Kit suddenly found her thoughts split between what Ad was saying and the scenario forming in her head.

A scenario in which they were at the end of a date. A date she’d thoroughly enjoyed. And that they were about to kiss good-night.

But they weren’t about to kiss good-night. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” she forced herself to say, attempting to escape her daydream. “Thanks for all your help tonight,” she said, prolonging this moment.

“Don’t mention it. I’d be your kitchen assistant anytime,” he joked with a lascivious note in his voice, tossing her a sexy half smile to go with it.

And that was when it struck her that Ad Walker absolutely was not like any other guy. And spending the last couple of hours with him hadn’t cured whatever it was she’d been infected by the moment she’d met him.

No, if anything she thought that she really had been bitten by the Ad bug. Bitten but good.

And there was only one thing that would cure her.

Dear Reader,

Well, the lazy days of summer are winding to an end, so what better way to celebrate those last long beach afternoons than with a good book? We here at Silhouette Special Edition are always happy to oblige! We begin with Diamonds and Deceptions by Marie Ferrarella, the next in our continuity series, THE PARKS EMPIRE. When a mesmerizing man walks into her father’s bookstore, sheltered Brooke Moss believes he’s her dream come true. But he’s about to challenge everything she thought she knew about her own family.

Victoria Pade continues her NORTHBRIDGE NUPTIALS with Wedding Willies, in which a runaway bride with an aversion to both small towns and matrimony finds herself falling for both, along with Northbridge’s most eligible bachelor! In Patricia Kay’s Man of the Hour, a woman finds her gratitude to the detective who found her missing child turning quickly to…love. In Charlie’s Angels by Cheryl St. John, a single father is stymied when his little girl is convinced that finding a new mommy is as simple as having an angel sprinkle him with her “miracle dust”—until he meets the beautiful blonde who drives a rig called “Silver Angel.” In It Takes Three by Teresa Southwick, a pregnant caterer sets her sights on the handsome single dad who swears his fatherhood days are behind him. Sure they are! And the MEN OF THE CHEROKEE ROSE series by Janis Reams Hudson concludes with The Cowboy on Her Trail, in which one night of passion with the man she’s always wanted results in a baby on the way. Can marriage be far behind?

Enjoy all six of these wonderful novels, and please do come back next month for six more new selections, only from Silhouette Special Edition.

Gail Chasan

Senior Editor

Wedding Willies
Victoria Pade

www.millsandboon.co.uk

VICTORIA PADE

is a bestselling author of both historical and contemporary romance fiction, and mother of two energetic daughters, Cori and Erin. Although she enjoys her chosen career as a novelist, she occasionally laments that she has never traveled farther from her Colorado home than Disneyland, instead spending all her spare time plugging away at her computer. She takes breaks from writing by indulging in her favorite hobby—eating chocolate.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Chapter One

I t was nearly nine-thirty on Saturday night when Kit MacIntyre’s bus pulled in to Northbridge, Montana. She was the last passenger and the driver unloaded her luggage and carried it all the way into the station for her.

“I spend the night here and then do the return trip in the morning,” he explained along the way.

Inside, the station was about the size of a grade-school classroom. There was no one on the pewlike benches or using the vending machines, and the elderly woman who was manning the place had already closed the ticket counter.

She greeted the driver by name, nodded to Kit, and then locked the rear door they’d come in through.

“Somebody meetin’ you, sweetie?” the woman asked Kit after the driver had left through the front door.

“My friend was supposed to be here,” Kit answered, scanning the space even though it was obvious there wasn’t anyone else there.

“Who’s your friend?” the woman inquired.

Anywhere else that question might have seemed odd, but Kit’s friend had warned her that in a small town everyone knew everyone.

“Kira Wentworth,” Kit informed her.

“You must be here for the wedding next Saturday,” the older woman said reverently, as if the wedding were the social event of the year.

“I’m the maid of honor,” Kit confirmed. “I’m also making the wedding cake.”

Light seemed to dawn for the elderly woman whose blue eyes widened into saucers. “Oh, I’ve heard about you. My niece got married in Colorado and she wouldn’t have any cake but yours—Kit’s Cakes. The minute Kira told me who was making hers I recognized the name.”

“That’s me.”

“Well, I can’t wait to have that cake again. My mouth has been watering for it ever since.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” Kit said.

That apparently ended the cake conversation then because the woman said, “I haven’t seen Kira tonight. Did she know what time the bus was getting in?”

Kit assured her that Kira did.

The woman checked the big round clock on the wall behind the ticket counter and said, “I need to close up and get home to my Henry to give him his pills. But it’s a nice night. Maybe you could wait on the bench out front.”

It wasn’t like Kira to be unreliable so Kit felt certain her friend would be there any minute. “Would it be all right if I used the rest room first?” she asked. “I’ll hurry.”

“Sure thing. I’ll just give my Henry a buzz and let him know I’m on my way.”

Kit thanked her and followed the arrow on the aged sign that said Lavatories.

The ladies’ room contained two stalls and a sink, and smelled of pine cleaner. Kit quickly entered the first stall that she came to so she could have a few minutes after she’d washed and dried her hands for a fast assessment of how she looked. She was about to meet Kira’s fiancé for the first time, and she didn’t want to do that all wilted and haggard.

She’d had a long day. She’d needed to put the final touches on four wedding cakes before she was able to rush home to do last-minute packing and then get to the airport. But glancing in the mirror above the sink, she decided that she wasn’t too much the worse for wear.

Her pale skin needed a swipe of the blush brush from the makeup bag she took from her purse, but the mascara she’d applied that morning was still helping to darken her eyelashes. She did use her little fingers to smooth away a few smudges under her blue-violet eyes, however. Then she freshened her light mauve lipstick and pulled out the rubber band that held her hair in a ponytail.

Her hair fell to three inches below her shoulders in an unruly cascade of curls and waves. It gave Kit fits. The curl was natural and untamable, and her hair was so thick that it always seemed too bushy to her. She’d always wished for sleek, smooth hair that she could wear in a chin-length bob, but as it was, if she cut the hair she had she lost the heaviness that helped weigh it down and ended up with what she considered clown hair.

At least she didn’t mind the color, she conceded as she brushed out the dark walnut brown mass and left it to fall free around her face.

She replaced her makeup bag in her purse and left the rest room to find that it was still only the older woman waiting for her in the station.

“No Kira yet,” the woman informed her.

“It’s okay. I’ll wait outside so you can get going,” Kit assured her.

The woman led the way through the front door and Kit followed, carrying her own suitcase this time, along with the oversized shopping bag that held her pans and utensils.

Outside Kit found herself across the street from a gas station, and she spotted a pay phone she could use if Kira didn’t show up soon.

As the other woman locked the door from the outside, Kit set her suitcase in front of the bench that was beside it, put her bag on the seat and sat down.

“If Kira and Cutty were still at the old house you could walk from here,” the station attendant said. “The new house is farther away, though. Not too far a walk if you didn’t have anything to carry, but with your suitcase and… Well, I’m sure Kira will be here any minute. I can’t imagine what’s keeping her.”

“I’ll be fine,” Kit said, assuming the older woman wanted reassurance that it was okay to leave her.

She must have been right because the woman said, “I’ll say good night then.”

“Good night,” Kit responded as the woman headed down the street on foot herself.

It was a beautiful mid-August night. Warm enough without being too hot, and there wasn’t so much as a breeze to disturb the air.

But even so Kit wished that her friend would get there. It was almost eerily quiet and there wasn’t a soul anywhere to be seen after the bus station attendant turned a corner about a block down.

Not that Northbridge didn’t look like a nice little town from Kit’s vantage point. It did. The gas station and the bus station were face-to-face at the end of Main Street, which seemed to be the gateway to the town proper.

Kit couldn’t see all the way to the end of Main Street from where she was, but what she could see of it was lined on either side by two-and three-story, primarily brick structures. Quaint and old-fashioned, they had such a country-town feel to them that Kit wouldn’t have been surprised to see a horse-drawn streetcar coming toward her or an old Studebaker parked at the curb somewhere along the way.

