to truly express how he feels about a woman, and I’d say your man here wouldn’t need a lot of them when he’s staring at you in that way. Like he’s going to incinerate you with that smolder.” The woman waved her hand as if her face were on fire and everyone laughed.

But the words gave Payton a moment’s pause. Was that true? Did he look at her, stare at her, like he really wanted her that way? No. Not anymore. Not since that first meeting, when there had been possibilities.

These people were only seeing what they wanted to see.

She laughed with everyone else but knew her cheeks were warm.

“Can anyone blame me?” Cruz’s hand settled on hers resting on the table, and her entire body tensed at the touch.

She found the courage to raise her gaze to his. He did seem to be looking at her exactly as they all described—with need. Desire. But was it real? Or an act to appease them?

It didn’t matter. Because she knew that over the course of the last few minutes, both of them lost in the events of that first night, something had irrevocably changed between them.

Something that had her breathing coming shorter and shallower. Wanting more than the touch of his hand resting on hers.

The first jarring beats of a mariachi band pulled her from her thoughts and all eyes turned to the troupe who had arrived at their table.

Cruz hadn’t taken his hand off hers. He leaned over, his breath a whisper at her ear. “Wouldn’t want to look like anything less than a happy couple. How’m I doing?”

She swallowed and bobbed her head, not daring to look into those eyes in case he could read her mind.

“Just fine.”

Cruz sucked in the night air as they left the restaurant and walked out onto the sidewalk, Payton at his side as they joined the other revelers. Their troupe of dancer friends had left them at the door so they could check in for the night’s festivities, and now it was just the two of them.

He took in a deep breath, the cool air feeling fresh and sharp in his lungs. He needed to clear his head, having consumed four shots of tequila already. More than his limit, but at the time, the flavor and taste a welcome diversion from the feeling of having Payton nestled under his arm while they kept up the pretense of engaged lovers.

Payton was silent next to him, her steps a little less certain, and he slowed his pace to hers. They needed to keep better track of their alcohol intake if they were going to keep their heads.

He thought about what Payton had said earlier, while recounting their first meeting. He’d been certain that she’d never given him a second thought that night, not with the way she’d rushed out of the shop so fast, before he could even catch her name.

But it hadn’t stopped him from thinking about her. He’d meant what he said about wanting to find her that night. He’d already had a great line in mind to use to finagle her details from the cashier.

All this time, he’d concluded he’d imagined their connection. But he’d been wrong. There had been a moment there, a moment when they both had the opportunity for a different start. A different relationship. Until he’d opened his big mouth and not just insulted her but sealed the terms of a different type of relationship. One full of mistrust and contention.

What would have happened if it had gone differently?

They’d never know, but he did know one thing. He owed her an apology.

“Payton, about that night. What I said at the party? I didn’t know you and my comment was completely out of line. Maybe it was some lingering resentment I still had for Brad—I don’t know. But I am sorry.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and shining, not holding any indication of resentment. “I accept. And I’m sorry for clobbering you with that vase.”