Pepper watched Rylie run toward the playground with cheerful abandon. Samantha dabbed her eyes, clearly the more affected of the duo.

“Thanks for coming,” Samantha said. “When Brian didn’t make it home—”

“Aside from being way too early,” Pepper said, “I’m touched that you thought of me.”

The bell rang, and Rylie ran to line up with the rest of her class. The parents were apparently allowed in for only a few minutes before they’d be booted by the teacher. Judging by Samantha’s tear-filled gaze, that tactic seemed wise.

“Should I wait for you out—”

Samantha grabbed her hand. “Please come.”

Okay then.

“Sure.” They trailed the kids into a brightly colored classroom filled with miniature desks and the letters of the alphabet tacked along the ceiling. A carpet took up one corner, a reading area the other.

The space was peppy and fun and crowded with parents.

“Find your name,” the teacher called.

Rylie zipped around the room, stopping only when she found her name at the aptly named Blue Table. Blue nametags dotted its surface, a blue pencil holder sat in the center of the five blue chairs.

“I love blue!” Rylie announced then she settled down to color a handout the teacher placed in front of her.

The woman was in her mid-forties and blond with a friendly smile. “I’m glad.”

“Hi, Suzette.” Samantha extended a hand. “I really should be better at this.”

“Aw, it’s okay,” the teacher, Suzette, replied. “It’s like this for all of us.”

Pepper glanced around the room, looking at all the happy faces and parents trying to hold it together. She’d never had this.

A nanny had taken her to school.

And boo-hoo, poor rich kid—

“And you are?” the teacher asked.

“Oh, sorry. I’m Pepper. I’m just here for moral support.”

“My daddy’s at work,” Rylie chimed in as she colored the sky, as one might have guessed, blue.

“Nice to meet you, Pepper,” the teacher said then turned back to Samantha and whispered. “It’s easier if you go sooner rather than later.”

“You’re right, of course.” With a nod, Samantha bent to hug Rylie. “See you in a couple of hours, honey.”

“Bye, Mommy!” Rylie chirped, returning the hug before continuing with her coloring.

Samantha held it together until she got out the door. Then she sniffed and a couple of tears fell.

“Coffee!” Pepper said. “STAT!”

“I-I’m fine,” Samantha said, dashing away those tears.

“We need carbs and caffeine, immediately.”

“I don’t have time for coffee. I’ve got to get to my classroom.” A shuddering sigh as she pulled out her phone to check the time. “The bell is going to ring in five minutes.”

“Go on, then. Get your teacher hat on, and I’ll bring you back lunch in a couple of hours.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” Pepper bumped her shoulder and offered her a tissue. “I won’t even cook it.”

That teased a smile from Samantha. “Okay, deal.” She pulled Pepper in for a quick hug. “Thanks for . . . you know . . . helping me not freak out.”

“Distractions are my specialty.”

Of course, they usually came in the form of spectacular disasters, but what could she do?

She waved and walked to her car. It only took a few minutes to drive downtown. Stoneybrook had a Starbucks, like basically every other place in the world, but the locals preferred Mocha’s. The quaint shop had apparently been there for decades and though the outside had been spruced up, the inside was homey and warm.

Brown leather booths took up a wall, and she slid into one. A waiter brought her a menu, and she ordered her drink and pastries.

Yes, pastries. Because carbs were everything.

Only after she’d scarfed down half of her food—a cinnamon roll and chocolate croissant were her choices for that particular day—did she realize that the waiter was standing at the end of her table.

He was an attractive boy, man, well, boy with closely cropped brown hair and green eyes.

She wiped her mouth and waited.

“I wanted to see . . .” He hesitated, glancing at his feet before back at her. “I guess I wanted to see if you would go out with me.”

Too bad he wasn’t actually interested in her, because this one with his tanned skin, muscular forearms, and a few days of scruff was very cute—

He wasn’t Derek though.

He also didn’t want to take her out. Not really anyway.

“You don’t have to ask me on a date to show me a script,” she said softly.

His relieved breath felt awesome.

