Author: Kristan Higgins

WHEN I GOT HOME that afternoon, Angus was looking cuter than ever, so I figured a waltz was in order. Scooping my little dog up into my arms, I swooped around the living room, one-two-three, one-two-three, humming Take It to the Limit by the Eagles, one of Angus’s favorites. “‘So put me on a highway, and show me a sign,’” I sang.

Angus began to croon along. As I said, it was one of his favorites.

I wasn’t sure why I felt so happy, given that my chances of being history chair were smaller than ever. “I guess there’s more to life than work, right, McFangus?” I asked the Wonder Pup. He wriggled in delight.

It was true. In just a little while, Natalie and Andrew would be married, putting the final nail in the coffin of Andrew and me. Summer was fast approaching, the time of reading and relaxing and battling down South.

And Callahan O’ Shea was my boyfriend. A warm tide of happiness rose from my ankles on up. Callahan O’ Shea was looking for a wife, kids and a lawn to mow. I figured I might just be able to help him out on that quest.

“Can I cut in?”

Speak of the devil, there he was on my porch, sinful grin in place. Angus stiffened and yarped in my arms.

“Come on in,” I said, setting down my faithful beastie, who leaped onto Cal’s ankle with great enthusiasm. Hrrr.

Hrrr. Cal ignored him, took my hand and put his hand on my waist.

“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” he admitted, his eyes crinkling most appealingly as he tried to execute a box step, stepping on my foot.

“I’ll teach you,” I said. The back of his neck was warm under my hand, and the lovely smell of wood and man and sweat made my heart beat a little faster. The tide of happiness became a flood.

“I always kind of liked the eighth-grade shuffle myself,” he said, pulling me into a hug. Our feet barely moved …well, except when Cal tried to shake Angus off. My hands drifted down Cal’s back…I figured I’d cop a feel, why not…when I touched paper.

“Oh, right,” Callahan said, stepping back. “This is yours. The mailman put it in my box by mistake.” He pulled an envelope from the back pocket of his jeans and handed it to me.

The envelope was thick and creamy, my name done in stylish calligraphy, the ink a dark green. “This must be my sister’s wedding invitation,” I said, opening it. Sure enough, it was. Stylish and classic, just like Natalie. I smiled a little at the pretty design, the traditional words. Together with their parents, Natalie Rose Emerson and Andrew Chase Carson warmly request the honor of your attendance… I looked up at Callahan. “Want to be my wedding date?” I asked.

He smiled. “Sure,” he said.

Sure. Just like that. Such a contrast from the superhuman effort I’d put into finding a date for Kitty’s wedding. I paused. “Um, I don’t think I told you this, Cal, but remember I said I’d been engaged once?” Cal nodded. “Well, it was to Andrew. The guy who’s marrying my sister.”

Cal’s eyebrows bounced up in surprise. “Really?”

“Yup,” I said. “But once he and Natalie met, it seemed pretty clear that she was the one for him. Not me.”

He didn’t say anything for a minute, just looked at me, frowning slightly. “Are you okay with them being together?”

he asked finally. Angus shook the cuff of his jeans.

“Oh, sure,” I answered. I paused. “It was really tough at first, but I’m fine now.”

Cal studied me for another minute. Then he bent, picked up Angus, who replied with a growl before gnawing on Cal’s thumb. “I’d say she’s more than fine, wouldn’t you, Angus?” he asked. Then he leaned in and kissed my neck, and it dawned on me in a sweetly painful rush that I was crazy in love with Callahan O’ Shea.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

BUT BEING CRAZY ABOUT HIM didn’t mean things were perfect.

“I think we should just wait a little bit,” I said to Cal a few days later as we drove to West Hartford.

“I think it’s a bad idea,” he said, not looking at me. We were on our way to that most distressing of family gatherings—Mom’s art show. Well, actually, most of my family gatherings were distressing, but Mom’s shows were special. However, it was the only night before Nat’s wedding that my family could get together. The official Meet the Family horror show.

“Callahan, trust me. It’s my family. They’re going to…well, you know. Flip a little. No one wants to hear that their baby girl is dating a guy with a record.”

“Well, I do have a record, and I think we should just get it out in the open.”

“Okay, listen. First of all, you’ve never been to one of my mother’s shows. They’re weird. My dad will be tense as it is, Mom will be fluttering all over the place…Secondly, my grandmother is deaf as a stone, so I’d have to yell, and it’s a public place and all that. It’s just not the time, Cal.”

I’d told my parents and Natalie that I was dating the boy next door. I hadn’t told them anything else.

My parents were concerned, thinking I had dumped a perfectly good workaholic doctor for a carpenter. That was bad enough…wait till they found out about his nineteen months behind bars. Not that there were bars at his prison, but such a distinction was going to be lost on the Emerson family, whose line could be traced back to the Mayflower.

“I’m actually surprised you haven’t told them yet,” Cal said.

I glanced over at him. His jaw was tight. “Listen, bub. Don’t worry. I’m not trying to hide anything. I just want them to know you and like you a little bit first. If I walk in and say, ‘Hi, this is my boyfriend who was recently released from prison,’ they’ll have kittens. If they see what a great guy you are first, it won’t be so bad.”

“When will you tell them?”

