“Good for you.” He smiled, and I grinned back, taking this to mean good because I was free. For him. My toes curled in my high-tops. The waiter came over, we ordered and Trevor took a sip of wine, then set the glass down and straightened the cutlery. “Chastity, you know I’ve been seeing Hayden, right?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said, tucking some of my newly cut hair behind my ear. My heart rate sped up, my knees tingled. Here it comes….

“Well, things have, um, changed a little,” Trevor said, not lifting his gaze from the tablecloth. His smile, I noted, dropped a notch. Still a little sad about breaking up with her, no doubt, whereas my own heart rocketed with joy. Oh, God, thank You. Finally.

I was so prepared to hear “We broke up” that I almost missed what Trevor actually said.

“We’re getting married.”

For a moment, my stupid smile, my expectant, hopeful stupid smile, stayed on my face. My eyes widened, and I took a sharp breath, then another, that stupid-ass smile still there, as out of place as kielbasa at a Seder supper. Then I was blinking, because my eyes were stinging with tears. Don’t you dare, that little voice hissed with sudden, vicious loathing. Don’t you dare cry, you stupid idiot. “Holy crap, Trev! Wow!” I squeaked. “This is great! Wow! Great!”

“You really think so?” His eyes were full of sympathy—or something, and suddenly, my pride galloped onto the scene.

“Yes!” I exclaimed. “This…I’m…surprised, you know? I didn’t think you were that serious! But congratulations! She’s great.”

“Thanks, Chas.” He leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “I wanted to tell you in person.”

“That was so…nice of you!” Bastard! “Yeah! No, really. Thank you, Trevor.” My fists were clenched in my lap, and I had to swallow again and again. “So, have you set a date?” The roaring in my ears was enough to drown out the happy details for the happy couple, but not enough to silence my little voice. You bleeping idiot. Didn’t I tell you to slow down? Huh? I can’t believe this. If you cry, I will kill us both.

Mario the waiter brought our dinners, and I ate and ate—the antipasto, the salad, oh, the bread, fantastic, and my penne alla vodka, out of this bleeping world, and if my mouth was stuffed, I wouldn’t have to talk, now, would I? Just smile and nod at whatever the hell Trevor was saying now.

“I was a little worried,” Trevor admitted, wiping his mouth. “About telling you, I mean.”

“Why?” I asked, stuffing another hunk of olive-oil-drenched bread into my mouth.

His beautiful dark eyes went sad. “Well, you know. Because of our…thing in college. I felt kind of awkward, telling you about being engaged. I was afraid you’d be—”

“Be what? Are you kidding? Come on! You’re like a brother to me, Trev. I’m happy for you. Really. She seems like a great person.”

Trevor—whom I really, really hated at this moment—smiled, albeit awkwardly. “Well, yeah, definitely. She is. Things just got serious kind of fast…Anyway. Thanks, Chastity.” He paused, seemed like he was going to say something more, then asked about my classes.

When Mario brought our tiramisu, I excused myself to the bathroom, threw up, then rinsed my mouth and stared into the mirror. “Idiot,” I hissed with a shocking amount of self-hatred. “You pathetic, ridiculous, stupid idiot.”

TREVOR AND PERFECT HAYDEN moved to Washington, D.C., where she had just signed on at a high-powered law firm. Trev picked up work as a paramedic, and they bought a condo and set a date for their wedding. Fortunately for me, they didn’t come home for Christmas that year, because even though I was used to treating Trevor like a pal, seeing him in love with his size-six fiancée would have been too much.

Something happened, though, and I never heard firsthand what it was. Matt told me only that it was Perfect Hayden who called things off, that Trev had wanted to work things out. Whatever the case, he moved back to Eaton Falls, resumed his job on the fire department and was a little quieter and more serious after that.

That was six years ago. Since then, to the best of my knowledge, Trevor hasn’t been in a real relationship, despite the number of women who would follow him to the ends of the earth. Maybe he has abandonment issues. Maybe he never got over Hayden. Maybe she was the love of his life. Maybe every night as he’s falling asleep, he thinks about her and can’t help imagining how incredible it would be if they were together again, if they had that love back, if things had taken a different turn.

