Page 122 of Protecting What's Mine

He climbed the steps and put his hands on her hips. “You’re breathtaking when you’re Dr. O’Neil on the scene. You’re beautiful when you’re trying to line dance. But this frazzled, wide-eyed woman who just wants her friends to have a good time is downright adorable.”

“Shut up.” She let out a long breath and gave in, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her face into his chest for just a minute. He was so steady. So good.

Sunshine trotted inside with a face full of dirt and what looked like the better portion of a tree stump in her mouth.

“Shit,” Linc said, releasing Mack.

The dog dropped the muddy chunk of wood on the floor and wagged her tail expectantly. She was covered in dirt and mud from nose to tail.

Pawprints and smears covered the black and white checkered tile.

“I’ll clean it up,” he promised, looking at his watch. “I swear.”

Mack started to laugh and couldn’t stop. Sunshine took the humor as a compliment and jumped up on Mack, placing two perfect muddy pawprints on her breasts.

“Sunshine!” Linc grabbed the dog by the collar. “It’s not a party if a dog doesn’t need a bath during it,” he promised Mack as he hauled the mud monster out the back door.

“Then this is going to be a hell of a party,” she predicted, surveying the disastrous kitchen.

While she scrubbed the floor, he made a run for the ice she’d forgotten and came back with ingredients for some secret recipe dip and more flowers. Grocery store flowers.

“Figured you were due for some new ones,” he said, shoving the bouquet of yellow and orange and red blooms in a vase. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “I’ll fire up the grill and get the drinks on ice. Then I’ll show you my secret buffalo chicken dip recipe.”

She stopped in the middle of scrubbing and stared up at the flowers.

Sunshine mournfully pressed her still-muddy nose against the sliding glass door, tail wagging hopefully. Mack smelled hot grill and heard the music that Linc was playing through a wireless speaker. She wouldn’t have thought of music. She hadn’t known how much she enjoyed fresh flowers. She’d had no clue how much she’d love a—mostly—good dog. And she hadn’t been prepared for a hotshot neighbor with tattoos and a charming grin.

Her heart did an odd roll.

“Oh, boy,” she whispered, slapping a hand to her chest.

Sothiswas what it was like. There was no point fighting it.

She’d gone and fallen in love with Lincoln Reed.

MACK WAS STILL REELINGan hour and a half later when her backyard was full of people. Music, a mix of pop and country, poured from the speaker. The smell of grilled meat and citronella candles wafted on the evening breeze. Someone somewhere was burning leaves.

Ellen showed up with a large Caesar salad and a six-pack of skinny spiked seltzers. Aldo and Gloria brought the girls and two pecan pies. Luke and Harper were sans kids thanks to Luke’s brother James and his boyfriend offering up a sleepover. They showed up with hot dog and hamburger buns and their dogs who romped with Sunshine and made beggy eyes at anyone manning the grill. Harper was sporting a fresh hickey peeking out from the neck of her sweater, and Luke had a self-satisfied grin permanently affixed to his face.

Freida and her husband brought potato salad and shrimp and arrived mid-argument about whether a time-share in Cabo was a good move. Russell and Denise appeared with two bottles of very nice wine and truffle mac and cheese and weighed in on the time-share debate. Tuesday would have come, but she and her boyfriend were in Pennsylvania for the weekend for a ten-mile mud run.

Everyone loaded up plates and carried on conversations.Work. Food. Kids. Football. Medicine.

It was exactly what she’d envisioned, and she couldn’t quite believe that it was happening in her own backyard. She’d gone overboard. Mack could see that now while she enjoyed a quiet glass of wine on the deck steps. There was way too much food. The picnic table, while a nice addition to the backyard, hadn’t been as urgent as she thought as her guests had shown up with their own chairs. She’d be eating fresh fruits and veggies for at least the next five days. And there was no way one three-year-old was going to eat two dozen ice cream cups. But it was still perfect.

She was watching what had turned out to be quite the successful party when Aldo’s three-year-old, Lucia, skipped over to her. Her sweet, round cheeks bore the evidence of the ice cream Mack had second-guessed, and her lips were stained red from Linc’s juice boxes.

“Hi!” Lucia said.

“Hi.”

“I fell down and hit my face running when I wasn’t ’sposta,” the little girl said, pointing to a scrape on her jaw.

“Ouch,” Mack said.

“How did you get your boo-boo?” Lucia asked, poking the scar under Mack’s eye.

Mack moved back an inch or two so as not to lose the eye. “Oh, that happened a long time ago.”