Tall, ornate wrought-iron pole lamps lit the sidewalks on both sides of the wider-than-average thoroughfare, and each light was circled with flower boxes that held the riotous yellows and oranges and burnt umbers of the marigolds planted around them.

But as nice as it looked, Kit would have preferred taking it all in on a leisurely afternoon when she and Kira could browse through the shops. At that moment she just wanted Kira to come get her.

Kit was beginning to consider crossing to the gas station to call her friend when movement quite a ways down Main Street caught her eye and distracted her.

It appeared to be a man who had just left one of the buildings, but the distance was too great for her to tell what kind of establishment he’d come out of. He was headed for her end of the street though, and despite the fact that Kit expected him to get into one of several cars parked nose-first at the curb, he just kept coming in her direction.

Maybe he would be turning off onto a side street the way the bus station woman had, Kit thought, feeling slightly edgy when that didn’t seem to be happening.

She reminded herself that Kira had said Northbridge was a safe place. The man Kira was marrying was a Northbridge police officer, and he’d told Kira that keeping the peace involved mostly speeding tickets, a domestic violence complaint here and there, and underage drinking due to the presence of the small college.

But Kit felt uneasy anyway.

It was dark, after all, and she was alone without any indication that there was anyone who would hear her scream for help if she needed it. And the man not only kept coming, when he was about a block away he looked right at her, smiled and waved.

He wasn’t Kira’s fiancé, Kit knew that. Her friend had sent her a picture of them together, along with his twin nineteen-month-old daughters. And the man who was headed in Kit’s direction was not that man.

This man was someone else.

He didn’t look threatening—if that meant anything. Although he was a big son of a gun, she thought. And just because a guy was really handsome didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous.

But this guy was really handsome. Really, really handsome. Handsome in the extreme.

Long, muscular legs were bringing him closer by the second. He had a narrow waist and broad, powerful shoulders, and he wore his sable-colored hair short on the sides and slightly longer and mussed on top. And what a face. He could have done shaving commercials with those sculpted features. High cheekbones; a wide, square forehead; a thin, almost sharp and very straight nose; lips that were a little thin but seemed to suit him just the same; and when he smiled at her yet again as he drew nearer, it put two matching creases down his cheeks and gave him a hunky, mischievous air….

“Kit?” he said when he was several yards away but close enough for her to hear him.

“Yes,” she answered tentatively, not sure whether she was unsettled by being approached by a strange man on a deserted street, or by the fact that he was so amazing looking that it had sort of stunned her.

He pressed a big, long-fingered hand to the chest that was barely contained in a red knit polo shirt and said, “I’m Ad. Ad Walker. I’m a friend of Cutty’s.”

He said that with a question in his deep baritone voice, clearly wondering if she’d ever heard of him before.

She had. Not only had Kira talked about her fiancé’s best friend, but what had prompted Kira’s trip to Northbridge in search of her sister in the first place had been a newspaper article about Cutty and this man. Cutty and Addison Walker had rushed into a burning house to save the family inside. Which they’d done, only to end up injured themselves—Cutty had broken his ankle and Addison Walker had been knocked unconscious.

Not that there seemed to be any lingering effects because he looked in robust health now.

Belatedly, Kit said, “Kira told me about you. I’m Kit. Kit MacIntyre,” she added, feeling foolish when she recalled that he’d already known that or he wouldn’t have been able to call her by name.

Then, to make matters worse, she held out her hand with an aggressive thrust, as if she were trying to impress a prospective employer with her enthusiasm.

Ad Walker smiled and accepted her hand to shake, taking it into his massive mitt, enveloping it in a warm strength that sent heat up her arm and all through the rest of her body, and left her wondering how a mere handshake could be sensuous.

“Nice to meet you,” he said.

The handshake seemed over much too quickly for Kit and she was shocked to find herself disappointed when he let go. So disappointed she had to force herself out of her own thoughts and into paying attention to what he was saying.

“Mel—one of the twins—fell and hit her head,” Ad Walker explained. “Cutty and Kira had to take her in for stitches, so they asked if I’d pick you up.”

“Is the baby all right?”

“She’s fine. It was just a cut,” he assured. “I don’t know if Kira told you or not, but you’ll be staying with me.” He held up a big hand to wave away that last statement. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. What I meant was, I have two apartments above my restaurant—” He poked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction from which he’d just come. “I live in one of them and I rent out the other to college kids when school is in session. But my extra apartment is vacant for the summer, and since Kira and Cutty’s new house is torn up with the remodel—and since you’ll be using the restaurant ovens to make the wedding cake anyway—we thought it would work out for you to use the empty apartment while you’re here.”

Kira had told Kit all that. But she liked listening to the sound of Ad Walker’s voice so much that she didn’t mind hearing it again.

“I hope it isn’t an inconvenience for you,” she said rather than letting him know he’d gone through that entire explanation for nothing.

“Nope, not at all. They’re two completely separate apartments so I won’t even know you’re there, and you won’t know I’m there, either.”

Somehow Kit doubted that even separate apartments could wipe away the knowledge that this man was somewhere nearby.

But she didn’t say that.

She did, however, remind herself that she was in men-pause. She was taking a hiatus from men and romance and relationships after two huge fiascoes that she took full responsibility for.

Ad Walker picked up her suitcase. “My place is just up the street. I thought we could go there, get you settled in, and then maybe get you something to eat and drink while we wait for Kira and Cutty to finish up with the baby and come by. If that’s all okay with you?”

“Sounds fine.” Kit took the shopping bag from the bench, explaining as she did, “I brought my own pans for the cake. I wasn’t sure how equipped you were for baking.”

“Beyond the ovens, I’m not equipped for baking at all,” he informed her as they started off, retracing his path. “I do pub-style food—fish-and-chips, burgers, sandwiches, soups, a mean steak, ribs, barbecue, that kind of thing. The only desserts I offer are cheesecake and chocolate cake that I buy frozen from my food supplier.”

“Oh dear.”

Ad Walker laughed a laugh that rolled around in his chest as if it were a deep barrel. “Believe me, I’m embarrassed to admit that to someone who makes cakes for a living.”

“I could teach you a few basic recipes that wouldn’t be difficult but would taste better than prepackaged, frozen, mass-produced, preservative-laden, not-much-of-a-treat desserts.”

He glanced over at her, smiling. “You’d do that? Give up a couple of your world famous recipes to me?”

“Well, maybe not the world famous ones,” she joked. “But I think I could be persuaded to teach you a few lesser-knowns for room and board this week.” And she was enjoying bantering with him much more than she wanted to be.

“It’s a deal,” he said.

They’d reached his restaurant and bar by then.

A large neon sign proclaimed the place Adz. The front of the restaurant was mostly windows with dark green café curtains halfway up for the privacy of diners at the tables just inside. The doorway was recessed, and Ad Walker stepped into the alcove ahead of Kit to open the door for her.

The English pub theme wasn’t only in the food. The dark wood paneling, dim lighting and booths that lined the walls around the freestanding tables all looked like they’d been taken straight from England or Ireland. And the long, carved, walnut bar with the brass foot rail and the full mirror behind it only added to the warm, friendly, casual ambience.

“Nice,” Kit judged.

“Thanks. I like it.”

Ad Walker led her through the crowd that was eating and drinking despite the fact that Kit had seen so little life on the street outside. He used his backside to push open the swinging doors to one side of the bar and waited for Kit to precede him into the kitchen.

The kitchen was impressively clean and much the same as most restaurant kitchens—a brightly lit space with sinks and stoves and ovens lining the walls, and workstations in the form of stainless steel tables in the center.

Ad wasn’t paid a lot of attention by the staff, who were busy with their own duties, as he took Kit to the rear door and out into an alley.

It was a very appealing alley, though. The street was brick-paved to make it look cobbled, the buildings were all painted, windows were shuttered, trash receptacles were enclosed and carriage lights provided illumination from both sides.

“We’re up here,” Ad said, nodding to the wooden staircase that ran alongside the restaurant’s back wall to a wide, railed landing that accommodated two doors.