And now she’s back.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A FEW DAYS AFTER THE ROAD race, Penelope summons me to her office. I can tell by her tone that I’ll be examining some part of her body for disease. When she heard that I was taking an EMT class, she’d been nearly overcome with joy. Sure enough…“Does this look like an AVM?” she asks, pointing to the back of her knee.

“What’s an AVM?” I ask, bending down for a look.

“Arteriovenous malformation,” she says with ominous relish.

“Hm. Well, it looks like a varicose vein, if that’s the same thing,” I tell her, rising. “Anything else?”

“Yes. There’s a self-defense class being taught at the Y tonight, and I want you to go. I had this great idea,” Pen says, settling back into her chair. “Heroes of Eaton Falls. We can interview this teacher—Ryan something, I have his name somewhere. He’s dedicated to women’s safety, wants women to be able to protect themselves—” here I snort “—that sort of thing. And then we can move on to the usual firefighter-cop thing, a few Scout leaders, maybe someone who rescues animals. What do you think?”

“Sure,” I say. “Sounds nice.”

“It’ll sell more papers, too. Subscriptions haven’t fallen recently, but they sure as hell haven’t budged, either.”

“Well, hero stories always do sell more papers,” I acknowledge. “That and murders.”

“You have a bunch of rescue workers in your family, don’t you?” she asks, lurching upright. “Maybe we can do a story just on them! The O’Neills of Eaton Falls. Family of Heroes. Heroes Are a Family Tradition. Heroism Runs in the Family.”

Heroism runs in the family to a point, I think, remembering Kim from the toy store. Still, I feel that familiar tingle of pride and irritation. “Well, obviously, I’d have a conflict of interest, writing about my family for the paper I work for.”

“True enough, true enough. Okay, well, if we go with that one, I’ll assign a freelancer. But let’s run with the firefighter thing, just not one of your relatives, okay?”

“Sure,” I say. I don’t mind. Firefighters certainly deserve their credit, even if they do sit around bickering like a bunch of old women half the time. “I know a few guys who would probably talk to me for a story. And there are a lot of other heroes we could unearth, not just the usual suspects. We could do people who work with special-needs kids, the good Samaritan who helped you fix your tire in the rain, that kind of thing. What do you think?”

Pen likes it. We talk a little more, then I head back for my desk. Alan is leaning over Angela, and she’s as far as she can get from him without actually breaking through her cubicle. “Ange, can I see you a second?” I ask.

“Yes!” she exclaims, bolting past Alan to my area. I wait a second until Alan returns to the news desk and picks up the phone.

“I don’t have anything, really,” I say. “Just thought you could use rescuing. Think of yourself as little Pippin, me as noble, flawed Boromir, killing all the Uruk-hai in a desperate attempt to save you.”

“You girls really need to get out more,” Pete comments as he walks past. We ignore him.

“Thank you,” Angela says. “Alan’s a nice guy, but…”

“I know. He’s no Aragorn.”

“He’s not even Gimli,” she says, referring to the four-foot-tall dwarf from our favorite movie trilogy.

“Do you want to grab lunch today?” I ask.

“Sure!” she answers immediately.

“One o’clock?” I ask.

“Sounds perfect. I should get back to work. I’m putting together a page on make-ahead meals,” Angela says. She pauses. “Um, just one more thing, Chastity.”

“Sure,” I answer, tipping back in my chair.

“I happened to see you at Singles Grocery Shopping,” she says in a whisper, blushing attractively.

“I’m not gay,” I interject.

“Oh, I know!”

“Just wanted to get that out there.”

“No,” she continues. “Um, I was wondering if your brother was seeing anyone.”

“Matt? No, he’s not, actually!” I lurch upright. “He’s great. Have you met him?”

“I just saw him at the store that night,” she murmurs, her face fuchsia. “And I caught a glimpse of him at the race last weekend.”

I pause. “Matt didn’t go to grocery night.” Then realization dawns. “Do you mean Trevor?”

