island honeymoon he'd planned and the house they'd buy and renovate together, it was as if it was already a done deal, and there seemed to be little left for Regina to do but agree. And she had—she'd barely blinked before he slid the two-carat diamond on her finger and bustled her off to his favorite restaurant for a celebratory champagne toast—but within a month, he had taken up with a girl who worked at the ridiculously overpriced boutique where he bought his custom-made shirts.
Though if Regina was really honest with herself—and there was something about sitting up in a tree house with balmy September breezes blowing the scent of fresh-cut grass through the air that seemed to encourage honesty—the breakup had been just as much her fault as Carl’s. "You hold yourself back," Carl had said after she'd packed all the things she'd kept at his loft into a cardboard box. "In all the time I've known you, I never really knew all of you."
And he never would... and no one else would either. Not even Meredith or her sisters understood that Regina had a soft spot for people who didn’t quite fit in, the ones who were overlooked and dismissed. It didn't take a degree in psychology to know where it came from. As the black sheep of the family, the only sister without musical stardom in her future, she identified with those who followed the beat of different drummers. But that wouldn't help her get ahead in life, as her early clients had proven. When she could actually bear to think about it, she wondered if the few gigs and reviews she'd gotten them had actually improved their lives, or only given them false hope. So now she was committed to surrounding herself with success. She only signed clients who'd become stars, and only dated men who were at the top of their game.
Which was why Carl had been perfect. Carl Cash, charismatic and photogenic and as slick as the day was long, was about as vulnerable as a granite boulder. He didn't need her and she hadn't hurt him, and that made him the perfect boyfriend while he lasted.
Next to her, Chase shifted slightly, so that his leg brushed against hers. "Sorry," he mumbled, coloring. "Old injury, acts up when the weather changes."
"But the weather's perfect!" Regina exclaimed. Sun dappled the weathered boards, and the temperature was balmy. There wasn't a cloud in the sky.
"There's something going on with the atmosphere," Chase said. "I'm no weatherman, but it sure feels like there's some sort of storm brewing."
"We'll see," Regina said stiffly, wondering how the man could mistake the tension between them for atmospheric disturbance. Honestly, men could be so thick-headed. Sometimes, people just rubbed each other the wrong way. There was no getting around it. Best to just avoid them and chalk it up to human nature.
She really ought to climb back down to solid ground. Instead, she lapsed into silence, stealing glances at Chase's sun-browned forearm. He had the sort of muscles that were built from hard work instead of the gym, unlike Carl. His upper arms strained the sleeves of his shirt, which, now that Regina was only inches away, she saw was a little threadbare, faded from many washings. His jeans were equally worn, the fabric soft and faded and, she couldn't help noticing, snug in all of the right places. And his boots—though they were well cared for, the leather oiled and supple, she'd bet there were a lot of miles on them.
All of which spoke to the kind of background that set off red lights for Regina. The hardscrabble, self-made types—entirely wrong to be attracted to. Because men like that could be hurt too easily. They'd been disappointed too often. They had no Carl-like defenses, no backup game plan, no black book full of women's phone numbers on standby.
"Sing," she said abruptly, determined to change the direction of their conversation.
"Pardon me?"
"I said, sing. Please. That's what we're here for, right? I mean, it's nice up here and all, but I don't have all
Though if Regina was really honest with herself—and there was something about sitting up in a tree house with balmy September breezes blowing the scent of fresh-cut grass through the air that seemed to encourage honesty—the breakup had been just as much her fault as Carl’s. "You hold yourself back," Carl had said after she'd packed all the things she'd kept at his loft into a cardboard box. "In all the time I've known you, I never really knew all of you."
And he never would... and no one else would either. Not even Meredith or her sisters understood that Regina had a soft spot for people who didn’t quite fit in, the ones who were overlooked and dismissed. It didn't take a degree in psychology to know where it came from. As the black sheep of the family, the only sister without musical stardom in her future, she identified with those who followed the beat of different drummers. But that wouldn't help her get ahead in life, as her early clients had proven. When she could actually bear to think about it, she wondered if the few gigs and reviews she'd gotten them had actually improved their lives, or only given them false hope. So now she was committed to surrounding herself with success. She only signed clients who'd become stars, and only dated men who were at the top of their game.
Which was why Carl had been perfect. Carl Cash, charismatic and photogenic and as slick as the day was long, was about as vulnerable as a granite boulder. He didn't need her and she hadn't hurt him, and that made him the perfect boyfriend while he lasted.
Next to her, Chase shifted slightly, so that his leg brushed against hers. "Sorry," he mumbled, coloring. "Old injury, acts up when the weather changes."
"But the weather's perfect!" Regina exclaimed. Sun dappled the weathered boards, and the temperature was balmy. There wasn't a cloud in the sky.
"There's something going on with the atmosphere," Chase said. "I'm no weatherman, but it sure feels like there's some sort of storm brewing."
"We'll see," Regina said stiffly, wondering how the man could mistake the tension between them for atmospheric disturbance. Honestly, men could be so thick-headed. Sometimes, people just rubbed each other the wrong way. There was no getting around it. Best to just avoid them and chalk it up to human nature.
She really ought to climb back down to solid ground. Instead, she lapsed into silence, stealing glances at Chase's sun-browned forearm. He had the sort of muscles that were built from hard work instead of the gym, unlike Carl. His upper arms strained the sleeves of his shirt, which, now that Regina was only inches away, she saw was a little threadbare, faded from many washings. His jeans were equally worn, the fabric soft and faded and, she couldn't help noticing, snug in all of the right places. And his boots—though they were well cared for, the leather oiled and supple, she'd bet there were a lot of miles on them.
All of which spoke to the kind of background that set off red lights for Regina. The hardscrabble, self-made types—entirely wrong to be attracted to. Because men like that could be hurt too easily. They'd been disappointed too often. They had no Carl-like defenses, no backup game plan, no black book full of women's phone numbers on standby.
"Sing," she said abruptly, determined to change the direction of their conversation.
"Pardon me?"
"I said, sing. Please. That's what we're here for, right? I mean, it's nice up here and all, but I don't have all
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