Ad unlocked the first door they came to and then gave Kit the key that he’d used. Once she’d accepted it he reached in, turned on a light and waited for her to precede him inside.

Kit did, finding a small studio apartment complete with a double bed and dresser in one section; a tiny kitchenette in another; and a sofa, matching chair, a desk and a television in another section.

“The place is kind of bare-bones,” Ad said apologetically. Then he stretched out a long arm and pointed at the two doors at the opposite end of the apartment. “Left is closet, right is bathroom. I put clean sheets on the bed this morning, fresh towels are in the linen cupboard in the bath. The fridge is stocked with a few essentials but not many, and there’s no coffee or coffeepot, but whatever you want to eat or drink is yours for the asking from the restaurant.”

He was right, the furniture was sparse and unassuming, but the place was neat and tidy and dust-free, the walls looked newly whitewashed, and all in all it seemed comfortable.

“I don’t expect you to feed me the whole time I’m here but the apartment will do just fine. In fact, it’s cozy. I like it,” Kit assured him, meaning it.

He lifted her suitcase over the brass footboard that matched the bed’s brass headboard and set it on the mattress as Kit put the shopping bag on the tiny kitchen table.

They turned to face each other at about the same time and that was when Kit was treated to the sight of his eyes.

The man had amazing, vibrant, bright aquamarine-colored eyes.

And for a moment she got lost in them.

Until his deep voice brought her out of it.

“So, do you want some time up here alone or shall we just go down and get you fed?”

Since she’d already used the rest room at the bus station, she said, “To tell you the truth I didn’t have time to eat all day and I’m starved. I think I’ll just take you up on dinner.”

He smiled as if that was what he’d been hoping to hear, putting those intriguing creases down the sides of his handsome face. “Great. Let’s go.”

They hadn’t closed the door and this time Ad stepped outside ahead of her, as if giving the place over to her as her own.

Kit followed him out, flipping off the wall switch beside the door to turn off the overhead lights he’d turned on before. Then she checked to make sure the door was locked and closed it after herself.

“I recommend the fish-and-chips. They’re especially good tonight,” Ad said as they retraced their path down the stairs. “But you can have whatever you want.”

“Fish-and-chips it is. And iced tea if you have it.”

They went back in through the kitchen and Ad told the cook they needed an order of fish-and-chips sent out. Then he took her into the restaurant once more.

He poured two glasses of iced tea from a pitcher behind the bar before nodding to a small corner table that was free.

“Let’s sit over there,” he suggested.

“Don’t feel as if you have to keep me company if there’s something else you need—or want—to do,” Kit felt obliged to say.

“There isn’t anything else I need—or want—to do,” he answered, making her wonder if there had been special emphasis on the or want part, or if she’d just been imagining it.

Then, as if it had just occurred to him that she might not want his company, he said, “Unless you’d rather be alone—”

“No,” Kit answered much too quickly. “I just don’t want to be a bother.”

“It’s no bother. I’ve been kind of enjoying myself,” he said.

That pleased her more than it should have but Kit tried to ignore it and made her way to the table.

They settled in across from each other and as Kit took a sip of her tea she worked to come up with something to talk about with this man she’d just met…and couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off of.

But then she doubted it would be easy for any normal, red-blooded woman not to look at that handsome face and the muscular body that went with it.

It was that robustly healthy physique that suddenly spurred the memory of the newspaper article that had been her first exposure to Ad Walker and she seized that to make conversation with.

“I heard about you and Cutty saving that family from their burning house and about you both getting hurt. How are you after getting beamed?”

Ad smiled. “Shouldn’t that be beaned?”

“As I recall you didn’t get hit with a bean, you got hit with a beam,” she said, smiling to let him know her play on words had been just that.

“I’m as good as new.” He tapped on his head as if knocking on a door. “Hard head.”

“Not hard enough to keep you out of the hospital for a couple of days—or so I heard.”

“I’m okay now, though. But thanks for asking.”

“Kira said Cutty got the cast off his ankle last week and he’s doing all right, too,” Kit said, trying to keep things going.

“He did. And the burned house has been repaired, and the family we dragged out of it has moved back in, and even the dog’s singed tail looks normal again. It’s as if it all never happened.”

“Except that as a result of it I no longer have my best friend living across the hall from me,” Kit pointed out as a waitress served her meal.

When she’d thanked the woman, Kit shot another sly smile in Ad’s direction and added, “Of course I blame you for that.”

Ad laughed. “Me? What did I do?”

“You talked to Kira about Cutty and that was instrumental in her decision to pursue her relationship with him.”

“Ah.” Ad’s engaging grin said that he realized she was only teasing him. But rather than commenting on the subject of the part he’d played in his friend’s romance, he nodded at her plate with his chin. “How’s your food?” he asked.

Kit had tasted both the beer-battered, deep-fried cod and the French fries and could honestly say, “It’s the best fish-and-chips I’ve ever had. But don’t think it makes up for costing me my best friend.”

“Doesn’t it make up for it a little?”

Was he flirting with her?

Had she been flirting with him?

Kit wasn’t sure on either count. But she was enjoying the exchange just the same.

“It makes up for it very little,” she countered.

“Hmm. Well, as I understand it, you did some encouraging of your own when it came to the fork in the road for Kira and Cutty. Kira told me you opened her eyes to some things that got her to thinking and ultimately coming back here to Cutty.”

“It was already too late by the time I got in on this. I just had to roll with things,” Kit claimed. “So I still blame you.”

Okay, maybe that had sounded slightly flirtatious.

Stop it! she told herself.

“I guess I’ll have to think of a way to make it up to you,” Ad conceded with an innuendo-laden tone of his own.

Kit played along with skepticism. “That’s a tall order.”

“I love a challenge,” he said.

His aquamarine eyes glinted with mischief and held hers in a spell that left Kit completely unaware of anything or anyone else around them.

So completely unaware that she only realized her friend was standing right beside the table when she heard, “Umm, are we interrupting something?”

Ad seemed as surprised as Kit felt to discover that Kira Wentworth and Cutty Grant had joined them.

“Kira!” Kit exclaimed, jumping to her feet to cover her own preoccupation with a man she had no business being preoccupied with.

Kira gave her a hug and said, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t meet your bus! I made you come all the way to Montana, and I wasn’t even there when you got here. But Mel fell against the corner of the fireplace in the new house and cut her forehead. We had to take her in for stitches.”

“I know, Ad told me. It’s okay,” Kit said.

But Kira went on anyway. “I couldn’t leave her. She was scared and upset and she doesn’t like anything to do with doctors as it is, let alone having to get three stitches, poor thing. And then we decided that rather than push it, we should just get the girls home and put them to bed and call the sitter to stay with them after we got them to sleep for the night.”

“I totally understand. You needed to do what was best for the babies. Really, it was no big deal. I’m just glad to see you now,” Kit assured.

Ad had risen to his feet when Kit had and he’d been very busy pulling two chairs from another table.

“What can I get you guys?” he asked then. “Something to eat? To drink?”

“I’ll have a beer,” Cutty said.

“Nothing for me,” this from Kira. “I just want Kit to meet Cutty.”

While Ad got Cutty’s beer Kira introduced Kit and Cutty and by the time that was accomplished and the four of them were situated around the small table whatever it was that had been going on between Kit and Ad Walker before Kira’s and Cutty’s appearance had been put to an end.

But as happy as Kit was to see her best friend and to meet the man who had made Kira nearly glow with delight, as happy as Kit was to know that their baby daughter was okay, there was still a tiny speck of regret lurking deep down in her.

A spark of regret that had something to do with Ad Walker.

And with that interruption of whatever it was that had been going on between them.

Chapter Two

A fter a night of tossing and turning, Ad was up early Sunday morning. Not only was he up, he was in the kitchen of his apartment rushing to fix a big breakfast, keeping a vigilant eye out the window over the sink that afforded him a view of the alley—and the landing he shared with Kit—and silently berating himself for all of it.

The tossing and turning hadn’t been simply an ordinary restless night. He hadn’t been up since the crack of dawn just because he was an early riser. The breakfast he was making was double what he could eat and he wasn’t in a hurry because he was hungry. And he wasn’t watching the weather change through that window.