“Soon,” I bit out. “Cal. Please. I have a lot on my mind. School’s ending, I still haven’t heard about the chairmanship, one sister’s getting married, the other’s ready to jump out of her skin…Can we just let my folks meet you without dumping your prison record on them? Please? Let me have one major crisis at a time? I promise I’ll tell them soon. Just not tonight.”

“It feels dishonest,” he said.

“It’s not! It’s just…parceling out information, okay? We don’t have to go around introducing you as Callahan O’ Shea, ex-con. Do we?”

He didn’t answer for a minute. “Fine, Grace. Have it your way. But it doesn’t feel right.”

I took his hand. “Thanks.” After a minute, he squeezed back.

“YOU’RE DATING THE HELP? You threw over that nice doctor for the help?” Mémé’s expression was that of a woman who’d just bitten into a lizard. Actually, of a lizard biting into a lizard. She wheeled a little closer, hitting a pedestal and causing Into the Light (supposedly a birth canal, but actually more resembling the Holland Tunnel) to wobble precariously. I steadied it, then looked down at my disapproving grandmother.

“Mémé, please stop calling Callahan the help, okay? You’re not in Victorian England anymore,” I started. “And as I said—” here I took a breath, weary with the lie “—Wyatt, though a very nice man, just wasn’t a good fit. Okay?

Okay. Let’s move on.”

Margaret, lurking nearby, raised an eyebrow. I yearned for more wine and ignored her and Mémé, who was once again labeling the Irish as beggars and thieves.

Chimera Art Gallery was littered with body parts. Apparently, Mom wasn’t the only one who was doing anatomy these days, and she was quite irritable that another artist was also featured (joints…ball-and-socket, gliding and cartilaginous, not nearly as popular as Mom’s more, ah, intimate items, most of which looked like they belonged in a sex shop). I dragged my eyes off Yearning in Green (use your imagination) and sidled over to Callahan, who was talking to my father.

“So! You’re a carpenter!” Dad boomed in the hearty voice he used on blue-collar workers, a little loud and with an occasional grammatical lapse to show that he, too, was just an average joe.

“Dad, you hired Cal to replace my windows, remember? So you already know he’s a carpenter.”

“Restoration specialist?” Dad suggested hopefully.

“Not really, no,” Callahan answered evenly, resisting Dad’s efforts to glam him up. “I wouldn’t say a specialist in anything, though. Just basic carpentry.”

“He does beautiful work,” I added. Cal gave me a veiled look.

“What I wouldn’t give to trade in my law books for a hammer!” Dad trumpeted. I snorted—in my memory, at least, it had always been Mom who did the needed household repairs; Dad couldn’t even hang a picture. “You always a carpenter?” my father continued, dropping a verb to demonstrate his camaraderie with the working man.

“No, sir. I used to be an accountant.” Cal looked at me again. I gave him a little smile and slipped my hand in his.

My mom, apparently having overheard, pounced on us. “So you had a revelation, Callahan?” she asked, caressing a nearby sculpture in a most pornographic way. “The same happened with me. There I was, a mother, a housewife, but inside, an artist was struggling for recognition. In the end, I just had to embrace my new identity.”

“Dance hall hussy?” I muttered to Margaret. I’d told Margs about our parents’ attempted tryst—why should I suffer alone?—and she snorted. Mom shot me a questioning look but dragged Cal over to Want, describing the wonders of self-expression. Callahan tossed me a wink. Good. He was relaxing.

“Hey, guys! We made it!” My younger sister’s mellifluous voice floated over the hum of the crowd.

Natalie and Andrew were holding hands. “Hi, Grace!” my younger sister said, leaping over to hug me.

“What about me?” Margaret growled.

“I was getting there!” Nat said, grinning. “Hello, Margaret, I love you just as much as I love Grace, okay?”

“As you should,” Margs grumbled. “Hi, Andrew.”

“Hi, ladies. How’s everyone?”

“Everyone’s suffering, Andrew, so join the crowd,” I said with a smile. “Nice of you guys to come.”

“We wanted to meet Callahan officially,” Natalie said. “You and Wyatt were together for what, two months? And I never got to even shake his hand.” Nat looked over at Cal. “God, Grace, he is really gorgeous. Look at those arms. He could pick up a horse.”

“Hello, I’m standing right here,” Andrew said to my sister. I smiled at my wineglass, a warm glow in the pit of my stomach. That’s right, Andrew, I thought. That big, strong, gorgeous man is your replacement. I wondered what Cal would think of my ex. Cal glanced over at me, smiled, and the glow became a lovely ache. I smiled back, and Cal returned his attention to my mom.

“Crikey, look at her,” Nat said to Margaret. “She’s in love.”

I blushed. Andrew caught my eye, a questioning eyebrow raised.

“I’m afraid you’re right, Nat,” Margs replied. “Grace, you’re in deep, poor slob. And hey, speaking of poor slobs, Andrew, make yourself useful and get us more wine.”

“Yes, sir,” Andrew answered obediently.

“By the way,” I said, “Mom wants you to pick out a wedding present. A sculpture.” I lifted an eyebrow.

“Oh, sweetie, let’s pick fast,” Natalie said. “The smallest one, whatever it is. My God, look at that. Portals of Heaven. Wow. That is large.” They meandered off.

Dad approached Margs and me. “Gracie-Pudding,” he said, “can I have a word?”