“Hmm?” I asked, not paying attention to his words since his hands had just been on my skin. Something my skin apparently enjoyed immensely, as it was all zingy now.

“You just said ‘oh, fudge, really,’ and when you dropped a bag of dog food earlier I’m pretty sure you said ‘fudge it.’ So . . . fudge?”

“Oh, yeah, well. That’s a holdover from my mother. A lady never swears, you know. It’s simply not done,” I answered, making my voice go higher and poshier.

“Ah, so fudge means . . .” He trailed off.

“Yeah, fudge means . . .” I echoed.

“What does it take for you to say the real word?” he asked, his blue eyes teasing.

“I have to be pretty worked up,” I admitted, becoming aware of every single point of contact between us, everywhere the right side of my body was connected with his left side. Thigh, yes. Hip? Uh-huh. Elbow? Hell, yes. “So, I look like your ex, huh?”

I’d just thrown a virtual bucket of water on us both. Whew.

“Oh—yeah, a bit. Same long blond hair, same green eyes, but you’re a bit taller and slimmer than her.”

“Hmm. I’m surprised that Marge has been playing matchmaker, then.”

“I know, could she be more obvious? Every morning when I get to work, she greets me with an update on how things are going up here, how pretty you are, and how she wonders why no one has taken you out and shown you the town. I usually get another update at lunchtime.”

“Oh my God, I’m so embarrassed,” I moaned, lying back into the truck bed. His face appeared over mine.

“Don’t be embarrassed; she does it with everyone. I’ve just never been in her sights before.”

“If she knew that I’d just bro—that my fiancé and I had just broken up, she wouldn’t be so quick to play matchmaker,” I said, digging my hands into my hair. “Setting up two people who’d be sooooo on the rebound is not good.”

“Yes, rebounding off each other sounds like a terrible idea.” He chuckled quietly, and I peered up into his face through my fingers.

“It is a terrible idea. Which is why you and I, Mr. Blue Eyes, are not going to let Marge be in charge.” I scrambled to sit up, pushing my paint-encrusted hair out of my face. “This would be a mistake of epic proportions. Especially if you started dating some new chick who looks just like the girl who just . . .”

“Fudged me over?”

“Yes. Can you imagine? Everyone would be talking.”

“But I bet you’re nothing like her. Unless you’re a pageant girl too. That would be just too weird.” He laughed.

Instant quiet. I looked up at him with wide eyes and a guilty expression.

He wrinkled his forehead.

I lifted my arm in answer. Elbow elbow wrist wrist.

“What? No . . .” he breathed, looking horrified.

I patted him on the cheek. “You sweet, sweet boy.”

After a moment he fell back into the truck bed, groaning. Which quickly became laughter. Which I joined in, two new, not-rebounding friends laughing like fools under the new moon.

Chapter six

“Chloe! Great to hear from you—I’ve been wondering how you’ve been doing!” Clark said.

“So far, so good. Sorry I didn’t get to see you longer when you were down here for the wedding.”

“No problem, you had a lot on your mind. How are things down in San Diego?”

“I assume okay, but I’m in Monterey now. I’m moving here, actually.”

“Holy mackerel.” I could hear him processing. After a few seconds, “Okay, tell me how that happened.”

My cousin and I were only a few months apart, and were thick as thieves when we were kids. I used to spend summers up in Mendocino with his family when I was little, before the call of the pageant got to my mother and we started spending our summers driving around California, entering me into Little Miss Anything & Everything with a Crown. As we grew older we grew apart a bit, but a family reunion our senior year in high school brought us back together, and we’d become close again. Both being an only child, we’d missed out on that sibling bond, and over the years we’d become honorary sibs to each other.

When I’d visited Clark a few weeks before the wedding, I’d given voice to some of the cold feet I was having, which I’d written off as just a case of the jitters. He listened; he’d always been a good listener. And while at the time I felt that getting married was still the right thing to do, he was one of the few who would understand why I couldn’t go through with it.

I’d also met his Vivian on that trip, or Viv as she preferred to be called. She was a piece of work—a little rough around the edges, but she seemed a perfect match for the steadfast and somewhat buttoned-up Clark. The night after I’d left Mendocino was apparently the night things changed for them; ever since then, it’d been a whirlwind romance. According to Clark, she was the cat’s meow. And they were already living together. I remember when he called to tell me.

“Wait, hold up. You’re moving in?” I asked, incredulous. “It’s only been . . .” Fudge, I sucked at math. “It hasn’t been very long.”

“True, but it’s kind of perfect, actually.”

“If you’re sure you know what you’re doing,” I cautioned, not wanting him to get his heart broken. My cousin was sweet, kind, and hopelessly old-fashioned when it came to love. Apart from the “living in sin” bit.