Kara leaned forward, animatedly talking to Marianne about something. He caught a glimpse of the tops of her breasts, with a few freckles dusting the creamy skin. The straps left her toned, muscular shoulders and arms bare. Yoga and Pilates had definitely done her body good. And the frilly hem of her dress fluttered around her calves, tanned and toned from summer sessions outdoors.

Her dress was the perfect showcase for what she was, class and femininity encased in a tough exterior that took no shit and managed to keep up with a tireless young boy by herself.

He’d been attracted from the moment they’d met. Her single mom status had given him a moment’s pause—dating a woman with a child wasn’t something he’d considered before—but he’d very quickly moved past that nonexistent hurdle. The fact that she was still single amazed him. Either the men in this town were morons, or she was very good at hiding herself away.

“Any new yoga stories?” Marianne asked, settling down on the bench with her legs draped over Brad’s thighs, a plate of the trifle-like dessert Kara had brought balanced on her knees. She brushed one hand over the back of his neck, as if she couldn’t help herself. The Marine looked like he could slide into a puddle at her feet. Very different from how he’d been two months earlier . . . the stick-up-the-ass guy nobody wanted to hang out with because he was too intense for his own good.

“No new yoga stories.” With a secret smile, Kara sipped her water and crossed her legs at the ankles. A delicate silver ankle bracelet winked in the fading evening sun. “I’ve been dealing with these guys too much. Well,” she added, tapping a finger to the corner of her mouth. “There was that one . . .”

“Gimme!” Marianne leaned forward, upsetting the balance until Brad wrapped an arm around her waist and righted them again. “Spill. You know I live for these.”

Her finger tapped once more, and he had the urge to press his lips against that corner. As if she knew tapping there would draw his attention. “I really shouldn’t. Client privileged information.”

“That’s for lawyers and shrinks. Tell her, Sweeney,” Greg prompted.

“That’s for lawyers and shrinks,” he repeated, deadpan, and they all laughed.

“Well, have I told you all about . . .” She looked up, scanned the backyard to see where Zach was, then ended on a whisper, “Shrink Wrap Man?”

Most shook their heads. Greg grinned and rubbed his hands together. “This is gonna be good.”

“Okay. So you know how when you get hot dogs, they’re all smushed together in a pack of eight? And the plastic is pulled tight over each of the hot dogs?”

Graham started to grin slowly.

Kara sat back and waved a hand as if she were telling a classy joke in a cocktail lounge. “His penis looks sort of like that in his skin tight leggings when he does Downward Dog.”

Marianne burst out laughing, and Reagan gasped, eyes wide. “No!”

“Yes,” Kara said solemnly, taking a sip of her water. “I wish not, but very true. I’ve actually considered having Marianne make one of her famous pamphlets about the importance of wearing clothes that breathe during yoga, so he stops wearing those pants.”

“I’ll do it,” Marianne said with a gasp. “I’ll do it, just for you.”

“What’s so funny, Mom?” Zach called out from the corner.

“Nothing!” she answered quickly, waving him off to keep him from coming closer. “You’re doing great!”

Zach ignored that and ran closer to the group, scooping up a hot dog and taking a bite. Marianne burst out laughing, managed to squeeze out, “I’m gonna pee my pants!” and ran inside. The door slammed shut behind her.

“You should get a dog, you know,” Zach told Graham around a mouthful.

“Zach, manners.”

He shot his mother a chagrined look, swallowed, then said it again. “You should get a dog.”

“Why’s that? I’ve got you coming over here often enough to run around the back yard and eat my food. What do I need a dog for?”

Zach snorted and kicked the soccer ball into the back corner, sitting down beside him. Kara looked anxious, as if she didn’t want her son to be a bother. To ease her mind, he slung an arm over Zach’s chair.

“You need a dog ’cause you’ve got a back yard and you live alone. Why wouldn’t you have one?”

“I’m gone a lot,” Graham reminded him. “Especially with practice. Probably better if I wait on that.”

“I’d come take care of him for you.” Looking to his mother, Zach continued. “Couldn’t I? I’m responsible.”

Graham glanced at Kara, who had a stricken look on her face. “Bud, it’s just not the time for a pet right now.”

The toes of Zach’s tennis shoes scuffed the concrete pad of the patio. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Hey, Zach, could you run back out to the car and see if I left my sweater?” Kara rubbed her upper arms and shivered. “I’m getting a little cold.”

“Sure.” With a shrug, Zach held out his hands for the keys she dug from her purse and took off.

“I’m sorry,” she said to him softly after her son let the door bang on his way in. “He’s been asking for a dog since, I don’t know . . . he could say the word ‘dog.’ I said we couldn’t because we don’t have a yard, and you do, so . . .” She lifted her hands in silent confusion.

“It’s fine. Really. He’s a boy, of course he wants a dog. I’m not offended.” And if he thought for one minute Kara would let the boy claim ownership when he couldn’t care for it, he’d go out to the pound tomorrow and pick up the ugliest son of a bitch mutt he could find. He loved dogs, too. But without someone around to care for the animal when he was gone, it wasn’t fair.

“You didn’t have a sweater in the car, Mom. But I found this sweatshirt on the table so, here.” Zach thrust the oversized red and gold hoodie into Kara’s lap. She stared at it, a little horrified. “You said you were cold. Put it on.”

“Zach, you can’t just take people’s things without asking.” She glanced between the three men. “I’m sorry, whoever he stole this from.”

Graham bit the inside of his lip to keep from smiling. He knew for sure she’d sent Zach to the car just to get him out of earshot. Now he’d have some fun with it. “It’s mine, and you can wear it.”

“Oh, I couldn’t.” Her eyes narrowed, and her lips drew into a firm line. If she could have poked him with her fork, she would have. “Here.”

“I insist. As my guest, it’s my job to make sure you’re comfortable. Let me.” Torturing himself just a little, he stood and took the sweatshirt, holding it over her head. “Arms up.”

His friends watched with amusement, and Reagan’s eyes twinkled as Kara sighed with resignation and lifted her arms. He wiggled until the sleeves were in place, then stuck her head through it and let the material drift down. His fingertips skimmed the silky underside of her arms before dropping away.

Even that one touch would torment him for hours. God, she had the most beautiful skin.

And a missing head. Zach’s giggles caused him to look back. The hood had flopped forward, and Kara’s hands—covered by the too-long sleeves—were unable to push it back so her face could pop out. He helped maneuver the fabric until her head emerged. She gasped, as if coming up from a crashing wave. Her hair, once a smooth line of strawberry blonde silk, was fuzzy and a little mussed. For reasons that bewildered him, the flustered look on her face and the hair draped all over only made her more beautiful.

She met his eyes from upside down, and for a moment, the whole world faded away. His nose was an inch from hers. Her hair caught on her eyelashes, which were nearly as light as the strands. Those aqua blue irises were piercing. Was it his imagination, or did he hear her breath hitch a little, like his did . . .

“Mom, are they all coming to my Epi Pen party?”

Moment shattered, Graham jerked up and away.

“What’d I miss?” Marianne jumped back down from behind him out the back door.