“Chlo, have you ever known me to do anything impulsive?”

“No, actually.”

“And that’s exactly why I’m doing this—so just be happy for me.” He laughed, and I was taken with the excitement in his voice. He did seem really happy.

Now he told me, “And we’re learning to can vegetables! Vivian’s been trying to figure out how to replicate her Aunt Maude’s recipes, especially her famous homemade pickles. Our kitchen is full of cucumbers and glass jars, and I’m pretty sure we both smell like vinegar.”

“Whatever makes her happy, right?” I laughed, knowing my cousin. He was the type of guy who’d do anything for the woman he loved. Including smelling like salad dressing.

“But enough about us; tell me what’s going on with Monterey. I’m happy to have you in my half of the state.”

“I know! You guys will have to come down for a visit and see me. Remember that place in Long Beach I told you about, Our Gang?”

I filled him in on everything I’d been up to, and as I told my story, I realized that I’d really done a lot in such a short time. He was interested in the shelter, and was impressed with how much work we’d completed already. He shared my father’s concern about aggressive dogs, but overall he was happy for what I had going on.

“You know, Viv has been talking about wanting to get a dog . . .” he mused.

“As soon as we’ve got some ready to be adopted, I’ll let you know.” I was excited to think of this becoming something real. Something that was mine, that I’d worked hard for.

I’d never really given much thought to what I wanted to be when I grew up. Strange, yes, but everything seemed so predetermined. There’s nothing wrong with being a wife and a mother, when you choose it. Only a few girls I went to school with truly yearned for that. They couldn’t wait to have babies and build homes and start a life with their own family unit. Their paths were clear, and they were honest with themselves.

But most of the girls I went to school with? I always got the sense that they were rushing toward that life because they thought the good life was something that was just handed to them. And believe me, if you were young and beautiful, there were scores of men who were interested in arm candy. And sometimes arm candy turned into wife candy. That was the endgame—that was the pinnacle. Marriage was just a means to an end.

I’d hoped to marry a man I loved. And now, listening to Clark talk about Viv, I thanked my lucky stars once again that I’d panicked and fled the morning of my wedding. One day I might crave pickles, and I’d love to think I’d be craving pickles with a man who also wanted to learn how to make pickles. Charles would have just bought pickles. Nothing wrong with that. But I wanted something a little more homegrown.

As Clark the Pickler and I ended the call, I agreed to keep in touch about a dog that might be right for them, and he agreed to keep me up to date on their ongoing adventures. I sat back in my chair in the breakfast nook, coffee cup in hand, and thought about what I wanted to eat for breakfast. I’d been buying donuts too often lately, and it hadn’t gone unnoticed that my pants were feeling a little more snug than they used to.

I headed over to the fridge and began poking around, deciding to make an omelet. I was just starting to chop up some onions when I heard a car in the driveway. I’d gotten used to workmen coming at all hours of the morning, but on a Sunday? I looked down at my nightgown, and hastily tied my robe around me. Which I was glad to be wearing, when I saw the truck coming around the corner with the Campbell Veterinary Hospital decal. And before I knew it, I saw Lucas climbing out of the front seat dressed in old jeans and a paint-splattered T-shirt, carrying a bucket of painting supplies.

I waved at him through the kitchen window, and he approached.

“What’s going on?” I called through the window screen.

He held up his bucket. “You told me you needed help painting, so here I am.”

“But I haven’t even had breakfast yet!”

“Great!” He set the bucket down in the yard and grinned. “I’m starving!”

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” I mumbled under my breath, and pointed him toward the front door. As I walked, I saw him following me around the side of the house, each huge window providing me with another glimpse of this dangerously charming guy. I tightened the ties on my robe, and opened the door.

“Good morning, Rebound,” he grinned, stepping up onto the porch. “Nice,” he complimented, his eyes raking over my nightgown and robe.

My hand gripped the knob. Doorknob. “Well, I was hardly expecting company this morning,” I answered. “And don’t call me that. No one is rebounding anything.”

“Hmm,” was his reply, then he looked past me into the house. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“You’re used to getting your way, aren’t you?”

“Pretty much,” he replied, letting loose the grin.

I smiled back in spite of myself and waved him in. “Come on, then; hope you like omelets.”

“I love them.” He followed me into the house. “Whoa, time warp,” he exclaimed, taking in the retro styling.

“Oh, yeah, wait till you see the kitchen. It’s where orange Formica went to die.” I laughed, pointing out some of the more kitschy features. “I still can’t believe you came to paint.”

“We made a deal last night, and I intend to honor my commitments,” he replied, leaning in a bit closer. “Unlike my ex.”