Sure enough, Team Menopause was in full force in the backyard, and indeed, their number had multiplied. Mom, Mrs. Johnson, Carol Robinson, Laura Boothby, Cathy and Louise. Guess those two being lesbians didn’t mean they didn’t appreciate some good-looking men. Faith was here, as well.

“Shouldn’t you be ogling your hot husband?” Colleen asked.

“He’s on his way over. Traffic control,” Faith answered. “I’m supposedly picking up Mrs. Johnson so we can all have dinner, but she’s not going anywhere, she says.”

“Not till I have to,” Mrs. J. said, jerking her drink away from Rufus’s enormous and thieving tongue.

Bryce Campbell was pouring a day-glow lime-green liquid from a pitcher. Shirtless. Louise was tipping him. “Hey, Coll!” he said cheerfully.

“Has Chippendales relocated?” Colleen asked.

“Oh, don’t be such a prude,” her mom said. “It’s Lucas’s last day.” Mom gestured with her plastic cup to the roof.

There he was, in full blue-collar glory. And though he’d made her quite happy—multiply happy—just last night, Colleen felt her entire female anatomy squeeze and swell and blossom and bark.

“Hey,” he said.

“Oh, my God, that voice,” Carol said. “Lucas, say my name. Say, ‘Carol, you’re still a fine-looking woman.’ Do it.”

“I thought you had Jeremy Lyon for that sort of thing,” Colleen said.

“Leave me alone, Colleen,” Carol said. “I have to get my jollies somehow.”

“Carol, you’re still a fine-looking woman,” Lucas said with a pirate grin. Carol squealed, giggled merrily, then held up her empty glass for Bryce to refill. He obliged, winking at Colleen.

“Oh, Colleen,” Carol said, “I have a house for you to look at. This one might actually be perfect, and it’s not even listed yet. I thought I’d give you first dibs.”

For some reason, the words gave Colleen a twinge. “Where is it?” she asked, sneaking a look at Lucas. He was kneeling on the roof, doing something at the base of the chimney.

“It’s on Ivy Lane. The Lowensteins’ place.”

“Oh, that house is very charming!” Mrs. Johnson exclaimed. “The roses, the hydrangeas, the little sunroom in the back!”

Colleen knew the house, a little fairy cottage made of stone. It did indeed have a beautiful garden, and a shady front yard. And a brook in the back. “Thanks, Carol. I’ll take a look.”

“That should do it, Jeanette,” Lucas said. “I’m done here.”

A chorus of boos and protests went up from Team Menopause. “You didn’t even take off your shirt,” Carol complained.

Lucas sighed. “It’s tough, being objectified like this,” he said.

“Boo-hoo-hoo,” Colleen called. “Just do it, Spaniard.”

He grinned, sighed, obeyed. Got a hearty round of applause. “Ten,” Mom called.

“Ten,” Carol and Mrs. J. echoed.

“Nine and a half,” Colleen said. Didn’t want him to get cocky.

“Jeanette, do you have a license for this?” Levi Cooper approached, shaking his head. “Ladies, I’m disappointed in all of you.”

“Take off your shirt, Levi,” Carol said. “Let’s see what you got.”

“Inappropriate, Carol,” he said, his eyes resting on Faith. “Hey, beautiful.”

“Love,” Jeanette sighed. “Mrs. Johnson, you’re so lucky to have a grandchild on the way.” She gave Colleen a pointed look, then turned her eyes to Lucas. “I wouldn’t object if you knocked up my daughter, Lucas.”

“Okay, everyone’s cut off,” Colleen said. “Levi, do a quick sobriety check, will you, buddy?”

Bryce approached her, pulling on his shirt. “Coll, got a minute?” he asked.

“Sure, bud.” They went a few yards away from the ladies (though not before Laura Boothby had tucked a ten into his pocket). “So, uh, the whole Paulie thing. I feel really bad about that.”

Colleen sighed. “Yeah. She likes you a lot.”

“I guess that’s why she adopted all those animals,” he said, frowning.

“Yep.”

He gave her a sad smile. “Not lot of people really like me.”

“What are you talking about? Everyone likes you.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Just...you know. Not when they get to know me and find out I’m just...good-looking and stupid. No one ever gives me a second thought.”

“Bryce! You’re not stupid.”

“Oh, come on. Did you ever give me a second thought?”

He had a point.

“I got fired from the wedding dress place,” he said. “And the bride went back to her husband. Fiancé. Whatever. She wasn’t really that fun, turns out.”

“For what it’s worth, Bryce, Paulie really does like you. Not just because you’re beautiful. And she doesn’t think you’re stupid.”

“Well, she does now, I bet,” he said. “Anyway, I just wondered how she’s doing. I called her the other day and said I hoped we were still friends.”

“What did she say?”

Bryce fiddled with a button on his shirt. “She said I had some growing up to do. But she was really nice about it, too. She didn’t lecture me.”

“Do you think she has a point?”

“Probably.” He sighed. “Well. I should go. See you, Colleen.” He walked away, and Colleen couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for him.

“So, hotshot.”

She looked behind her, and there stood Lucas. “Spaniard.” The slow curl of warmth unfurled in her stomach.

“You busy later?” he said, pulling on his shirt. Pity.

