Pepper brushed her fingers across the surface of the piece of driftwood she’d found on the beach the night before. It had dried out, turning from almost black to a soft grayish brown.

A cup of shells sat next to the wood, and her mind spun, an image forming in her brain.

The sparkle of the clear glass.

The textured creams of the shells.

The gray-brown of the wood.

Hmm.

A soft click broke the spell.

“Paul called you?” Derek asked.

“No.” She heaved out a silent sigh and rotated to face him. “Summer.”

“So you know.”

About having to play nice with her jerk of an ex-fiancé? “Yup.”

“And . . . are you okay with it?”

Good God. Now they were going to play Dr. Phil. Next he’d be sending her to a boot camp to beat the klutziness out of her.

Of course, she was okay with it. Andy was a jerk, she knew that. It was just that—

It was supposed to be her wedding.

“I’m thrilled for Paul and Summer,” she forced herself to say. “I’m glad they’re happy.”

Obsessed with the business. Living to make that next blockbuster. That next hundred million for the company.

“And you’re comfortable with being the—”

“Maid of honor?” A tight curve of lips before she crossed to the fridge and pulled out two bottles of water. Pepper and Summer had been close in another time.

But their paths had veered as definitively as the proverbial fork in the road.

Pepper really wanted the wine staring at her from the second shelf. Instead, she closed the door and handed a bottle to Derek then cracked her own.

He glanced down at it for a moment, hesitating.

Pepper knew what he was seeing. The cheap plastic packaging. The bottle was from one of those bulk packs, found in every grocery store across the country.

Twenty-four bottles for $3.99.

As opposed to the glass cylinders in her family’s fridge. Fifty dollars a pop.

And they were both still tap water.

But O’Briens didn’t do normal. They did expensive cars, antique furniture, private jets, and fancy bottled water.

Pepper had changed.

Which wasn’t something she could trace back to a specific event. More, she’d finally come to terms with exactly how ridiculous the lifestyle her parents were pushing was. She’d worn designer clothes, and it hadn’t made her happy, hadn’t filled the hole inside her. She’d driven expensive cars, and that didn’t make the mailboxes any less easy for her to avoid.

Money didn’t stop her fiancé from cheating.

Money didn’t make her any less of a screw up.

Her throat was tight when Derek spoke again. “Want to talk about it?”

Eyes flashing to his, Pepper saw the exact opposite thing she wanted. Pity. He felt sorry for her.

“Nope,” she said, tone gone harsh.

“Pepper.” He put his bottle down, took a step toward her.

“Derek,” she countered, gripping her own like it was a shield.

“It’s okay to be upset.”

Her eyes stung again, and she let her head flop back, lids closed as she silently waited for the blasted tears to go away.

Maybe she’d get the ducts removed like her mother’s friend had. Seemed better than letting the leaky, traitorous bastards rule the roost.

“Pep.”

“Don’t.” Her head popped up—

Crack.

“Ow,” she muttered, rubbing her forehead when it had clonked into Derek’s nose.

And cue blood.

This was her life.

Her knees went wobbly and she wavered.

Derek muttered a curse. He reached past her and grabbed a towel, pressing it to his nose. His bleeding nose.

The thought made her mind swim.

“Sit,” he ordered, shoving her down into a chair at the kitchen table and turning for the sink.

“I’m—”

“Sit.”

She sat.

“Close your eyes.”

The sound of running water echoed through the room, and then Pepper felt a cool cloth land on the back of her neck. She startled, nearly lurching out of the chair.

“Relax,” Derek murmured, wiping the cotton across her forehead. It felt fabulous, that gentle cold, and her dizziness began to fade.

She glanced at him and though he still had the towel pressed to his nose, though there was a drop or two of blood on the pale blue material, Pepper hardly registered it.

He had a scar at the corner of his mouth.

His bottom lip looked like a cushy pillow that hers wanted to rest against.

His eyes were hot, heated pools of navy that swept over her face, assessing.

Yes, she wanted to say. Yes, Derek. Kiss me.

He didn’t.

He whipped around and strode for the sink, wrenching on the water with enough force to rattle her little jar of shells. It wobbled on the shelf . . . and fell.

The glass landed in the sink, shattering against the white porcelain.

This is what happened when she wanted someone to kiss her. She was so repellant that they actually broke things in an effort to get away from her.

“Oh shit, Pepper,” Derek said. “I’m sor—”

“It’s fine,” she said, jumping to her feet. She kept her tone deliberately light as she crossed to him. “It’s nothing but a jar. Why don’t you use the bathroom sink while I clean this up? First door on the left.”

She pushed her way in front of him and, predictably, he backed up.

Don’t touch Pepper. You might catch her klutziness.

“I—”

“Go.”

Derek went. She sighed and then, blinking away the feeling-sorry-for-herself vibes, began to carefully gather up the pieces of glass.

The sharp edges sparkled in the sunlight, gathering little rainbows.

She picked up the piece of driftwood, placed it amongst the mess, and somehow it made sense.

Carefully, she scooped up the pieces that worked—large chunks of glass, the shells, the hunk of wood—and put them into a bowl that she tucked safely in a corner of the counter.

The rest she tossed in the trash before rinsing out the sink, managing to only slice herself once with a glass sliver.

She was staring out the window, stinging finger in her mouth when she heard Derek’s voice.

“Let me see,” he murmured.

And then he was there. Close enough that the scent of his aftershave swept over her, that she felt the heat of his body through her clothes.

She dropped her hand. “It’s nothing.”

He didn’t speak, just picked up her wrist, inspecting the hurt finger. After a moment, he bent and lifted her hand to his mouth. His lips brushed the tiny cut, and watching his mouth touch where hers had been only a few seconds before made her insides go all squirmy.

She wanted him.

Then again, she always had.

“Better?” he said and maybe Pepper was imagining things, but his voice was almost . . . husky?

Hallucinate much?

Maybe her Keurig had given her the Mushroom Blend.

She snorted, and Derek’s head tilted to the side. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” A tug, but he refused to give her hand back.

His free palm came up and cupped her cheek. “I like this smile,” he said. “A little smirk, the way your lips curve up.” One finger brushed the corner of her mouth. “Just wish it would make it all the way to your eyes. I wish I could—”

Melting. His words made her melt. Until the last.

She yanked free. “I’m not some charity project,” she said. “I’m fine, okay? Big deal, I have to play nice with my former fiancé at what was supposed to be my wedding. But Derek, I’ve pretended plenty of times in my life, and I can do it again. It’s not like I want to get back with the cheating asshole.”

Screw it. She crossed to the fridge and yanked out the bottle of wine.

Derek plucked it from her fingers. “It’s barely noon.”

“And you’re not my father,” she snapped, reaching for the bottle.

He held it aloft. “Drinking won’t make it better.”

“It’ll make me care less.” She launched herself at the wine, all but plastering her body against his in the process.

“Andy cheated on you?”

She froze, stepped back. “I didn’t say that.”

“Actually—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.” He set the bottle on the table and came to stand in front of her. “Is that why . . .”

“Why I left?” He nodded.

“No,” she said. “Leaving was my father’s idea. Wanted me to let the press blow over after the Christian Incident.”

“What’s the”—he did air quotes—“Christian Incident?”

Her sigh was loud, but she’d brought it up and only had herself to blame. Though, in fairness, she’d figured the entire world knew at this point.

“When I hit Christian Strand in the face with his own Oscar.”

“On purpose?”

She really should be better at telling the story at this point. “Of course not.”

“Then—”

“Sit down,” she said, walking to a drawer and extracting the bottle opener. She handed it to Derek. “I’ll tell you, but I’m going to need wine.”