“Give it to me next time I come in,” she told him, “and I’ll—”

“I actually have a copy right”—he ran to the counter and pulled out a folder from behind the register—“here. I majored in English with an emphasis on screenwriting and . . .”

Pepper took the stack of papers and set it carefully beside her while her waiter prattled on. Finally, she interrupted the excited boy—yup, definitely a boy—and asked for a refill.

“Of course! Thank you so much, really!”

“You’re welcome,” she said, pushing away her plate and placing some cash on the table. “Maybe I could get that drink to go?”

* * *

Later, to-go cup in hand, Pepper walked down Stoneybrook’s main street. She’d stashed the screenplay in her car but couldn’t bear to head back to her house. Not when it was quiet and lonely and—

Her brother was getting married.

Andy was the best man.

She had to play nice with her cheating ex and attempt to not ruin the wedding.

A snort. Truly, she had a better chance of a fairy godmother appearing out of nowhere and transforming her cut off jeans into a ball gown than escaping her brother’s wedding unscathed.

Her goal was no broken limbs. Or blood. Or—

“Sunshine.”

She didn’t immediately stop, not recognizing the male voice or that the hail was in reference to her.

“Hey. Sunshine.”

Oh geez, she thought, turning to see a man quickly walking up to her. What was he going to try to sell her on? Music? Another screenplay?

“Look, buddy,” she snapped. “I’m just trying to walk here.”

The man was a few inches taller than her with sandy blond hair and nicely tanned skin. His teeth flashed white against the pale pink of his lips. “I’m just—”

“I’m not interested.” Pepper whirled away.

“You dropped your phone,” the man said. Amusement clouded his tone.

Of course she had.

He extended her phone. “Bad morning, sunshine?”

“You could say that,” she muttered. “Sorry.”

Broad shoulders rose and fell in a casual shrug. “It happens.” He tugged on the end of her ponytail. “Judging by the red of your hair, I’m guessing you’re this Pepper O’Brien everyone is talking about?”

She shored her spine. “Yup.”

“Cool. Your eyes are gorgeous by the way. They go perfectly with your skin.”

Um. What?

Their conversation died off, awkward drifting in.

“Okay, well. Thanks?” She put her phone in her pocket and turned back in the direction of her car.

“Want to grab some coffee?” the man blurted.

Pepper raised her cup in answer.

That threw him, but only for a second. “Oh. Well then, how about dinner?”

“I’m”—she shook her head—“I don’t even know your name.”

He muttered something under his breath then gave her a smile that was really quite dangerous . . . in a bumbling, charismatic male sort of way. “I’m screwing this up. Rob Hansen.” He extended a hand. “I’m newly back in this dating game thing and sorely out of practice when it comes to a gorgeous woman.”

Pepper was charmed despite herself. He was cute. Good-looking and not too perfect.

And, God, did her life need imperfect.

“Why are you only newly dating?” she asked.

A shadow crossed his face. “My wife passed last year.”

“Oh, no. I’m sorry.” She brushed her fingers lightly across his arm.

“Me, too.”

And cue awkward, this time at Pepper’s behest.

She took a breath, forced a cheerful smile. “Bert’s burgers at six p.m.”

Careful brown eyes touched on hers. “What?”

“Meet me tonight.”

His head tilted. “Is this a pity date?”

“No! Of course not.”

“It so is a pity date.” One corner of his mouth quirked. “But I’ll take what I can get. Nice to meet you, sunshine.”

He turned and walked away.

“If you plan on wanting a second date then you’d better give up the nickname,” she called.

He paused, tossing a wink over his shoulder. “I think you like it.” Then he was gone, striding down the slate-covered sidewalk with loose-limbed ease.

Her breath caught at the sight. She’d never thought awkward was cute.

Apparently, she’d been missing out.

Shaking her head, she started back toward her car, lifting her cup to her mouth and taking a sip of lukewarm coffee as she walked . . . then promptly tripped over a crack in the concrete.

Liquid dripped down her chin, cascaded over her shirt, staining the white material brown.

Sighing, Pepper tossed the cup into the trash.

Awkward. She knew all about awkward.