“Where’d you get that recipe?” he asked.

“I made it up.”

His brows rose. “Seriously?”

“I wanted something sweet, I didn’t have the patience to make cookies, and I didn’t have Rice Krispies to make treats, but I did have the marshmallows, morsels and Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Those clusters are proof necessity is the mother of invention.”

“No, they’re proof you really are a genius.”

I grinned up at him.

He stared down at me.

He then stated, “Okay, I lied. I’m totally gonna start something.”

I frowned and began to pull away, warning, “Danny.”

Even one-armed, he was stronger than me.

That said, he also had other tools to use to get what he wanted.

And he used them, saying, “Baby, you pulling hurts my shoulder.”

I stopped pulling immediately.

He cinched the arm he had around me tighter, pressing me to him.

But I saw the satisfied look on his face.

“Was I hurting you?” I asked dubiously.

“Not really, but just to say, I have no shame using guilt if it means I’m gonna get laid.”

I felt my entire body twitch in surprise at his words.

This was before I dissolved into laughter.

“Christ,” he whispered in a way that made my laughter fade to just giggles. “You’re pretty normally, but when you laugh, your eyes make these little upside-down crescent moons and I’ve never seen anything so pretty.”

I stopped laughing altogether.

“Danny,” I whispered back, feeling things, many, many things and feeling them deep.

“Even banged up, it’s gorgeous.”

I melted into him, repeating my whispered, “Danny,” and getting on board with the notion of starting something.

His head was coming toward mine, this already my most favorite thing I could see, when a knock sounded on the door.

His head went right back up (not even close to my most favorite thing), his eyes went to the door, and I fought shifting out of the way in case electric-blue bolts of lightning shot from them and annihilated the door.

“Group text,” he growled at the door. “I’m gonna tell all of them at once we did it so they’ll stop fucking with us.”

In another life, say the one I’d been living about five days ago, I would balk at a guy I was seeing stating he was going to send a group text to our friends to share we’d had sex.

In this one, in order to stop the interruptions, I was totally down with it.

He bent again, this time damnably quick, kissed my forehead then let me go and prowled to the door.

He looked through the peephole.

Then he did something bizarre.

His long body swayed back, like he was trying to avoid a blow.

Oh no.

“Who is it?” I asked carefully.

His head turned to me and he didn’t answer.

He said, “I’ll get rid of her.”

Her?

Her who?

He repositioned so when he unlocked and opened the door (and he did this last not very far), he hid whoever was out there from view.

“Now’s not a good time,” he said, his voice void of, well…everything.

“Oh my God, Mag! It’s true! You have been shot!” A woman exclaimed with unhidden shock and panic.

“I’m fine, Nikki. But now is—”

Nikki?

His ex?

That sway from the door like he was trying to escape pain.

His ex was outside.

And seeing her brought him pain.

It felt like my insides had started shriveling.

“Why are you up? Why aren’t you resting? And don’t give me any of that macho shit. You need to lie down. And I’m going to make that so. Get out of my way.”

“Nikki, dammit—”

“Out…of my…way,” she demanded, he abruptly pivoted, and he did so because she was pushing in.

Oh yeah.

My insides were shriveling.

Mag might think I was pretty.

But she…

Nikki…

His ex…

The one he loved who broke up with him and it sent him into a tailspin…

She was a knockout.

Tall. Blonde. Blue-eyed. Perfectly symmetrical features. A hint of a honeyed tan even if it was February, which meant she probably skied or snowboarded or was a runner or a rock climber or something interesting and outdoorsy.

She was trim, long-legged and had some serious flesh up top.

And she was totally put together.

She didn’t look like she was about to walk into the Met Gala.

But for a Sunday afternoon, she was something, with a skintight tee and high-waisted jeans, a kickass bulky knit cardigan that only served to show how slender yet busty she was, tasteful jewelry and high-heeled booties.

She was also, outside the tall part, everything I was not.

For instance I was in a pair of vintage, low-rider jeans Roxie had bought for me, my baseball tee (that I was thrilled had survived) that had a snarling kitty on the front peering up through water at a tiny swimming mouse with PAWS at the top, and my bright red Chucks.

She was further, I realized at that juncture, frozen to the spot, staring at me.

One thing we had in common. I was doing the same at her.

Then her face got hard, her lips started to sneer, and she didn’t seem as beautiful anymore as she did a sweep of me with her eyes and then turned to Mag.

“Really? Another one? The day after you took a bullet?” she derided.

Mag stood there for a second, staring down at her.

I stood there for that second, staring at the both of them, realizing, physically, how utterly perfect they were for each other.

Nikki stood that second too, glaring daggers up at her ex-boyfriend.

Then Mag spoke.

“Not that I wanted this to happen, maybe not ever, but definitely not now,” he started. “Nik, this is Evan, we’re seein’ each other and it’s serious. Evie, honey, this is Nikki. My ex.”

We’re seein’ each other and it’s serious.

Evie, honey…

We’re seein’ each other and it’s serious.

Evie, honey…

It’s serious.

With these words clamoring gleefully in my head, I forced my body to move, but I’d been so motionless, it jolted when I did. I still carried on, covering the distance between us with my hand raised.

Mechanically, she took it.

I gave her a little squeeze, let go, and mumbled what was part truth, part lie, “Um, this is awkward and I’m sorry about that, but, erm, nice to meet you,” all while she gazed at me with a mixture of incredulity and pain.

Mag didn’t help either of those when he positioned himself by my side and slid an arm around my shoulders.

He didn’t go for the gusto, curling my front to his side and rubbing it in.

But he did make a point.

“I’m fine,” he told Nikki. “I don’t know who told you, but they shouldn’t have.”

As he spoke, her eyes drifted up at him, hazy and wounded.

“Why not?” she asked quietly.

He did not say it was no longer her business.

He said, “But when you found out, you should have called.”

“I…this…I…” She shook her head, her long, golden hair brushing this way and that on her shoulders.