She was a mess.

It had been three weeks since Abby had written to Roux—since she’d ended it. Not that there had been anything to end. They’d written to each other on and off for a few months. It wasn’t like they’d been going steady or anything. Maybe she’d overdone it with the letter ending it. Maybe she should have just stopped writing.

Maybe then she wouldn’t be waiting for a letter from him every day.

Maybe she wouldn’t be spending her Saturdays pining away for him in a dog park. She looked down at Darcy waiting patiently at her feet, tennis ball in his mouth, tail wagging in anticipation of her next throw. “I have to get over myself.”

Darcy’s tail wagged.

“Drop it.”

Darcy did not drop it.

Abby took the slimy ball in hand. “So gross. Drop it.”

Darcy held on tighter.

“Darcy, you could go easy on me, you know. I’m nursing a broken heart.”

Darcy growled, as if to say, And whose fault is that?

“I will win. I have thumbs.” Abby pulled harder, finally extracting the ball. Darcy barked and backed up, ready to take off when Abby threw it. She did, and he bounded away happily, unaware of his owner’s sadness.

She looked down at her watch, realizing that she had to get home if she was going to change in time for Naomi’s party that afternoon—she didn’t think Kelly would appreciate her turning up in yoga pants and a t-shirt that read Fur Fox Sake. Not that Abby imagined anyone at a three-year-old’s birthday party even giving her a second glance. Unless maybe Noisy Nicolai was single and into pathetic spinster aunts.

A girl could dream.

Except the guy who sang “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” at kids’ birthday parties wasn’t who she was dreaming of. She was dreaming of a big, bad American hero with broad shoulders and brown eyes and a beard she wanted to rub up against. She bet he had one of those ridges above his hip. The vee that peeked out above low-slung cargo pants.

What did a girl even do with that vee? She didn’t know how she would respond when faced with it. And right there—that was proof that Roux was not for her. He was about twenty-five different kinds of out of her league. He was stratospherically out of her league.

With a sigh, she herded Darcy into the back of her Jeep and headed back home, unlocking the door to the house as her cell rang from the zippered pocket of her yoga pants. Ugh. Kelly was probably pissed she wasn’t there yet. Abby wasn’t going to be popular when her sister heard she wasn’t going to be there for at least another forty-five minutes.

She pulled out her phone and answered it without looking. “I know. I’m late. I’m sorry!”

Silence.

She pulled the phone away from her ear to make sure the call had connected. Unknown number. “Hello?”

“What did I tell you about apologizing, cher?”

Her heart leapt into her throat.

Holy crap.

It was Roux.

Holy crap.

He was on her phone.

“I—” Think, Abby. “Who is this?”

He laughed. Deep and low and rumbling and totally perfect, the sound rolling through her just like she’d imagined it would. Straight to her stomach, sending it into not entirely pleasant somersaults. Straight to somewhere else. “You really want to play that game?”

She clutched the phone tight and closed her eyes. “Roux.”

He let out a long breath, as though he’d been holding it in. “Christ,” he said softly. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”

“How did you get my number?”

“I’m a highly trained special operative of the United States Army, cher. You think a li’l thing like a phone number would trip me up?”

“Where are you?”

“Germany.”

Safe.

It was her turn to exhale, feeling somehow lighter knowing he wasn’t in danger. “Good.”

“You worried about me, darlin’?”

She closed her eyes, then whispered, “Every day.”

There was a pause. And then his soft, liquid reply. “I’m safe, baby.”

The words rioted through her, the endearment making her ache. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t know what he sounded like. He couldn’t become more real. She couldn’t regret what she’d done any more than she already did. Not and survive. She shook her head. “Roux. I can’t.”

“I know,” he said. “You’re late.”

She was late? For what? Oh. Crap. “It’s my niece’s birthday. But—”

He interrupted before she could tell him that wasn’t what she’d meant. “Then you’d better go. I’ll call you later tonight.”

“No!” she blurted out. “I mean. You can’t— I don’t—”

He inhaled, long and slow, and she was instantly jealous of his calm. Of the way he seemed to be able to survive this phone call. “Okay, cher. Here’s what we’ll do. You go to your birthday party and you sing your song and you eat your cake and you come home and you get naked and get into bed. And I’ll call you at eleven o’clock your time. And you’ll answer the phone. And then I’ll make some things clear. But first, I’m gon’ make one thing crystal clear.”

She was too shocked by the way he said it all—as though he simply had to speak the words and they would come true—to say anything but, “What thing?”

She could have sworn she heard him smile at that. Through the phone. Across thousands of miles and an ocean.

“This isn’t a mistake.”

He was gone before she could reply.