Kit MacIntyre—she was the reason for everything.

He’d had a bad night’s sleep because he hadn’t been able to get her out of his head, and dreaming about her had woken him up before his alarm had gone off in the morning.

He was making double the food so he would have an excuse to invite her to breakfast.

He was hurrying to do it and keeping an eye out for her to make sure she didn’t go down to the restaurant before he had the chance to convince her to come to his place instead.

And those were all absolutely the wrong reasons for everything. He just couldn’t seem to help himself.

But then it wasn’t every day that he met someone he hit it off with the way he’d hit it off with Kit. Someone he felt so comfortable with. Someone who—unless he was mistaken—had been pretty relaxed with him, too.

Conversation hadn’t been a struggle. They’d fallen easily into teasing each other. Into joking around. Their whole time together had been… Well, fun. It was as simple as that.

But simple or not, that hadn’t happened for him in a long while.

Oh, sure, it was easy enough to talk to other women he knew. To tease them and joke around with them. But last night, with Kit, there had been an added element to it. A different dynamic.

Attraction.

Okay, he admitted it. He’d felt an attraction to Kit.

Much as he didn’t want to. And he didn’t want to.

What had he sworn to himself after Lynda?

No out-of-towners.

It wasn’t a difficult concept. He didn’t want to get involved with any woman who had a life and ties outside Northbridge. Certainly no one who had a whole business somewhere else.

So what the hell was he doing? he asked himself as he began to scramble eggs.

He took another peek out the window in the direction of the studio apartment. That simple gesture was enough to put the picture of Kit into his head even though there was no sign of her.

It was a phenomena that had been happening since she’d left him in the restaurant the night before. Every detail of the way Kit looked would pop into his head even when he was trying not to think about her or trying to talk himself out of the things she’d roused in him. Out of the blue the image of her would invade in bright, living color. And it certainly wasn’t helping anything.

How could it when he liked the way she looked so damn much?

That was somewhat of a puzzler all on its own.

He usually went for the surfer-girl types—sleek, sun-streaked blond hair; healthy tans that spoke of athletic, outdoorsy interests; long legs that went on forever.

And that wasn’t Kit.

Kit had crazy-wild espresso-colored hair that made her look a little untamed. And it framed pale, flawless, alabaster skin that didn’t seem to have ever seen the unblocked sun. Plus she wasn’t particularly leggy. How could she be when she was barely more than three or four inches over five feet tall?

But still it all worked for her.

He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone with features that fine and delicate. With cheekbones that high. With a nose that thin and impeccably shaped. With lips that were a perfect mix of full and pink and perfect. With dark, purplish blue eyes.

Violet—that’s what they were. The color of the flowers on that bush his mother loved so much. Blue-violet eyes. Big, round, sparkling blue-violet eyes with the longest, thickest black lashes….

Ad sighed a long sigh.

She also had a terrific little body. Tight and compact with breasts that had drawn his attention and thoughts more than once, and a rear end that would just fit in his hands….

Yeah. He definitely liked the way she looked.

But she lives in Denver, he reminded himself. She has a business in Denver. She’s only here until after the wedding.

That reminder was supposed to be the antidote.

But all it had accomplished was to leave him thinking about how he had the whole week with Kit right next door.

“You’re just asking for misery,” he muttered in warning. The kind of misery he’d suffered before. The kind of misery he was determined not to ever suffer again.

So he knew that what he should do was eat this breakfast by himself, not see Kit any more than necessary while she was here, and squelch the hell out of that mental picture of her that kept raising things he didn’t want raised.

No doubt about it, that’s what he should do.

Except that just then he heard the door on the studio apartment open and close.

And did he do what he should do? Did he ignore it and count himself lucky not to have to see her first thing this morning?

No, he didn’t.

He dropped everything to charge to his own door and fling it open before any better judgment had a chance to take hold.

“Oh, you scared me,” Kit said, pressing a hand to her chest.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized.

She had on a pair of white short-shorts that made him think twice about the notion that she didn’t have long legs, and a red cap-sleeved T-shirt that fit tight enough to give him pause. And her hair was a loose cascade of curls and waves, and she looked all fresh-scrubbed and…

And wow!

It took him a moment to remember what he was doing and get back on track.

“I wanted to catch you before you hit the restaurant for breakfast,” he explained. “I thought maybe you’d like to share mine.”

“That’s nice,” she said, making him realize just then that he even liked the sound of her voice—a soft, sexy voice that went on to say, “Kira called a little while ago and said she’d be here to pick me up earlier than we planned last night. I’m going down to meet her now. Thanks, though.”

“Sure. Anytime,” Ad answered as if it didn’t matter to him one way or another. Which was how it was supposed to be. But wasn’t.

“Does the restaurant close early tonight since it’s Sunday?” she asked then.

“Yeah, at eight.”

“I was thinking that if that was the case maybe tonight would be a good night for me to bake the cakes. I always do them ahead anyway and freeze them, and if the kitchen will be free—”

“Tonight would be good,” Ad assured her. “I hadn’t thought about it, but you’re right, with the place closed you can have free rein.”

She seemed to hesitate slightly before she said, “I was also thinking that—if it wouldn’t be a huge hassle for you and you don’t have other plans—it might help if you’re there.”

“You want me to play assistant pastry chef?”

“No, but you could point out where the bowls and utensils are, how to work your mixer, how long your oven takes to preheat, if there are any hot spots—things like that. I just don’t know the workings of your kitchen.”

“Sure. No problem,” he said as if he wasn’t already looking forward to being alone with her.

“You don’t have other plans?” she asked.

“Tallying up weekend receipts—but I think they can wait.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Nope.”

“Great. I’ll see you tonight, after eight, then.”

“I’ll be here.”

Horn dog. You’re just a damn horn dog, Walker, he chastised himself.

Kit headed down the stairs then and Ad’s eyes went with her, riding the small swell of the pockets of her shorts and sliding along the backs of smooth thighs and trim calves all the way to thin ankles and bare feet cushioned by a pair of sandals that exposed painted toenails.

“Have a nice day in the meantime,” she called to him.

“You, too,” he responded in a voice that was huskier than it should have been.

Denver. She lives in Denver. Remember Lynda and that year and after that year…

But nothing did the trick.

Ad was still looking forward to tonight. After eight…

Standing in front of Ad’s restaurant waiting for Kira to pick her up, Kit felt more self-conscious than she had since she was a gawky teenager in high school.

What had she been thinking to wear these shorts? she demanded of herself.

She’d bought them on a whim, without trying them on, and then brought them home to realize when she did slip into them that there was no way she was ever going to wear them. They were just too short.

But she hadn’t paid a lot for them and she also hadn’t had the time to return them, so she’d packed them to bring to Northbridge with her, thinking that maybe the teenage baby-sitter Kira referred to frequently would like them.

Yet there Kit was, wearing those shorts herself.

And feeling really stupid in them.

And even more stupid for why she was in them.

She’d brought perfectly nice clothes with her. Perfectly sensible, tasteful clothes. Clothes that she looked good in and felt comfortable wearing.

But when she’d surveyed them this morning to choose an outfit for today they’d all seemed so lifeless, so dull, so ordinary.

Not that the clothes had changed. It was just that she’d been under the influence.

No, she hadn’t been drinking mimosas for breakfast or anything. She’d been under the influence of Ad Walker.

Of course he had no idea he was having any effect on her. But still he’d influenced her choice because it had been with him in mind that she’d opted for these dumb shorts. With him in mind and with the overwhelming desire to have his eyes pop right out of their sockets when he saw her.

And she just wanted to kick herself for it.

Yes, she’d enjoyed the reaction she’d gotten when he’d seen her a few minutes earlier. She’d even liked that his voice had suddenly gotten huskier.

But honestly, what was the point? It wasn’t as if she wanted to start anything with Ad. It wasn’t as if she should care whether or not he noticed her at all.

He was just a guy. The best friend of her best friend’s fiancé. They were going to be in a wedding together. They would see each other off and on this week in connection with that, and then they would go their separate ways.

