He turned and pressed his back against the window. He loved her. He loved her, and he’d hurt her. He remembered the look on her face as she’d turned away, and he didn’t think he could just pick up the phone and say, “Hey, Clare. I’ve been thinking about it, and I love you.”

Instead he picked up the phone and called his dad. Not that Leo was an expert when it came to women and love, but he might know what to do.

Clare rummaged around in her mother’s attic for a bed canopy. She’d been all over town in search of one she liked, but she hadn’t found it. There had to be something suitable in the stacks of bed linens in the Wingate attic.

The day after she told Sebastian that she couldn’t see him any longer, she’d taken down her Battenberg lace. He’d hated it, and it reminded her too much of him. She just couldn’t look up at it every night when she went to bed.

It had been three weeks since that day in the mall when she’d run into Lonny and realized that she had once again fallen in love with a man who was incapable of loving her back. And this time she couldn’t even say it was because she’d been lied to. Sebastian had never loved her, and she’d known that going in. She just hadn’t known she would fall in love with him.

After the fallout in her mother’s backyard, she’d gone home and crawled into bed for three days, overdosing on John Hughes and Merchant-Ivory flicks until her friends had staged an intervention.

The good news was, she hadn’t reached for a bottle or a warm body to make herself feel better. She hadn’t even wanted to. The bad news was that she didn’t think she was ever going to get over the heartache of loving Sebastian Vaughan. It went too deep in her soul. Was too tangled around her heart.

Clare opened an old wardrobe and searched through her ancestor’s linens. It was all very lacy and girly, and after an hour of looking and finding nothing, she moved out of the attic and down the old curving staircase. A voice from the kitchen stopped her at the bottom of the steps. Stopped her and shattered her all at once.

“Where’s Clare?”

“Sebastian? When did you get here?” Joyce asked.

“Clare’s car’s outside. Where is she?”

“Goodness! She’s in the attic looking at lace.”

Heavy footfalls moved across the tile and the hardwood floors and Clare’s hand shook. She’d been told he wasn’t expected. As she turned, he walked into the entry and her grasp tightened on the banister. Her chest got that imploding feeling again, just as strong as the day she’d stood in Brookstone dying inside.

Sebastian walked across the foyer as if the devil were on his heels, and before she could even think to move, he was in front of her, his green gaze intense as he stared down into her face. He was so close, the open edges of her black cardigan touched the front of his blue dress shirt.

“Clare,” he said. One word that sounded a lot like a caress, then he lowered his mouth and kissed her.

For several stunned seconds she let him. Let her soul remember. Let it pour through her and warm up the lonely places only he could touch. Her heart seemed to weep and rejoice at the same time, but before he could take any more from her, she lifted her hands and pushed him away.

“You look so good to me,” he whispered as he ran his gaze across her face. “I feel alive for the first time in weeks.”

And he was killing her. All over again. She looked away before her love for him swamped her and she started to cry. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“The last time I saw you, I told you that if you walked away, I wouldn’t come after you. But here I am.” With the warm fingers of one hand, he brought her gaze back to his. “I’m going to turn thirty-six in two months, and I’m in love for the first time in my life. Since you’re the woman I love, I thought you should know.”

She felt everything inside her go real still. “What?”

“I’m in love with you.”

She shook her head. He had to be teasing her.

“It’s true. The heart-pounding, steal-your-breath, crazy-for-one-woman kind of love.”

She didn’t trust him. “Maybe you just think you’re in love and you’ll get over it.”

Now it was his turn to shake his head. “I’ve spent my life waiting to feel something bigger and stronger than myself. Something I couldn’t fight or walk away from or control. I’ve waited all my life…” His voice shook, and he paused to take a breath. “I’ve been waiting my whole life for you, Clare. I love you, and don’t tell me I don’t.”

Clare blinked back the sudden sting in her eyes. That was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever said to her. Better than she could make up herself. “You better not be trying to trick me.”

“No tricks. I love you, Clare. I love you and I want to spend my life with you. I even watched Pretty in Pink.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and I hated every minute of it.” He took her hand. “But I love you, and if it makes you happy, I’ll watch teen flicks with you.”

