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of time. Finally, she said with a strange little smile, “Neither am I.”
    He frowned. He hadn’t seen that coming. Normally when he got to a point of having to be direct with a girl, he had to sit through a half hour of listening to her list all her qualities, try to convince him she was flexible, that she didn’t mind a doctor’s hours, that really, they could make this work. He’d watch as her eyes become all watery, and he’d patiently hand her a napkin or tissue or, once, even his sleeve. He’d kindly tell her she’d find someone better suited, someone to give her the attention she deserved, that she was a great girl, that it was him, not her, and reluctantly agree that maybe someday he’d find a way to balance his life. He’d give her a hug, put her in a cab, and then shake off the guilt he felt, reminding himself it was a necessary evil, that he hadn’t promised her a damn thing and that it was better for her that he hadn’t. Just like he’d never promised Ivy anything. But from the curious tilt of her head, it seemed that this was one situation he may have read all wrong.
    â€œOh. I just assumed—”
    â€œWhat? That one kiss had me planning our wedding flowers?” Ivy laughed. “Please, Brett. It was a wedding. Alcohol was involved. It was just a kiss.”
    Now here he disagreed. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a flurry of mouths and hands and heat. And no alcohol had been involved. She’d kissed him with a clear head. Not that he could say the same for himself. He’d been stupid, and it wasn’t on account of a glass of wine. He’d wanted her.
    â€œBesides, that was months ago,” she pointed out. She gave him a pitying look as she cocked an eyebrow.
    â€œIt was. I just…” He frowned, at a loss. He wasn’t used to the conversation going this way. Wasn’t prepared for it. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t… let down.”
    â€œLet down?” A wrinkle of confusion appeared between her eyebrows.
    He gave her a kind smile. “You know, that you didn’t have any… expectations.”
    She laughed. “My goodness, someone’s full of himself.”
    Brett felt his brow flinch. “I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t any misunderstanding. I’m glad we cleared the air.”
    â€œMe too.” Her tone was sharp, and she was already unraveling one long leg from the bench, using the surface to steady herself. “But it was good seeing you, Brett. And now that you’re back in town, I’m sure this won’t be the last time.”
    She smiled as she turned and walked away toward the Madison sisters, who were gathered at the edge of the lawn, and he watched her hips move and sway as she strode across the grass, her long auburn hair bouncing against her back. Brett frowned, wondering what exactly he had accomplished in that conversation. He and Ivy had never been close, but they saw each other a lot when he was in town—she was always at some party or event he was invited to—and he liked her. Liked her smile. Liked her laugh. Liked her face.
    He liked her a lot, actually.
    â€œSomeone sitting here?” Shea O’Riley, who had been a couple of years behind him in school, hovered next to the table, holding a glass of white wine and smiling at him.
    Brett hesitated, his mind still on Ivy, his head still spinning over the conversation they had just had. He waved a hand over the table, smiling politely. “It’s all yours.”
    â€œPerfect,” she said, and then startled him by scooting onto the seat next to him rather than across from him, where Ivy had sat.
    He laughed under his breath, surprised, but not entirely, and started thinking of an exit plan. He was used to girls making moves on him. Maybe it was because he made so few of his own; they had no choice but to take the lead. In high school, it was out of shyness,