It’s starting to feel like luck is on my side. Like the winds are shifting and good fortune is filling my sails.

But though good luck is always appreciated, it’s not something you can count on.

An ounce of preparation is worth a bucket of luck, so I’m determined to do everything possible to ensure Operation Douchebag Dupe goes off without a hitch.

I spend Friday morning dashing back to Emma’s to grab my toiletries and the dress she promised I could borrow—stopping by to hug my mom, who is still in an amazing new headspace, and Mercy, who is still adorable, on my way back to the car—then hitting the drugstore for beautifying supplies, the salon for a re-purpling, and the big box store off the highway, where they’re running a special on tiny surveillance cameras.

I’m troubled that surveillance cameras are a purchase common enough to be thrown in an average shopper’s cart along with bulk toilet paper and a bargain rotisserie chicken, but I don’t have time to ponder this sad comment on humanity.

I’m too busy dealing with one awful human, in particular.

Jordan is a tricky bastard, who’s good a smelling a rat. This isn’t going to be easy, and it almost certainly won’t be quick.

“What if I run out of recording space before he gives up the goods?” I ask, trying not to fidget as Rafe fastens my cicada broach—now with an itty-bitty camera glued in between its antennae—in place on my dress. “I could wait to start recording until he’s had a few, but with my luck, that means he’ll give a super villain monologue confession five minutes into the date, and I’ll miss it.”

Rafe’s lips curve. “I hope he does. The sooner that fucker spills his guts, the sooner you can ditch him and come drink beer and pet dogs with me.”

“So you think I should start recording as soon as we meet up at the first winery?”

“Definitely. Turn the camera on a few minutes before you pull up so I can text you if I’m having trouble picking up the feed. But there shouldn’t be any problems. You’re coming in clear now, and I bypassed the default settings so we’re recording straight to my hard drive and I’ve got plenty of RAM.”

“You do, huh?” I bite my bottom lip as his fingers brush the curve of my breast while getting the placement of the pin just right. “You have all the RAM I need?”

“All the RAM you need and more, baby.” His fingers tease beneath the neckline of my borrowed dress, making my nipples pull tight before he steps away. “But no time for ramming now. You’re ready, and you need to get your fine ass on the road.”

My breath rushes out. “But there will be time later, right? When we’re celebrating victory? Because this isn’t a terrible plan that’s going to blow up in my face?”

Rafe sobers. “No, it’s not a terrible plan, and it’s not going to blow up in your face. But if it does, I’ll be there to help with the fallout. I’ll have eyes on you the entire time.”

I press my lips together and nod. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” He leans in, kissing my forehead. “Now go show this jerk what a mistake it was to fuck with a woman who’s out of his league.”

With a last bracing breath, I head down the stairs and out into the sunny late afternoon, feeling reasonably confident.

But by the time I get to the Gloria winery—an old-fashioned adobe building perched on the edge of a sweeping vineyard not far from the shelter—I’m no longer sure I’m out of Jordan’s league. I’ve got truth on my side, yes. But he’s managed to lie his way onto the moral high ground, damage my career, and call my credibility into question with people I respect, all with nothing more than a few racy pictures and a strategic plan for chipping away at my livelihood, piece by piece.

“But you have a hidden camera,” I whisper to my reflection as I apply a fresh coat of lipstick. “And he will not suspect the hidden camera because you’re going to put on the performance of your life for this tool, Caroline. This is not the time for doubting the plan.”

I snap the lid back onto my lipstick, cheeks flushing as pink as my lips when I remember someone is listening to me talk to myself.

But before I can assure Rafe I’m fine and only borderline crazy, a long, dark smudge in the rearview mirror catches my eye. Even before I focus in on his face, I know it’s Jordan—who else would wear black jeans and a vintage smoking jacket in ninety-degree heat?

Ignoring the contempt that flashes through my chest, I force a serene expression onto my face. With one last plea to the gods for luck, I step out of the driver’s seat and slam the door behind me, turning to face the slimeball oozing across the pebbled drive.

“Hey.” Jordan lifts his lightly fuzzed chin, his eyes unreadable behind his dark, reflective glasses. “You look nice.”

I cross my arms slowly, fighting the caustic words clawing their way up my throat. Words won’t hurt this man. I need cold hard facts and evidence, which I’m only going to get if I can convince him to let down his guard.

So I nod and say, “Thank you, you look…warm.”

His lips curve into a self-deprecating smile I used to think was sincere. “You know me. Can’t resist a chance to get dressed up in the smoking jacket. I’m looking forward to meeting your new friends.”

I know, right? Because they’re totally going to LOVE the guy who leaked nude pictures of me to the press and is doing his damnedest to ruin my life!

But once again, I bravely resist calling him on his bullshit—according to him, he has “no idea” how those pictures ended up on TMZ—and tip my head toward the winery’s entrance. “Me, too. But first, drinks. You up for some Zin? They have great big reds here.”

“Totally,” Jordan says, but when I start toward the building, he stops me with an arm propped on the Mini Monster’s roof. He reaches up, tugging off his glasses, pinning me with an earnest gaze. “I’m glad you called, Carrie. Seriously. I know we can make this right, put the ugliness of the past few weeks behind us, and get back to being good friends.”

I nod, jaw loose, though I’m practically biting my tongue in half behind my teeth. “I agree. There’s no reason we can’t settle this like grown-ups.”

He smiles, seeming to buy my “let’s make a deal” act hook, line, and sinker. But I learned the hard way that Jordan isn’t always what he seems. If I have a scheme, he probably has a bigger, meaner scheme already lurking in the shadows, ready to drag my scheme behind the gym, beat it up, and steal its lunch money.

I’ll have to tread lightly and choose my moment, and my next move, carefully.

“But first, we drink.” Clutching my tiny purse in one hand, I lightly punch his bicep with the other. “I want to see if you can tell the difference between a warm weather and a cold weather Zin without using the cheat sheet.”

“I’m up for that challenge.” The hint of innuendo in his voice makes my stomach turn. Surely not even he can be sufficiently deluded to think we’ll ever be more than friends again.

Though, who knows? He clearly thinks a lot of himself, and a ton of women go back to the men who hurt them for one reason or another.

But that was never me, and it’s even less me these days, now that I’m learning what it feels like to be with a man who has my back. Who makes me feel safe, even when he’s pinning me to a rock at the edge of the world and fucking my brains out, and who is making me think that maybe happy endings aren’t just for the stories I write.

That maybe, just maybe…

As I slip into the winery, I glance over my shoulder, gaze skimming the parking lot and the vineyards beyond. I can’t see where Rafe is hiding, but I don’t doubt that he’s out there somewhere. Just like he promised. He’s a man who keeps his promises, and I’m a woman who’s ready to put her past behind her.

Courage cranked up to the max, I join Jordan at the bar, smiling at him as I tell the host behind the counter, “We’ll have the ultimate side by side tasting, please. All ten wines and the port.”