“Just breathe,” Jennifer told herself when she walked into the empty silence that clung to her condo walls. Walls perfectly painted, rooms perfectly decorated, living space imperfectly lonely.

This was never meant to be her forever home. It had been an investment. A pit stop before she had her white-picket-fence life. And if she was serious about wanting that life, she’d done the right thing to leave.

That peek into the hospital room when Mark and Savanna held their baby girl had her heart doubling down on her life plans. She wanted a forever man and babies and commitment that would never end. And what were the chances of getting it from a guy so commitment-phobic that taking a gift from her had him pulling away?

Luckily, by the time Savanna delivered, Clay had left to take Pete home. The sheriff had been waiting to talk to her. She finished with him and quickly called Uber. She needed to be home. Needed to be alone. She had a meltdown waiting on her.

Every few minutes, even with her heart still on that sweet little baby, she would remember Bundy. Remember hitting him with that skillet. Remember she’d almost died today. Again.

Life was short. Fragile. And she was going to be thirty-one. She’d known Clay hadn’t been husband material, yet she’d let herself go there. But oh, lordy, what had she been thinking?

On the ride to her place, she got a text from him saying he was on his way back to the hospital to pick her up.

Through tears, and a wavering resolve, she texted him back.

Already heading home. Need to be alone. Talk in a few days.

The second she sent it, her resolve crashed and she regretted it. Breath held, she waited for him to text back to insist he was coming for her. Insist she needed him and that he needed her. To say he didn’t want to lose her.

He didn’t text back. He was probably relieved.

She walked into the kitchen. The stainless-steel appliances and the granite countertops gleamed and seemed to mock her with their cold sterility. No scorched spots on antique Formica. No dirty dishes waiting to be washed. No breakfast aroma or laughter hanging in the air. No one to cook for, and no one to cook for her.

Tears filled her eyes. Doubt filled her heart. Had she given up on Clay too easily? Hadn’t he insisted they talk? Wasn’t he worth fighting for? Was it too late to text him back? But to say what? Please love me.

A knock sounded.

With her emotions on her sleeve, she bolted for the door.

So sure it was Clay, she swung it open without peering out the peephole. But when she yanked open the door, her heart slammed to her stomach.

“You’re finally home,” Charles said.

“Yeah.” She debated asking him to leave, but he’d probably come for his things, and perhaps the sooner she got all evidence of him out, the better she’d be. She backed up.

“You’re crying.” He walked in.

“I’m allowed,” she answered back.

“You haven’t been accepting my calls.”

“Yeah, I’ve been kind of busy.” She went and sat on the sofa, folded her hands in her lap, and fought the heartache. When she realized, he stood there staring, she said, “You can get your things.”

He didn’t move. “Busy with what?”

Trying to avoid a hit man, falling in love with a commitment-phobic cowboy, helping Savanna deliver her baby. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Maybe it does.” He took a step forward. “Look, I’m thinking maybe we broke up too soon. I’m willing to give it another shot.”

He was willing, was he? She thought of several nasty retorts, but didn’t care enough to toss them at him. “Just get your things.” Before she could say anything else, another knock sounded on her front door.

Again thinking it might be Clay, she rushed to open it. Shock washed over her for the second time.

Pete and Devil stood there. “You promised me fried chicken.”

Her lips started to tremble.

“You need to come home,” Pete said.

“She is home.” Charles’s remark echoed behind her. “Who are you?”

“I’m her hero,” Pete said. “Who in blue hell are you?”

“Her fiancé,” Charles spoke with confidence that had her shoulders snapping back.

“Ex-fiancé,” she said. Devil ambled into the room, and Charles, afraid of dogs, stepped around the sofa. Right then Clay, holding a bouquet of flowers, walked up behind Pete.

His soulful gaze met hers. A knot formed in her throat. He side-stepped past Pete and started to reach for her but stopped when he noticed Charles.

Clay’s brows puckered. “You must be the idiot who cheated on her.”

Charles flinched as if insulted. “Who are you?”

“I’m the lucky son of a bitch who’d never cheat on her in a million years.” Clay paused. “And if I’m not overstepping my bounds,” his gaze shifted back to her, “I’d appreciate it if you left now.”

“You’re not overstepping,” Jennifer said, her heart filling with hope. He cared enough to be here. That had to mean something.

Charles shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Before Jennifer could speak up, Clay did. “Okay, suit yourself.”

Clay’s gaze shifted to her. “I was an idiot this morning. My ex called and it reminded me that women in my life have a history of letting me down. I got scared again. But when I knew Bundy was at the house and I realized I could lose you, everything became so clear. I love you, Jennifer Peterson.”

