“You think?” Emmaline raised a delicate, golden brow.

Hope shimmered in the depths of her eyes, and a tentative smiled tugged at her lips. If Gracie didn’t know any better she’d say that Emmaline was relieved to be rid of Conrad, despite the humiliation of finding him in the arms of another woman. Perhaps now she had the opportunity to write the life she wanted, one free of Cecilia Greene’s restraints.

“Yeah, I’m almost certain of it.” Gracie smiled. “Now you can find someone to love. Someone who has nice, neat pubic hair.”

“And abs.” Emmaline chuckled, wiping the leftover tears from her eyes. “I want abs, too.”

…

Saturday mornings at First were usually busy, thanks to their creative brunch menu, but the first balmy hint of summer heat had drawn even more people out of hibernation. Customers filled every inch of the restaurant. They occupied the wooden tables in the courtyard outside and lined the edges when there were no tables left.

Pride swelled in Des’s chest. Twelve months ago his restaurant was struggling to break even, but his perseverance and hard work paid off. When something felt right you had to go for it.

Hypocrite.

He frowned at the parallel his mind drew to his failed-before-it-started relationship with Gracie. Since the night they’d slept together, his stomach churned constantly. He couldn’t erase the image of her standing in his lounge room, guilt painted all over her face.

But she’d apologized for the way she treated him, not for the reason behind it. And that reasoning was precisely his concern. Sure, she’d had sex with him without knowing whether it would lead to anything. That he could handle, but the fact that she threw the towel in because her family would think him a poor choice… Well, that cut to the bone.

Still, he hadn’t been able to think about anyone else. All other women paled in comparison to her; therefore he was up shit creek without a paddle.

“You’ve got to get laid.” Paul slapped him on the back with gusto. “I can’t stand to see you moping like this. Chicks aren’t worth it.”

“Getting laid is not the solution to all life’s problems.”

“You should think about it. Might help you burn off some of that anger.”

Des shook his head. Sometimes his brother was clueless. “Don’t you ever want to find one special person to be with instead of sleeping your way through my customers?”

“If chasing after one girl turns people into this”—Paul gestured up and down to Des—“then no, I don’t want to do that. Life is for the living, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“You’re deluded.”

“And you’re crazy. You’re refusing to make up with Gracie but you won’t move on to someone else. What’s the point of that?”

Des frowned. “Why do you think I need to make up with her?”

“She hasn’t been here in ages and you’re in a permanent bad mood. I might not be a rocket scientist but I can see the connection there.” Paul elbowed him in the ribs, a sly smile crossing his face. “You could always let me talk to her.”

“Over my dead body.”

“That can be arranged.” Paul grinned. “Seriously though, what happened?”

“I slept with her,” he said, twisting his mouth into a grimace. “She decided it should be a one night only thing.”

“And that’s a problem?”

“Yeah. I don’t want one lousy night. I want all the nights, every damn one of them.”

Paul leaned against the bar and crossed his arms. “Why’d she bail?”

Des sighed. “Something about her family thinking we wouldn’t be a good match.”

“Ah.” Paul nodded. He had no snappy comeback or joke this time. “And you had flashbacks.”

“Yeah.” Des raked a hand through his hair. “That’s what I get for chasing after society princesses.”

“Gracie’s not just a society princess.”

“Since when do you take her side?”

Paul laughed, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m not taking sides. All I’m saying is that you’re putting your baggage on her when maybe there’s more to the story.”

“What more could there be?”

“She obviously likes you. I can tell you she never once looked at her dates the way she looked at you.”

“So?”

“Did you ever think that maybe her family issues embarrass her?”

Des blinked. “Uh, no.”

Paul shrugged. “Maybe she thinks that dragging you into her family drama would be a crime worse than skipping out after sleeping with you.”

“Bullshit.”

“Is it? If I remember correctly, she-who-shall-not-be-named was pretty darn tired of being stuck between you and her family.” Paul raised a brow. “And then you dumped her.”

“I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“I didn’t say you did the wrong thing. But don’t you think Gracie might be worried that she’ll go out on a limb only for you to bail when it gets too hard.”

Des could only imagine his face looked like a gaping fish in that moment. His younger brother—lady-killer extraordinaire—had given him a precious insight into Gracie’s mind that he hadn’t even considered.

“I know you don’t agree with the way I do things, but I’ve learned a thing or two about women. Any time they do something, it’s not for the reason you think.” Paul tilted his chin up and drew his lips into a smug smile. “Their logic is something you can’t even comprehend.”

Could he be right? Gracie had called a few times since the day he’d ordered her out of his house, and he’d ignored each one. Maybe he should have heard her out, listened to her reasons. Instead he’d been so blinded by desire to avoid the past that he’d assumed the worst.

“You need to make a decision one way or the other.” Paul started clearing the empty glasses from the bar. “You can’t keep driving everyone crazy by staying in limbo.”

The thought of letting Gracie go for good made him want to hurl something at the wall. She had a grip on him that he couldn’t shake. The memory of her soft lips and beautiful smile haunted him no matter whether he was waking or sleeping.

He couldn’t do it.

“Let go or go for it? Make a decision now before I stage a formal intervention.”

Des sucked in a breath. Paul was basically asking him whether he wanted to follow his head—the proper one, the logical one—or his heart.

“Tick tock, Bro.”

“Going for it.” As he said the words, it was as if something lifted from him—call it a dark cloud, a heavy weight. Whatever.

He felt free as a goddamn bird.

“Go.” Paul shoved him towards the door. “Good luck.”

…

Should he call? Des sat in the driver’s seat of his car and toyed with his phone. The house in front of him was intimidating in all its old-money glory. He looked down and caught sight of his ripped jeans and worn sneakers.

It would have to do. This was who he was—jeans and two-day growth, tatts and T-shirts. He loved getting his hands dirty, he loved tinkering with his car and watching sports and camping at the beach. He loved his Ma even though she always got the words “kitchen” and “chicken” mixed up. He wanted a simple life of home cooked food and hot sex. No frills, no fuss. Maybe a few bambinos running around.

If she couldn’t accept that… Well, he’d have to move on.

He stepped out of the car and started up towards the house, though calling it a house would have been a massive understatement. He knew she’d be here. Weekly lunches were a Greene family tradition, one she’d moaned about on multiple occasions.

He’d dropped her here one time, after a date had been cut short by a frantic call from her mother. It only ever happened the once and she’d been so distraught that he couldn’t possibly let her go on public transport. It wasn’t long after her father passed away. He hadn’t known her very well back then, but he’d liked her straight away.

Des hovered at the front door, his hand inches from the doorbell. Letting it go or going for it? Paul’s words echoed in his mind and he pressed the button quickly, before he changed his mind.