“I’m always busy,” she murmured.

“You want to come over when you’re not? Set my apartment on fire this time?”

“Is that a metaphor for sex?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Then yes.”

He grabbed her, gave her a quick, hard kiss, copped a feel and went off, smiling over his shoulder.

Le sigh.

Fifteen minutes later, when Team Menopause had been wrangled out (and Levi had ticketed Carol for parking in front of a hydrant), Mom gave Rufus his third piece of bacon, put her hands on her h*ps and gave Colleen a look. “So? Are you staying or what?”

“Aw. That’s so sweet, Mom. Why? You have plans?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Rufus stole a fourth bacon strip, then licked Mom’s hand.

“Strip clubs with Carol?”

“No, I have a date.”

“Stan, Stan the Hairy Man getting a second chance?”

“No, that’s over. He sent me a picture of his junk, and if you thought his back was hairy—”

“Hail Mary, full of grace—”

“Oh, stop.”

“You stop. Please. I beg you to stop.”

“Fine.” Her mother looked at her watch. “I do have a date, and you must have plans with that Lucas. Are you getting married, you two?”

“We’re in a purely physical relationship right now.”

Her mom raised an eyebrow. “Sure.”

Colleen shrugged, looking away. “I don’t know, Mom. I’m not looking too far down the road.”

“Carpe diem and all that?” Mom asked.

“Exactly. Don’t eat tuna.”

Mom gave a faint smile. “Well, off with you. Time to go. Get out. Bye, honey. Don’t forget your dog.” She walked Colleen to the front door. “You never come over anymore.”

“It’s hard to feel welcome when you’re about to hurl me down your front steps—” The doorbell rang. “Could this be the mystery man?” Colleen exclaimed. She opened the front door. “Hi, I’m the daughter.” Her smile froze, then dropped. “But I guess you already knew that.”

Her father stood on the stoop, holding a bouquet of flowers.

“This isn’t going to end well,” Colleen said.

* * *

IT WAS UNEXPECTED, her parents told her. Early days yet. Just testing the waters. But obviously they had a history.

“I know you have a history!” Colleen snapped. “I am your history!”

It was so frickin’ weird to have them both in the newly renovated yoga studio/artist garrett/greenroom/whatever the heck Lucas had built. The last time they’d been there all together was when Dad had stonily informed them about the Tail and her pregnancy, Mom sobbing hysterically, Connor white-faced.

Connor, at least, was at the bar. Lucky bastard.

“I thought you’d be happy about this,” Dad said.

Colleen eyed him, started to speak, then stopped. “I don’t know how to feel,” she said. “You can’t just undo everything, Dad. You have Savannah now. Ten years have passed. And are you and Mom together? Or are you just jealous because she started dating?”

He looked at Mom, whose expression didn’t betray much. “I’ve always loved your mother.”

Colleen snorted.

“It’s true.”

“Loved her enough to cheat on her. Loved her enough to make her a laughingstock while you and your disgustingly young wife moved to a bigger house in the same town because you didn’t even have the decency to move ten miles away, enough to—”

“Okay, Colleen, we know where you stand,” Mom said. “I appreciate your concern and understand you have to express your emotions, but maybe you could do this in a more positive and healthy way.”

“You need to stop buying those self-help books.”

“I’ve found that kickboxing works well.”

Colleen sighed. “I have to go see Gramp. Your father, Dad, in case you forgot. Come on, Rufus.”

It would be nice, she thought as she drove to her shift at Rushing Creek, to have a normal family. Like Faith—the three siblings, the perfect father, the lovely stepmother, a niece, a nephew. Instead, she had her whackadoo parents, a stepmother who wore clothes in the style of Child Prostitute and a mute grandfather whose poor body just wouldn’t give out. She had Savannah, at least, and Connor.

And maybe she had Lucas, too.

But that was a dangerous thought. For ten years, she’d done pretty well not getting her heart broken, and not breaking anyone’s. And not heartbroken...not ruined...that was a whole lot better than the alternative.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

A FEW NIGHTS later, Colleen twisted her hair up, pulled down a few wisps and put on her Swarovski crystal earrings that Con had given her for their birthday in a rare fit of thoughtful metrosexuality. Tonight, she wore a long red dress (because you know what they say about women in red dresses), high in front and low in back, the fabric falling in a silky rush to her toes. It was a halter top secured at the back of her neck, so hopefully Lucas could give one tug later on, when they were alone, and remove said dress in a hurry. Or a not-hurry. Nice and slow. His mouth could follow the fabric...and hopefully, he hadn’t shaved today, because she quite loved the scrape of his beard against her skin, the contrast of his smooth, full mouth, the hot, wet slide—

“You almost ready?” Connor bellowed up the laundry chute, which served as a magical portal between their apartments.

“I’ve been ready for twenty minutes,” she lied. “Are you ready? Are we picking up your date? You may as well tell me who she is.”

“She’s not coming.”

“Connor! I hate you.”

“I hate you more,” he said, grinning up the chute. “Get in the car.”

She dropped her wet towel on his head, closed the chute door. “Bye, pal,” she said to Rufus, who was mournfully chewing his plastic bone. “I love you more than Connor. A lot more.” With that, she went downstairs, the heels of her strappilicious sandals tapping away.