At the top of the cliff, she stopped.

The sky was still deep blue, but a line of pink cracked the horizon. There were a few cars racing down, but she could hear the ocean, and her hair fluttered in the breeze.

She didn’t miss much about SoCal, but she did miss this view. She started running again. No music today—she wanted to hear the birds. The trail was wide and twisting, flanked by the bushy foliage of the area. It was cool this morning, maybe fifty degrees.

It had been kind of nice, sitting with Jack last night, even if he was in the throes of PTSD. He’d have an easier time if he’d acknowledge it. She wasn’t the child of psychologists for nothing; her bookcase back home had quite a few books on stress and trauma and people’s reactions. She figured it would help with the high-intensity calls that she might have to go on as a police officer.

A coyote ran across the trail in front of her, a scrawny little thing compared with the beasts they had back home.

She glanced at her watch. Twenty minutes in one direction, twenty minutes back... That’d be about four miles altogether (oh, fine, it was closer to three). Who cared? Any activity would absolutely justify a trip into town for some jelly donuts at Nance’s Coffee Shop, if it was still in business, please God.

When she hit the twenty-minute mark, she turned around, inspired by the thought of donuts. Then she heard footsteps behind her.

Kevin. A shirtless Kevin, no less.

“Hey, Emmaline!” he said, and damn if the sound of his voice—that friendly, lovely voice—didn’t make her heart jump.

“Hey, Kevin. How are you?”

“Great!” He stopped and wiped his forehead with his forearm.

He was shirtless. Had she mentioned that? Oh, yes. All that perfectly perfect perfection had an impact. He looked like a feature in Men’s Health or some  p**n o website. Heck, if men in  p**n os looked like that, she just might start watching.

“How’d you sleep?” he asked, and it was such a normal question.

“Good! Good. You?”

“Great.” He smiled. “Want to walk back? I usually like to run at least twelve miles, but it’d be nice to catch up with you. Hear what you’ve been up to.”

“Sure.” Her heart was jackhammering.

“So how far did you run this morning?”

“Oh, um...just a couple miles.”

“Well, you can make up for it later. We’re doing a half marathon tomorrow before the wedding.”

“Fun.”

“Did I tell you Naomi’s on the short list to be on The Biggest Loser?” he said.

“No, Kevin. You haven’t told me anything. We haven’t talked in three years, remember?” And, man, that would really suck, having to see Naomi’s face on TV, snarling at sobbing contestants.

“True enough,” he said mildly. “Well, you know Naomi—she’d be the best. She has an audition on the thirteenth.”

“Good luck to her.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it, Emmaline. It’s all about work and goals. You set goals and commit to them.”

One upside of being dumped—didn’t have to hear those stupid sayings anymore. She could also point out that he’d committed to marrying her and hadn’t stayed loyal to that. Then again, water under the bridge.

“I’m sorry,” he said, surprising her. “I sound like a jerk.” He stopped for a second, bent down and picked a small yellow flower. Handed it to her with that boyish grin she remembered so well. “How have you been, Emmaline? I’ve missed you.” His eyes were kind.

Oh, no.

It was a glimpse of Old Kevin. The sweet, thoughtful guy she’d adored for so long.

The stutter twitched in its sleep.

She took a deep breath and thought in a British accent.

“Fine, really. I’m good.”

“Your mom says you’re a cop?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“And you like the work?”

“I do. It’s very—” Intimate, she wanted to say, but the I sound got stuck tight.

The stutter opened its eyes.

Better to say nothing than to mangle a word. She tipped her head as if searching for the right word.

“Rewarding, I’d imagine,” Kevin suggested.

“Yes. Exactly.”

“And your boyfriend, what does he do?”

Correcting Kevin would require more words than she was willing to risk. “He’s a winemaker,” she said. There. A complete sentence, no mangling anywhere. Three entire words. Five syllables.

“Really? I don’t drink anymore, but that’s a very cool profession.” He stopped, turning to look at her. She’d forgotten how ridiculously lush his eyelashes were. “Em, I have to admit, I’ve thought about you so much over the past three years.”

She cut him a sharp glance. Was it coming? The apology? More?

“I was worried about you. You seemed so...broken.”

A cold fist of fury clenched in her stomach. Really? she wanted to say. Broken, as in “heartbroken”? And why would that be? Because you jilted me two months before our wedding? Because you left me for some exercise-addicted shrew and told the world I sabotaged you when in fact I loved you with all my heart for seventeen years? Why on earth would you worry?

“I wasn’t sure you’d ever get over me,” he said, reaching out to tuck some hair behind her ear.

She jerked back. “Well, somehow I managed. They dropped the suicide watch a while ago.”

He gave her a sad smile, and she remembered it well. The commiseration smile, back when he was fat and she was a stutterer, the “yeah, I know what that’s like” smile, and somehow that was the worst thing of all. How dare he feel sorry for her? How dare he worry about her? How dare he bring back her stutter when she really should be past this, goddamn it?

“I’m glad,” Kevin said. “I hope you and your guy will be as happy as Nay and I are.” Nay. How gross. “Are things serious?”

“Yep. In fact, we’re engaged.”

Oh, shit and whiskey. Not smart. Not smart at all.

But it was kind of great to see Kevin’s mouth drop open. The stutter, too, was shocked and retreated to a corner to regroup.

“You are?” Kevin asked. His cheeks mottled with color, and he glanced down at her left hand. “Where’s your ring?”

“It’s being resized.” Well, well, well. Seemed like she was a pretty excellent liar. The things you never knew you could do until you had to.

“I’m happy for you.”

He sounded anything but.

Guess Kevin had gotten a good bit of satisfaction, thinking about her mooning over him (which she had), staying home every Friday night (okay, yes, she did that a lot), feeling like no one would ever fall for her again. (Fine! She had those thoughts, all of them!)

Even so, this walk had just become a lot more enjoyable.

“So when are you getting married?” he asked.

“We haven’t set a date yet.”

“Well. Uh...this is great, Emmaline.”

“Thanks,” she said. “Listen, I think I’ll run the rest of the way, okay? See you later.”

Because satisfaction aside, she had to tell Jack. Pronto.

“Sure. I’ll see you back at the ranch. You’re playing some of the couples games with us later, right?” He smiled, but it wasn’t the sweet Old Kevin smile from before. “Wait till you see Naomi in a bikini. That’ll get you motivated to lose some weight.”