So why did having him notice her, having him like what he was seeing, feel like such a big deal to her?

And that wasn’t the only question she asked herself. There were more to go with that one.

Like, why had he been on her mind almost since the minute she’d set eyes on him? And why had she gone to bed last night wondering where on the other side of their shared wall he might be sleeping himself? And in what? And why had he been the first thing she’d thought about when she’d woken up this morning?

Okay, she reasoned, she’d met an attractive man—a man so powerfully attractive that he’d canceled out her better judgment and the lessons she had learned, and caused her to backslide.

But that didn’t mean that it had to go any farther than giving in to the impulse to wear these shorts.

She just wouldn’t let anything else like this happen from here on. As soon as she got to Kira’s house she would borrow something from her friend, take off the shorts and get rid of them forever. And she would make sure that she kept everything—including Ad Walker—in perspective.

She was only in Northbridge for this week. And Ad Walker was nothing more than one of several members of the wedding party. Someone she needed to be polite and cordial to, and nothing more.

So what if he had incredible aquamarine eyes, and a chiseled chin, and a body that was big and muscular and irresistible enough to weaken women’s knees from coast to coast?

So what if her knees felt a little weak just picturing him in her mind? So what if her pulse picked up a little speed at the thought that she was going to get to spend some time alone with him tonight?

Where she could sneak peeks at that fabulous derriere of his. And hear his voice. And his laugh. And make him smile so she could see those deep dimples that creased his cheeks when he did….

Maybe she should keep the shorts on…

No! No! No! she silently shrieked at herself when she realized where her thoughts had wandered. Again.

She had to stop doing that. She had to stop drifting off into those mini-daydreams and fantasies of Ad Walker. She had to keep her focus on the wedding, on Kira. She had to remember that when it came to men—no matter how handsome or personable or sexy or interesting or funny or fun—she had to pass. She had to. She’d made the decision to suspend her men-privileges for good reason and she intended to stick to it.

No matter how difficult sticking to her guns might be with a man like Ad Walker right under her nose.

Just then a station wagon pulled up to the curb in front of her. Kira was behind the wheel, and Kit nearly leaped into the passenger seat when the car stopped.

“I need to borrow some more conservative shorts or some jeans or something,” she announced without even saying hello.

“Okay,” Kira said, sounding confused.

“This is the first time I’ve had these on and I don’t like them.”

“They are pretty short,” Kira agreed. “But I can wait while you go up and change if you want. There’s no hurry.”

There might not be any hurry but if Kit went back upstairs to change that would mean she might run into Ad. And if she ran into Ad she might have to explain what she was doing. And he might realize she’d temporarily lost her mind. Over him.

But rather than saying any of that to Kira, Kit said, “I hate to go all the way through the restaurant. I’ll just wear something of yours and you can see if your baby-sitter wants these. I’ll need a rubber band to put my hair up, too. I shouldn’t have left it down today. It’ll drive me crazy.”

“Okay,” Kira repeated. “Are you all right?”

Apparently either what Kit had said or the fact that she sounded desperate spurred her friend’s concern or curiosity.

“Just uncomfortable in these shorts,” Kit lied.

Uncomfortable in the shorts and in her skin and with just being in the same town Ad Walker was in.

“Okay,” Kira said a third time, still with a query in her voice.

But at least she put the car into motion and drove Kit away from the general proximity of Ad Walker.

Unfortunately for Kit, though, even distance from the man didn’t dilute her response to him or the fact that she was going to be seeing him again that evening.

Which brought a tiny tingle of excitement at the prospect.

Excitement she knew she should absolutely not be feeling.

Under ordinary circumstances she would have confided in Kira everything she was thinking—and doing—in regard to Ad Walker. They would have talked about it all, laughed about it, aired it out, and she would likely have felt better. Kira would also likely have put it into perspective, which would have helped Kit understand what was going on and that might have allowed her to beat into submission the fledgling, unwanted attraction to him.

But despite spending all day and through dinner that evening with Kira, Kit didn’t get the opportunity to talk to her best friend privately.

During the ten-minute drive to Kira and Cutty’s new house, Kira laid out a hectic schedule for that day and for the rest of this last week before the wedding. And when they reached the two-story colonial that Kira and Cutty and the twins had moved into, it was a beehive of activity and commotion.

Cutty was there trying to look after the busy nineteen-month-old babies who were into everything. There were plumbers who were remodeling one of the bathrooms, and there was also an elderly woman named Betty to help Kit and Kira make little bundles of nuts and candy for each place setting at the reception tables.

Betty had been Cutty’s housekeeper and nanny before Kira’s appearance in his life, and had initially been a source of trouble for Kira. But now that Kira and Cutty were marrying, Betty only helped out with the twins and the house on a part-time basis, and she and Kira had become friends.

With so many people around and so much to do, Kit never found a minute to tell her friend that she was having problems keeping Ad Walker off her mind.

And then the day was over and on the drive back to the restaurant Kira outlined what needed to be done the next day, not giving Kit the chance to tell her anything before dropping her off in the alley at the foot of the steps that led up to the apartments.

So Kit was on her own.

And facing an evening of baking cakes in Ad’s restaurant kitchen…with the delectable Ad.

She went upstairs to the studio apartment, slipping inside without seeing the man who, even throughout the well-occupied day, had haunted her.

But maybe, she began to think as she closed the door behind her, she’d just built this out of proportion in her mind. She hadn’t spent a whole lot of time with him, she reasoned. And she’d been traveling and was tired. Really tired. Everything might have combined to skew her image of Ad Walker. To make him seem better than he really was.

And then maybe her imagination had just kept it going. Expanded on it. And maybe the end result was that Ad Walker had seemed more fantastic than he actually was.

Although he had looked good when she’d seen him for those few minutes this morning….

But now that she was rested, she expected to see that he honestly was just a guy like any other guy. That he wasn’t anything special. And then she would be cured of whatever she’d been infected by.

She was convinced of it.

Feeling more equipped to see him again, Kit set about getting ready.

She’d borrowed a pair of shorts from Kira but decided that her legs should be covered completely before she encountered Ad again. The less skin that showed, the better. So she slipped out of them and into a pair of jeans.

The chef’s coat she’d brought with her provided coverage of the red T-shirt, and she put it on over both jeans and shirt, telling herself that it was good that she looked boxy and sexless in it.

She left her hair trussed up on the crown of her head in the rubber band she’d taken from Kira, but she did give in to the inclination to refresh her blush and mascara—telling herself it was harmless.

Once she’d done that, she took the shopping bag containing her bakeware, utensils and some ingredients, and went back down the steps.

He’s just a guy like any other guy, she repeated to herself along the way. He’s not anything special. He’s just a regular guy.

A regular guy who would probably run screaming into the night if he knew her track record.

With her hand on the alley door to the kitchen, Kit braced herself, determined that she would take being with Ad in stride.

And that was exactly what she intended.

But intentions aside, the minute she opened that door and went in, she couldn’t help eagerly scanning the place for him.

Anymore than she could help the wave of instant disappointment when she discovered that the kitchen was empty.

Or the utter elation when, a moment later, he came through the swinging doors that connected the dining room to the kitchen.

“There you are,” he greeted when he spotted her. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten about me.”

I wish I could…. “I wanted to make sure your customers were all gone and your staff had finished up for the night before I barged in,” she lied, rather than let him know eight o’clock had come and gone while she’d been trying to get herself in the right frame of mind to see him again.

One look at him shot a hole through the theory that he was just a regular guy, though. The man was staggeringly handsome and that fact struck Kit all over again.

He had on a simple pair of jeans and a hunter-green polo shirt with the restaurant’s name embroidered above the breast pocket. But both the jeans and the shirt fit him to perfection, accentuating broad shoulders and chest, narrow waist and hips and thick thighs.

Plus he appeared to have taken the time to shave very recently and he smelled terrific, too—a clean, sea-breeze scent that was tantalizing and seductive and…

And she needed to get her head out of the clouds!

“How about a glass of iced tea or lemonade while we work?” Ad offered.