“The guy who kissed your mom? Brown hair? Great smile, dark eyes?”

My heart stutters. “Yeah, that’s Trevor Meade. He’s not my brother. Family friend, that’s all.”

Angela’s face is hopeful. “Oh, okay. Well, do you know if he’s seeing anyone?”

My sulky inner child protests. You can’t have him. I’ve loved him since I was ten years old, damn it! And then there’s Perfect Hayden. I haven’t heard what went on with that. “Um…I’m not sure, but I don’t think he’s seeing anyone at the moment, Ange.” She bites her lip and smiles, and my heart sinks even further. “Want me to put out some feelers?”

“That would be great,” she says. “He’s really gorgeous. I mean, one look and I could feel…you know. That tingle.”

“Yes,” I admit, forcing a smile. “He’s…very appealing.” There is no reason for me to object to Angela’s interest. Trevor and I are dear friends. Have been for years and years and bleeping years. Oh, and the woman he once loved, who broke his heart, is back in town. Truth be told, I’d rather have Angela dating Trevor than Perfect Hayden. At least Angela’s nice.

At that moment, a shriek splits the air. “Omigod! Teddy Bear!” Lucia flings herself at Teddy Bear, who has just walked through the door. “Teddy and I have to interview caterers,” Lucia announces with the same triumph as if she’d just announced that she won the Pulitzer.

“Have fun,” I call amiably.

“The wedding is only sixteen months away! There’s so much to do! Omigod! You wouldn’t believe it, Chastity! It’s like a full-time job!”

“I can imagine,” I say dryly. “How long have you been engaged?”

“Four years and seven months,” Teddy answers instantly. “Let’s get going, sweetums.” He turns to Lucia, fixes her collar and gives me a fake smile. He has a sharp way of pronouncing the S sound that makes it sound like a hiss. “We can’t have the caterers waiting. And then I have to zip back to work for a meeting with our shareholders.”

“Teddy Bear’s the vice president of the company,” Lucia brags.

“I see,” I answer. “Congratulations.”

“Bye, all! Must run.” Lucia, head high, saunters out of the office, Teddy Bear on her heels.

“If that guy is straight, then I’m George Clooney,” Pete announces. Wincing, I can’t help but agree.

At the end of the day, I head for home to grab some dinner before the self-defense class. Taking a bite of the cold pizza from last night, I check my e.Commitment e-mail. My mother has had fifty-nine responses to her profile. Fifty-nine. I’ve had Matt.

Oh, hey, here’s something! Setting my pizza aside, I click on the message. Dear Girl Next Door, wondering if u want 2 get 2gether. Saw ur picture and thought u sounded cute. I decide to overlook the irritating abbreviations and check out his profile. Hm, not bad-looking. Favorite things to do: Baseball, rollerblading, eating out. So far, so good. Three most important things in his life: My cat, my mom, the Red Sox.

Sorry, pal. I suppose I could tolerate a Boston fan (as long as the Red Sox agreed never to beat the Yanks again), but combined with his cat and mother, there’s just no hope.

I reach for my pizza—at least there’s that—only to find that it’s gone. Buttercup is feigning sleep next to my desk. She burps softly. “Shame on you,” I tell her, petting her head with my bare foot. Her tail lashes the floor.

An hour later, Angela meets me at the YMCA, having accepted my invitation to tag along. Elaina couldn’t go, claiming that my nephew had worn down her last nerve and the only person she wanted to be with tonight was Robert Mondavi. I’d left a message for the teacher, telling him I’d be covering the story for the Gazette and hoped he’d be available to answer questions after the class.

“Hello, sweetheart!”

“Mom! What are you doing here?” I ask, eying my mother suspiciously.

“Your father made me come,” she announces. “He said if I’m going to be dating freaks, scumbags and perverts, then I’d better know how to defend myself. Hello, dear, I’m Chastity’s mother, Betty.”

“Hello,” Angela says in her gentle voice.

“Dad made you come?” I ask, taking off my Binghamton Crew sweatshirt to reveal another in my Lord of the Rings collection: Elf Wanted: Archery Skills & Leather Pants a Must.