“That’s okay.” Kara closed the door behind them and stepped toward her, then froze. “Did you grow?”

“Heels.”

“You’re always wearing heels,” Kara pointed out. “Those are not heels. Those are stilts.”

“I needed the confidence boost,” Reagan said defensively, then began to pace. “I’m freaking out.”

“What’s wrong? Do you need wine? Should we call Marianne for reinforcements?”

She shook her head, then let her purse drop to the couch as she walked by. “Your apartment is cute.”

Kara looked around. “Thanks.”

“Homey, you know? Like you could live here and be comfortable, but not so lived-in it loses its cuteness.” Reagan shook her hands, which were now cramping. She wanted to rub them on the thighs of her dress to get rid of the cold sweat but refused to ruin the dress she was wearing. God, she was a hot mess. “It’s perfect for you. And now I’m talking in circles.”

“I think you’re walking in circles,” Kara added dryly. “You’re going to make yourself dizzy.”

“No way. I was a cheerleader. I can do the splits at thirty feet. I don’t get dizzy.” Reagan felt the cold sweat start to run down her back. Awesome. Now her gorgeous black dress would have a weird wet line between her shoulder blades.

“Reagan, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Everything. No, nothing. Ugh! I don’t know!” She stopped in place, squeezed her eyes shut and tried to picture a calm, serene ocean in her mind. Hear the waves, see the waves, feel the waves . . .

And now she had to pee. Fantastic.

“I’m meeting a guy here in fifteen minutes. If he’s on time, that is.” She mumbled, “His kind tend to be late.”

“Meeting who? And why here?”

“Because I can’t meet him at my place!” Reagan just stared at Kara, who stared back with a complete lack of understanding.

“Mom?” A boy of about nine or ten stepped out from the hallway and slid in close to his mother. He wore a hoodie with the front pocket partially ripped off, a pair of jeans with two grass-stained knees and socks that flipped out when he walked. In short, he looked like any other nine-year-old she’d ever met, including her brothers when they’d been growing up. “Who’s that?” he asked.

Kara smoothed a hand over his head, and looked into his eyes. Even from their profiles, Reagan could see they were basically clones of each other. “Ignore the crazy lady, Zach, and go finish your homework.”

He ran off without a backward glance. Reagan couldn’t blame him. Nor could she fault Kara’s “crazy lady” comment. She was acting crazy. But there were reasons for her elevated craziness.

“Okay, time to stop walking yourself in circles and come sit down.” Using a firm grip, and a firmer tone, Kara took hold of Reagan’s wrist and pulled her to the couch. They sat down and Reagan was immediately filled with a moment of peace. Must have been the lavender-scented candle on the coffee table. Or maybe the way Kara mothered her without smothering her. She’d needed it.

“I’m meeting Gregory Higgs for dinner.” She waited for Kara’s exclamation of disbelief or excitement. Something. Anything.

She was met with a calm stare and patience.

Okay then. “Greg Higgs, the Marine? One of the boxers?” When Kara showed no signs of recognition, she added, “Brad Costa’s roommate? He showed up the other night with Brad and the tall one, Graham.”

“I know,” Kara said easily. “And that’s what has you so worked up?”

“What if it doesn’t go well?” Reagan paused, then voiced the worse option. “What if it does go well? Oh my God, I don’t know how to date like an adult. I’m only twenty-four!”

“When I was twenty-four, I had a five-year-old. I might not be the person to freak out to about this.”

“You’re right.” She covered her face, doing her best to not smear her makeup in the process. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I’m pathetic.”

Kara rubbed her back quietly for a moment, just lending the support Reagan desperately needed.

“You’re not pathetic, you’re having a pathetic moment.”

Reagan peered at her through her fingers. Kara shrugged. “What? It works on Zach.”

“I’ve been reduced to a nine-year-old.”

“Ten last month.”

“Even better.”

As the door thudded with a knock, both women startled a little. Kara watched Reagan. Reagan watched the door.

After a minute, the knock came again. Kara asked, “Should I tell him you’re not here?”

“No.” With a sigh, feeling like she was on her way to meet a firing squad, Reagan picked up her purse.

“I’ve got it!” Zach slid up to the door, skidding past it just a little in his sock-clad feet.

“Zach, no!” Kara called, but it was too late. Zach opened the door to a very handsome, very confused-looking Greg.

He glanced down at Zach, then leaned back to check the number above the door of the apartment. “Is this 3F?”

“Yeah. Who are you?”

“Zach,” Kara scolded as she stepped up beside her son. “Hi, Greg.”

He raised a brow. “Hey, Kara. Hold on.” He looked at his cell phone, and Reagan assumed he was searching for the text message she’d sent him. “Yup, it says 3F here.” He looked at Kara and smiled, and Reagan could feel her knees melt just a little. He wore simple slacks and a button-front shirt. No tie, no sports jacket. Just clean, fresh Greg.

He raised a brow at his phone. “Reagan sent me the wrong address. Do you know hers?”

“I’m here.” Reagan clutched her purse and stepped up beside her friend and her friend’s son. “Sorry, I knew I was coming over here first so that’s why I had you meet me here.”

“Huh.” Greg shrugged, then handed her a bouquet of flowers. She nearly wobbled on her now-putty legs. “These are for you.” He grinned, then shifted them to Kara. “Or maybe they’re for you, since you own the place.”

“Rent, but that works.” Kara took the flowers. “Reagan, I’ll put these in water. You can get them when you’re done with your . . . whatever,” she finished, then pushed Reagan out the door and closed it behind them.

*   *   *

GREG stared open-mouthed at the closed door. He’d only met her a few times, but in his limited knowledge of the woman, she’d been sweet as pie. He hadn’t known she’d had a son, but he also wasn’t shocked. The lady was a looker, and with that aforementioned sweet disposition, it stood to reason she’d be taken. But that send-off was definitely not sweet.

“She’s annoyed with me,” Reagan explained, pushing at the hair she’d left down for the evening. It was the first time he could remember seeing it down. The entire thing was a thick curtain of rich chestnut and oak, and he wanted nothing more than to tunnel his fingers through it to feel how heavy it was. How sensitive her scalp was.

In the weak light of the apartment hallway, he took his first look at her. And nearly had to roll his tongue back in his mouth, cartoon-style.

She wore a black dress that hugged her curves in all the right spots, fell loose and swishy where it mattered, left her shoulders and arms bare, and was capped off with the highest damn heels he’d ever seen in his life.

“Those aren’t actually real shoes, are they?”

Reagan tipped her left foot to the side just a little. “Why does everyone think I can’t walk in these? They’re just shoes.”

“Honey, on you, those are definitely not just anything. It’s like the cherry on top of a gorgeous sundae . . . only upside down.”

She smiled at that. “Thank you. I think.”

He held out his arm, and she looped hers through it. With the stilts, she was now at least two inches taller, and he’d bet his next paycheck she’d done that deliberately. “No flats, huh?”

“They’re at the dry cleaners.”

“No problem.” He walked her to his rental and opened the door for her. His breath hitched a little as the skirt rode up while she arranged her legs in an artful little bend. “Luckily, I’m a guy who doesn’t mind being topped by a beautiful woman.”