“Lemonade sounds good,” Kit accepted, wondering if she should just pour the cold liquid over her head.

While Ad filled two glasses she forced herself to get busy so she wasn’t just standing there gawking at him.

She went to the stainless steel work table in the center of the room and began to unload her things from the giant-sized shopping bag.

“I brought my own sugar, flour, vanilla and liqueur because they aren’t the everyday varieties. I also had Kira get the grocery store here to order in the European butter I use, but she said you’d told her I could steal the eggs from you,” Kit chattered to conceal her reaction to him.

“Yeah, I think I can spare a few eggs,” he confirmed. “And anything else you might need.”

“I shouldn’t need anything else. Except raspberries and cream later. But I can pick up those when the time comes. Oh, and chocolate,” Kit added when she reached it at the bottom of the bag. “I also brought my own chocolate—white and bittersweet. They have to be a certain kind, too.”

Ad brought the glasses of lemonade to the worktable and handed one of them to Kit. “Raspberries and chocolate? I take it you aren’t doing a run-of-the-mill cake.”

Kit sipped her drink, peering over the rim of the glass at the oh-so-yummy man with the aquamarine eyes. “I’m making a dark chocolate cake that I’ll brush with a raspberry liqueur called framboise,” she explained. “Then, on each cake, there will be a layer of chocolate ganache, then a layer of thickened fresh raspberry puree. I’ll cover all that in a thin frosting of the chocolate ganache, then do a second frosting and the decorations in white-chocolate butter cream.”

“Holy cow. Better make a big cake, people around Northbridge don’t see anything as fancy as that. I can guarantee they’ll go back for seconds.”

“I’m making four graduated tiers with five satellite cakes around the bottom tier. Kira wants to be sure there’s plenty.”

Ad counted the variously sized round cake pans Kit had stacked on the table.

“Yep, nine pans. Looks like we have our work cut out for us.” He held his arms wide. “Use me as you will.”

Kit laughed and tried not to think of better uses for him than buttering and flouring pans.

But that was the task she gave him—along with cutting rounds of parchment paper for the bottoms of each one.

While Ad did that Kit began beating egg whites and putting the cake batter together.

With the electric mixer running the noise level was too high for them to talk much. Mostly Kit gave instructions and Ad did as he was told. It might have been better if they had been able to keep up a conversation because maybe then it wouldn’t have been so difficult for Kit to keep from sneaking peeks at him, from noticing how adept his hands were, how agile his long, thick fingers could be. It might not have been so difficult to keep from studying the furrows his brow creased into as he concentrated on what he was doing. It might not have been so difficult to keep from glancing in the direction of his derriere when he dropped the scissors and bent over to retrieve them.

When the cakes were in the ovens, Kit and Ad worked together on the cleanup. Once that was accomplished they were left with nothing to do but wait.

“Let’s sit out where it’s cooler,” Ad suggested, nodding toward the front half of the restaurant.

They left the swinging doors open so Kit could hear the timer on the ovens, taking refills of lemonade with them.

Chairs were up on the tables in the seating area but Ad took two down for them to sit. Without thinking about it, Kit did what she would have done at any other time after finishing her baking—she took off her chef’s coat.

Only after she had did she recall that she’d been using it not only as protection from splatters, but also as camouflage for the tight red T-shirt she’d put on that morning with Ad in mind.

But it was too late to cover up again and she just pretended not to notice how his eyes dropped momentarily to her breasts in an appreciative glance that she found much too gratifying.

“So, you seem to know your way around a restaurant kitchen,” he said after they’d each taken a seat at the table.

“I should. My first job was making pizzas in my Uncle Mackie’s bar. Uncle Mackie was my mother’s brother. He had a little neighborhood place around the corner from the house where I grew up.”

Ad seemed to find pleasure in that information because he smiled. “You were a pizza-maker?” he said as if he didn’t believe it.

“I could throw the dough in the air and catch it and everything,” she bragged with a laugh.

“I’d like to see that sometime,” he said, quirking up his left eyebrow to make the comment seem lascivious.

“I’ll bet you would,” she countered.

“Is pizza-making what got you interested in baking?” he asked then.

“I’d always liked making cookies as a kid, but—as a matter of fact—it was the pizza-making that started the wheels turning for me as a baker. I loved the feel of the dough. The smell of the yeast. Being able to turn a few simple ingredients into something mouthwatering.”

Now she was giving a sensual tone to it all.

She consciously curbed it.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I started to experiment with adding more sugar to the pizza dough so I could make cinnamon rolls. I went from those to quick breads, then cakes and more complicated cookies than I’d made as a kid. Pies and tarts and tortes came next, and by the time I graduated from high school I knew I wanted to go to culinary school rather than college and be a pastry chef.”

“Did you stay at your uncle’s bar all the way through that?”

“I did. And for a while even after I graduated. He gave me part of his kitchen to work in and featured any kind of dessert I wanted to make. Where else could I go and do exactly as I pleased fresh out of school?”

“When did you leave your uncle’s place then?”

“When I wanted to start my own bakery. I spent two years after school saving every penny until I had enough to rent the storefront next to the bar and buy the ovens and equipment I needed.”

“Do you still work out of that storefront?”

“No,” Kit said after a drink of lemonade. “I stayed there for a few years but the business grew and I needed more space. By then I also realized I was making most of my money from the cakes, so I changed from a bakery that offered breads, rolls and other pastries to Kit’s Cakes.”

“Which, according to what I’ve heard, took off. It’s hard to believe you can make a living just doing wedding cakes.”

Kit laughed at his skepticism. “I do other cakes, too. For parties, retirement send-offs, graduations, wedding and baby showers, birthdays. But, yes, most of my living comes from the wedding cakes. I’m doing Kira and Cutty’s cake as part of their present, but you’d be surprised what I can charge for it. Let’s hope getting married never goes out of style,” Kit finished with a joke that made him smile again and dimple up for her.

The timer rang, and without saying anything, Kit hurried into the kitchen. She didn’t expect Ad to follow her but he did, expressing an interest in how she knew when the cakes were done.

She demonstrated the method of using a cake tester and then pressed a gentle finger to the center of one cake to show him what he should be looking for that way, too. In case he actually did ever bake the recipe she’d promised him.

The cakes were sufficiently baked but she explained that they couldn’t be removed from the pans for ten minutes. Then they had to be completely cooled in order to wrap them and store them in the freezer.

When the ten minutes had passed she flipped the cakes and removed the circles of parchment paper that had come out with the rich chocolate confection. Then she and Ad washed the pans before returning to the dining room to sit again.

“If you’re bored or have something else to do I can take it from here,” Kit told him, realizing belatedly that there wasn’t much reason for him to stay at that point.

“I’m not bored and there’s nothing I’d rather be doing,” he assured, pleasing her more than she wanted to show.

“Okay. Then what about you?” she asked after more lemonade. “How did you get into the bar and restaurant business?”

“I started busing tables here,” he said with an affectionate glance around. “When I was ten.”

“Ten?” Kit parroted. “Wasn’t that a little on the young side? Like by about six years?”

“My dad was a mechanic and when I was ten a car he was working under fell on him. He was killed—”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Kit said, flinching at the image.

“It was a long time ago. But my mom hadn’t held a job before that and was left with five small kids to support on only a pittance for an insurance policy. She went to work at the dry cleaners but we were still struggling and—in my ten-year-old brain—I thought I could help.”

Kit pictured Ad as a boy who felt that kind of responsibility, and she was torn between her heart breaking for him and admiring how at even that young age he’d taken action to help his family.

“How did you get hired when you were hardly more than a baby?” she asked.

“Bing—Bingham Murphy—owned the place then and he sponsored and coached our little league baseball team. He was always saying he needed help sweeping the floors or taking out the trash if somebody wanted to earn a little money for a new bike or something. It wasn’t really like being hired, it was more like getting an allowance for doing chores. But when I talked to Bing and told him what was going on at home, he let it be my job exclusively from then on.”

“Did you work every day? After school? Weekends?”