“You don’t have to watch teen flicks with me.”

“Thank God.” He lifted his free hand and brushed her hair behind her ear. “I got you something, but it’s out in the car. I didn’t think Joyce would let it in the house.”

“What?”

“You said you wanted a husband and children and a dog. So, I’m here with one very carsick Yorkshire terrier puppy and a willingness to work on the kids part.”

Once again he’d looked into her lonely heart and given her what she’d wanted. Plus a dog. “I don’t have anything to give you.”

“I just want you. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

The tears she wasn’t even going to try to hide spilled over the bottom of her lashes. She rose on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you.”

“Don’t cry. I hate crying.”

“I know. And shopping. And asking for directions.”

He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed tight. “I sold my condo and I don’t have a place to live. That’s what took me so long to get here once I decided where I needed to be.”

“You’re homeless?” she asked into the side of his neck.

“No. My home is with you.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I never understood when my mother used to say that she’d finally found her home. I didn’t understand how one place could feel any different from another. I do now. You are my home and I don’t ever want to leave.”

“Okay.”

“Clare.” He pulled back and held up a ring. A princess-cut, four-carat diamond.

“Oh my God!” she gasped. She looked from the ring to his face.

“Marry me. Please.”

Emotion clogged her throat and she nodded. She was a romance writer, but she couldn’t think of one romantic thing to say besides, “I love you.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

He let out a pent-up breath as if there had ever been any doubt. “There’s one more thing,” he said as he slid the ring onto her finger. “I have an ulterior motive for buying the dog.”

The ring was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. She looked up into his face and amended that to the second most beautiful thing. “Of course you do.” She wiped beneath her eyes. “What is it?”

“In exchange for the girly wussy dog,” he said, humor lifting the corners of his mouth, “no girly wussy lace on the bed.”

Since she’d already put away her lace bedding, that was an easy compromise. “Anything for you.” She rose on the balls of her feet and kissed Sebastian Vaughan. He was her lover, friend, and very own romantic hero, proving that sometimes a girl’s worst nightmare turned into her happily ever after.

Epilogue

Clare poured a cup of coffee and looked out the back screen door into her yard. Sebastian stood in the middle of the lawn wearing nothing but a pair of beige cargo pants. The morning sun bathed his chest and face in gold as he pointed across the yard.

“Get your job done,” he said to the Yorkshire terrier sitting on his bare foot. The dog, Westley-named after the hero in The Princess Bride-stood and walked on short little legs to plop down on Sebastian’s other foot.

Westley loved Sebastian. Followed him around and worshiped him. For his devotion, most often than not, he got called Wusstley. But when Sebastian thought no one else was around, he scratched the dog’s small belly and told him he was a “little stud.”

Sebastian had moved into Clare’s house two months ago, and within a week antique pieces had moved out. Which was fine with Clare. His sofa and chairs were more comfortable than hers, and she didn’t have a serious attachment to her great-great-grandfather’s gout footstool. The cherub pedestal was staying, though.

“Come on now,” Sebastian said as he looked down at Westley. “We can’t go back inside until you get busy.”

In May they’d stuck a For Sale sign in the front yard, and hoped to have the house sold by the time they married in September. Finding a new home was proving more difficult than planning a wedding. Melding both their tastes wasn’t easy, but they were determined to compromise and work it out.

Lucy, Maddie, and Adele were happy for Clare and thrilled to be her bridesmaids, although Adele and Maddie had made her promise that there would be no tulle this time.

Sebastian walked several feet across the yard, and Westley followed close behind. He pointed to the ground. “This is a good spot.” Westley looked up, barked as if he agreed, then sat on Sebastian’s foot.

Clare smiled and raised the coffee mug to her lips. She’d met her friends for lunch just the day before. Lucy was still thinking about starting a family. Dwayne was still leaving random stuff on Adele’s porch, and Maddie was still planning on spending the summer at her cabin in Truly. But as they’d left the restaurant, Maddie had given a hint that perhaps something was unusual. Well, unusual for Maddie. With a strange look on her face, she said, “Digging into other people’s sordid pasts is a whole lot easier than digging into your own.”