“What?” Charles spouted out. “You can’t love her. She just broke up with me.”

Clay looked at Charles. “You’re going to have to shut your mouth or get the hell out of here.” His focus came back to her. “I’m sorry for acting like a fool.”

“So am I.” Charles rushed around the sofa, looking at Jennifer. “I shouldn’t have slept with Lisa. It was a mistake. But it didn’t mean anything. We can go ahead with the marriage. We’ve already set the date. We’ve got the church. We picked out chicken piccata for the reception.”

Jennifer looked at Charles. “I don’t like chicken piccata. And I don’t want to marry you.”

“What about me?” Clay said.

Jennifer gasped. Had he just said that? Air got caught in her throat. “It’s a little soon, isn’t it?”

“Hell yes, it is,” Charles said. “Unless you’ve been cheating on me! How long have you two been seeing each other?”

Clay glared at Charles. “She’s too classy to cheat on anyone. That’s your game, bucko. And I think she asked you to leave.”

Charles shook his head. “You’ve been screwing him, haven’t you?”

Clay exhaled loudly and looked at her. “Can I hit him?”

“No.” Jennifer said. “He’s leaving.” She shot Charles a glare. “Now.” She pointed to the door.

“You slut. You’ve been fucking around--”

Before she could stop it, Clay bolted forward, picked the guy up by his collar and slammed him against the wall. “Tell her you’re sorry.”

“If only I had my shovel,” Pete yelled. Even Devil bolted forward and let out a growl.

“Say it!” Clay insisted.

“I’m sorry,” Charles spit out.

“Say it like you mean it!” Clay demanded.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

Clay dropped the man, and he lost his balance and fell to the floor. “Leave.”

“You can get your stuff later,” Jennifer said.

Pete took a step forward. “Devil and I’ll see him out.” The old man stared at Charles. “Now get your ass up before you start growing roots.”

“This is insane,” Charles bellowed out, but he bounced up and started to the door.

As Devil and Pete escorted Charles out, Clay faced her. Their eyes met, and her heart felt wide open, vulnerable.

“I need you in my life,” he said.

His words were like a warm blanket on a chilly night, like the first rays of sunshine after a long, gray winter. But she also remembered his words from earlier. We started this thing living together, and I’m not sure . . . how we’re supposed to move forward.

She stepped closer and ran her hands over his chest. “I need you, too. But you were right about it happening fast. We haven’t even dated.”

“That’s bullshit. The picnic was a date,” he said. “We’ve cooked and eaten breakfast, lunch, and dinner together. Those could easily be viewed as dates. And that night you crawled in the shower with me and took advantage of me, I’m pretty damn sure that was a date.”

She chuckled but continued, because things needed to be said. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know. But I also know what I feel. I know you make me laugh. I know you make me a better man. I know you make me happier than I’ve ever been, than I have any right to be. I know I want to look over the rim of my coffee cup tomorrow and see you there. I want to cook you breakfast and go to bed with you at night. I want to watch you become a world champion cook. I want you. And not just for tomorrow but for forever.”

Tears filled her eyes. “I want you too, but I’m just afraid--”

“I know, I’m afraid, too, but we can be afraid together. And if you don’t want to get married right away that’s okay, too. I’ll live in sin with you. But it’s not because I don’t want to marry you. I swear, you, Pete, I, and even Devil, we can all take a ride to the courthouse right now.”

“You’re crazy.”

“I’m crazy about you. And I know I’m not a hairy funeral director with a small penis. And I know I’m not a rich man. It’ll take me a while to get you the home you deserve, the ring you deserve, but I’ll love you forever. And when I put that ring on your finger, you’ll never need anyone to take it off.”

She felt his promises curl around her heart. “I love you, too.”

He kissed her.

When it ended, she put her hand on his chest and looked up. “I want a baby,” she said because he needed to know that.

“No,” he said.

Her heart dropped.

“We need two of them,” he said. “I hated being an only child.”

She grinned. “Two would be good.”

He pulled her close. “I should tell you, however, that I’m a package deal. Pete and Devil are here to stay.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she said.

“So that’s a ‘yes’?” He leaned down and put his forehead against hers.

“It’s a ‘yes.’”

“So, we’re going to the courthouse?” he asked.

“No. You’re going to marry me in front of a preacher and our friends. At our wedding that we plan with a cake and flowers.”

He cocked his head and studied her. “You’re going to make me wear a penguin suit, aren’t you?”

She laughed. “That’s negotiable.”

He cupped her face. “I love you, Jennifer Peterson, and I plan to spend the rest of my life making you laugh.”