“After school or after baseball practice and on weekends. I’d sweep floors and the sidewalk out front. Wash windows. Take out the trash. Bus the tables. Pour water for customers. Small stuff.”

“And this Bing-person would pay you?”

“Right. Plus, folks around here knew us and knew what had happened to my Dad and wanted to help without it seeming like charity, so they’d tip me. It added up. I didn’t do too bad.”

“For a ten-year-old.”

“Hey, I ended up owning the place,” he joked as if his childhood earnings had accomplished that.

“How did you end up owning the place?” Kit asked.

“Stick-to-ittiveness. I stayed put, moved up from busboy to doing just about everything else there was to do—wait tables, tend bar, cook. By the time I was working my way through the local college for my business degree, Bing had retired and I was running things. Then he offered to sell out to me and I made payments to him until it was all mine—the business and the building. Two years ago I renovated and remodeled until it really felt like my own place.”

“So you found your niche at ten years old?” Kit summarized.

“That’s really the truth. I always liked being here. I liked the work, the socializing. I just felt right at home from the start.”

“I understand that. I felt that way at my uncle’s place. It was hard work but it was nice.”

And so was sitting there like that, with Ad, having an excuse to look at him, to get to know the intricacies of his features, the way his eyes could actually go from aquamarine to dark turquoise with the changes in his emotions….

But letting herself be mesmerized by it all was not wise, and Kit knew it.

It just wasn’t a breeze to tear herself away.

She did it, though, standing up and taking her glass with her.

“Those cakes should be cool enough by now.”

Ad stood, too, following her back to the kitchen.

He played assistant again as she wrapped the cooled cakes in plastic and then sealed them in bags and stored them in the walk-in freezer where they would be left undisturbed by his staff.

Then Kit gathered her equipment, Ad turned off the lights, and they went out the alley door, locking it behind them.

The whole way up the stairs Kit had to fight feeling sad that her time with Ad was ending but she did that, too, reminding herself that this was a temporary, superficial relationship and not the beginning of something. Even if it did feel like the beginning of something.

“Did Kira tell you that we have fittings on the wedding clothes tomorrow afternoon?” Ad asked when they reached the landing of the side-by-side doors to the two apartments.

“She did,” Kit confirmed, trying not to breathe too deeply of the scent of his cologne because either that or just being so near to him was making her head go a tiny bit woozy.

“The tailor is just up the street, how about if we walk over together?” he suggested.

That pleased her way, way, too much.

“Okay,” she said as if it didn’t make any difference.

“I thought maybe afterward we could have dinner back here—Kira and Cutty and you and me. Since they’ll already have Betty staying with the twins and I know they’re both tired and stressed out dealing with the wedding and the construction on the house, dinner out might be a little break for them.”

“I think it might,” Kit agreed.

He nodded toward his door. “I’ll go in and call Cutty right now to make the arrangements.”

“Good idea.”

But he didn’t do that. Instead he glanced over her head at her door and said, “Did you do all right in the apartment last night? You had everything you needed? The bed wasn’t too hard or too soft?”

“I did great, had everything I needed and the bed was perfect.” Except that she’d had trouble not thinking about him in his bed next door.

“So you’re okay over there?”

“Fine,” she said, wondering if she was imagining it or whether he was purposely dragging this out.

Not that she was rushing inside herself. In fact she wasn’t even altogether invested in what they were talking about because even though she was making all the right responses to what he was saying, Kit was suddenly finding her thoughts split between that and a scenario that was forming in her head.

A scenario in which they were at the end of a date.

A date she’d enjoyed.

And they were about to kiss good-night.

But they weren’t about to kiss good-night.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” she forced herself to say, attempting to escape her daydream.

Ad nodded, but he continued to look at her as if he were trying to read something in her eyes.

A moment of panic ran through Kit at the notion that he could somehow tell what she’d been thinking.

But then Ad finally took the last step to his own door and said, “Good night.”

“Thanks for the use of your kitchen and all your help tonight,” she added as she unlocked and opened her door, doing a little prolonging of her own.

“Don’t mention it. I’d be your assistant anytime,” he joked with another lascivious note in his voice, tossing her a sexy half-smile to go with it.

“Careful, I might take you up on that,” she warned as she stepped into the studio apartment and closed the door behind her.

And that was when it struck her again that Ad Walker absolutely was not like any other guy.

And that spending the last couple of hours with him hadn’t cured whatever it was she’d been infected by the moment she’d met him.

No, if anything she thought that she really had been bitten by the Ad bug. Bitten but good.

And she wasn’t sure what to do about it….

Chapter Three

“O h, Kira, it’s even more beautiful than I pictured from your description,” Kit told her friend late Monday when she got her first glimpse of Kira in her wedding dress.

After another long day of dealing with last-minute R.S.V.P.s, the caterer and seating arrangements, it was after five o’clock before Kira and Kit had been able to leave Betty with the twins and get to the tailor’s shop for the final fittings on their dresses. The delay had necessitated Kira calling both Cutty and Ad to tell them to go on their own for the alterations of their tuxedos and that they could all meet up later at the restaurant for dinner.

There hadn’t been anything Kit could do about it, but she’d regretted that she and Ad hadn’t been able to have that walk to the shop together the way they’d planned.

“It’s just beautiful,” she repeated as Kira stepped up onto the raised platform in the center of the open room where the tailor would look at what last-minute nips and tucks needed to be taken.

Kira turned a slow circle so Kit could see the wedding dress all the way around. “It is pretty, isn’t it?” she said, clearly in awe of it herself.

The gown was white satin with a full, floor-length skirt and a fitted, beaded bodice with an off-the-shoulder sweetheart neckline and twenty tiny buttons down the back.

“It’s perfect,” Kit said.

“Do you think it’s okay that the veil only comes down to the my elbows? I didn’t want to be dealing with much more than that. Plus I thought a longer veil would detract from the dress.”

“I think the veil is fine at that length,” Kit assured.

“What about the tiara? Is that too much? I thought maybe the veil should just be attached to a band but it didn’t poof up right.”

The veil was connected to a small, unobtrusive rhinestone tiara.

“No, it’s not too much,” Kit answered after a more studied look at it. “It’s just right. The whole thing is just right.”

“You’re sure? Because I’m trusting you to tell me the truth.”

“What would you do if I said something was wrong? Start looking for a new dress and veil four days before the wedding?” Kit joked. Then she said, “Yes, I’m positive—the dress, the veil, the tiara are perfect. The dress just needs to be taken in slightly at the waist.”

Staring at herself in the mirror, Kira pulled the waist tighter. “It can probably go in about an inch.”

“But that’s it. I wouldn’t change another thing,” Kit said emphatically.

Apparently it was emphatic enough to finally convince her friend because Kira transferred her attention to Kit then.

“How about your dress?” Kira asked. “Do you still like it?”

Kira had come back to Denver so they could shop together for Kit’s dress. Then Kira had taken it back to Northbridge with her and Kit hadn’t seen it since.

“If anything I like it even more than I did when we bought it,” she said, taking a turn looking in the mirror. “I’d tried on so many by the time we found it that I was in a fog and I’d forgotten just how pretty it is.”

Kit wasn’t lying about that, either. She honestly did love the dress she would be wearing for the wedding. In fact, she loved it so much she thought it was something she genuinely might wear on another occasion.

The light-as-air fabric was a coffee-with-cream color, embroidered with a delicate pattern of earth tone wildflowers. It was a spaghetti-strapped chemise that skimmed her figure enticingly all the way to the floor. The neckline was straight across but just low enough for a hint of cleavage to show, and the built-in bra and slight drape of fabric at the bustline gave the illusion that Kit was slightly bigger than she actually was.

“It looks so good on you,” Kira said. “The hem needs to go up a little, but other than that it doesn’t have to have a thing done to it.

“It’s comfortable, too. It’s like I’m just wearing a slip,” Kit said, wiggling a little to feel the dress shimmer around her.

Kira glanced at the door the tailor had disappeared through after showing them to the dressing rooms, but that didn’t make the short, pudgy man reappear.

And since it didn’t, Kira said, “I can’t believe it—are we actually going to have some downtime?”

“Maybe we should lock the door and just hide out here.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice? Peace and quiet? No demands? No schedules? No nothing?” Kira said.

But of course neither of them moved to the door to lock it.

Kira did seem to focus solely on Kit for the first time since Kit’s arrival in Northbridge, though. “So, since we have a few minutes, are you okay in the apartment and with everything that’s been going on?”

“Everything that’s been going on?” Kit repeated, thinking instantly of Ad and how her friend must have noticed the odd energy that seemed to swirl around them whenever they were together.

But that wasn’t what Kira was referring to.

“Are you okay with having to be in on all these annoying wedding details?” Kira clarified. “And my not having two minutes for us to just sit and talk and catch up? Having to stay in the apartment instead of with me? Everything?”

“Ah,” Kit said, readjusting her thinking and squashing that initial hope that her friend was giving her an opening. But that wasn’t the case. And even though it was tempting to talk to Kira about the confusion that Kit was suffering over Ad, she refrained. The more she’d realized how swamped Kira was, the more it had seemed selfish to burden her with some silly fretting. So, sometime during the day, Kit had decided she wouldn’t do that. And she didn’t go back on that decision now.

Instead, still opting to spare her friend, she said, “Ad’s apartment is fine. I didn’t come here expecting you to be able to just sit around and gab. I knew you’d be busy. I’m here to help, remember? Not to be entertained.”

“I know. I just feel guilty that I’m in this whirl and everything is about me.”

Kit laughed. “You’re the bride. Everything is supposed to be about you.”

Which was true and saying it only reinforced in Kit’s mind that she needed to keep to herself the little attraction or infatuation or whatever it was that rumbled around in her whenever she was with Ad.

But even so, his name came up.

“You seem to keep getting thrown together with Ad,” Kira said then. “Is that okay?”

“I’m the maid of honor and he’s the best man—getting thrown together is sort of unavoidable, isn’t it?” Kit reasoned.

But still her friend didn’t drop it. “Staying in his apartment with him just next door, using his kitchen for the cake—you’re having to see more of him than just being the maid of honor and best man. Is that all right? I mean, you didn’t look like you were having too bad a time on Saturday night when Cutty and I finally got to the restaurant—neither of you even noticed that we’d shown up—but are you hating seeing so much of him? Should I make something up to get us out of dinner with him tonight so you don’t have to be with him again?”

“No, don’t do that,” Kit said, putting some effort into not sounding as alarmed as she felt by just the possibility of canceling dinner with Ad. “He’s trying to do something nice for you and Cutty—to give you a relaxing night away from everything. And I don’t mind seeing him again. He’s a nice guy.”

Kira smiled a bit slyly. “I was kind of hoping you two might like each other. You know—really like each other,” she finished with a question in her tone.

“I think we like each other well enough.”

“Well enough to fall madly in love and get married so you can come and live in Northbridge, too?” Kira joked.

“No, not that well enough,” Kit countered the same way.

“But you do like him?”

“He’s a nice guy,” Kit repeated.

“Because Cutty was wondering if this dinner tonight was a cover.”

“A cover?”

“You know—a group thing to cover up the fact that Ad really just wanted to have dinner with you.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Kit said.

And she didn’t. She believed Ad’s motives for arranging the dinner tonight were exactly what he’d said they were, to give Kira and Cutty a break.

But it did give Kit a twinge of pleasure to entertain that other possibility. “He’s seen plenty of me,” she added in spite of it. “He’s doing this for you guys.”

Kira just smiled.

The door to the fitting room opened and the tailor came in just then, putting an end to the conversation before it could go any farther.

But even as Kit watched Kira’s gown being pulled and pinned, and even as the hem was turned up on her own dress, she still couldn’t suppress a tiny thrill at even the suggestion that Ad had had her in mind when he’d devised the evening to come.

No matter how hard she tried.

Ad and Cutty left the alteration shop after they had finished having their tuxedos fitted and went to the restaurant to wait for Kit and Kira.

The dinner rush had begun by then but they found two free spots to stand at the bar and ordered beers.

“We missed you at that last game,” Ad was saying to Cutty as his bartender slid frigid bottles in their direction. “Their pitcher had an arm that wouldn’t quit. Struck half of us out and didn’t even break a sweat.”

Ad and Cutty—and several of the other men in town—played seasonal sports on a local team. Summer was softball season and it was in full swing. But Cutty hadn’t been able to participate since breaking his ankle and even though the cast had been removed the week before, he was still in physical therapy.

They each took a swig of beer and replaced their bottles on the bar.

“So tomorrow night you’re just coming to watch? You really can’t play?” Ad asked.

“I really can’t,” Cutty answered. “Kira and the physical therapist ganged up on me. The ankle can be pretty wobbly still and they pointed out that I shouldn’t risk doing damage with everything that’s coming up.”

“They didn’t want you limping down the aisle,” Ad said.

“Or messing up the honeymoon,” Cutty added with a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin. “I agreed with that part of it.”

“I’ll bet you did.”

They drank more beer and tossed back a few of the complimentary peanuts from the bowl in front of them.

“We really appreciate you having Kit stay in the apartment,” Cutty said then. “Our guest room is construction central—it’s full of tools and paint cans and light fixtures. It’s a mess. And I don’t know where we would have put all the stuff if we had to clear it out for her—the garage is packed, too. That’s where the wall-board and the new bathtub and the sinks and the rest of the plumbing supplies are.”

“It’s no big deal,” Ad assured. “The place was empty anyway. Why shouldn’t she use it?”

“Yeah, but you’ve been picking up the slack for us as hosts, too. I didn’t mean for you to have to entertain her but—”

“I’m hardly entertaining her. She’s with Kira most of the time. I just did a little kitchen duty last night is all.”

“And you picked her up at the bus station and kept her company for us when we were getting Mel stitched up.”

“No big deal.”

“Yeah, well I owe you.”

“Believe me, you really don’t,” Ad said slightly under his breath, thinking that none of the time he’d spent with Kit had been a hardship on him. In fact, it had been the opposite.

Maybe that had somehow echoed in his tone because it drew a curious look from his friend.

But Cutty didn’t comment on it, and Ad didn’t expound. Instead they both raised their bottles to their mouths again.

When they’d set them down once more Cutty said, “This was a good idea tonight. I’ve been so damn busy it seems like ten years since we’ve just had a beer and a burger.”

“Buying a new house, moving, remodeling, getting married—that’ll keep you occupied all right.”

“’Course I did wonder if it was really my company and Kira’s you were after tonight. Or if maybe you’d just worked up a plan to get a little Kit-time in for yourself—if maybe you’ve liked picking up the slack for us.”

Ad gave his friend a sideways glance. “That’s what you were wondering, huh?”

“Is it true?”

“I invite you for a beer, a little dinner, and you think I have ulterior motives,” Ad joked, pretending he was injured by the suggestion.

“Uh-huh. I notice you aren’t denying it, though. Could it be you’re interested in Kit?” Cutty asked.

“She’s an interesting enough person. We have some things in common—restaurant work for instance.”

“Uh-huh,” Cutty repeated. “So you’re definitely interested.”

Ad took another drink of beer. Then he said, “Nah.”

“Okay. Let me put it a different way. If Kit had been born and raised in Northbridge, would you definitely be interested?”

“Definitely?” Ad hedged.

“Would you be interested?” Cutty said insistently.

“Maybe,” was the most Ad would concede. But it wasn’t because he was playing games with his friend. He really didn’t want to give in to being attracted to Kit, and it seemed as if admitting anything to Cutty would be the first step in letting down his guard.

“But since she isn’t a permanent fixture around here, you aren’t interested?” Cutty finished for him.

“Right.”

Cutty ate some more nuts. “Seems like the number of Northbridge women on your dance card is pretty low.”

“I’ve been out with a few,” Ad claimed defensively.

“One or two dates. You’ve already seen Kit twice and here we are tonight—you’ve bent over backward to arrange number three.”

“I didn’t bend over backward. I called you and said why don’t we have dinner after the fitting. How is that bending over backward?”

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