“Don’t be so mean, Cain. She’s had a hard time lately. That jerk from her past has her all twisted up, and she’s trying to move on. Sara’s dating Adam now, and Marlo … well, she’s Marlo. Enough said, right? She needs our support right now,” Celia explains.

I’ve never known Adam to have a girlfriend before, but his status unexpectedly changed a few months ago. A new volunteer at the clinic, Sara Preston, caught Adam’s eye, and things heated up quickly. Sara’s a great girl—easy on the eyes and fun to be around—and she’s quickly become a welcome addition to our make shift family. She, along with a couple of her friends.

Now, the jury is still out on Sara’s friends. I get along great with her artist friend, Alex. We’ve actually played a few rounds of golf together. She always beats me by a few strokes, which is quite a blow to my fragile male ego. She’s a pretty cool chick, so I let it slide. But now I’m on the fence again since she roped Celia into this speed dating shit.

Her friend, Marlo, aka Red-Lipped Nosy Girl From the Bar, is another story all together. I keep hearing her obnoxious little voice. “You’re never getting in there. Don’t waste your time.” What the hell does she know? And what are the odds that she would end up in my group of friends? The first time we were introduced, she gave me the universal “I’m watching you” sign as soon as Sara turned her back. Yeah, well I’m watching her ass, too.

“She needs support? Buy her a Hallmark card, bake her a cake. Don’t take her to spend time with greasy douchebags who want to stare at her tits. Tink, come on. This could be dangerous. What if one of these guys is a nightmare stalker?”

Or what if one of these guys is the man of your dreams? That’s what I really want to ask, but I keep that shit to myself. Hell no. That’s not gonna fucking happen.

“I think you’re overreacting, Cain. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time now. There’s nothing to worry about.” She sounds exasperated with me, and damn if that doesn’t piss me off.

“Yes, I’m aware you’re an independent woman and all that happy horse shit—”

“Happy horse shit? Cain Bennett, don’t make me—”

“But will you please ease my worried mind and let me bring you and pick you up. At least I’ll know you haven’t fallen into the clutches of Hannibal Lecter.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, fine!”

“It’s not Pete’s sake I’m worried about; it’s yours. Seriously, do you want to be part of a dress made of skin?”

“Cain!”

“’It puts the lotion on the skin,’” I say in the creepiest voice I can muster.

“I put my foot up your ass! How about that?”

People trickle out of the club, some paired up, others pissed off, none of them Celia and Alex. I glance at my watch and think about calling her and telling her to get her little ass out here. That may be crossing the line, so I start pacing again. I’m seconds away from barging right in there when I hear a familiar laugh. It’s about damn time.

“What the hell took so long? People have been filtering out of the place for the past fifteen minutes. I was about to go in and find you, Celia.” I try to dial back the irritation in my tone, but I’m not having much luck.

“I do not need a chaperone, Cain Bennett, so I suggest you cool your damn jets.” Celia stomps her foot and glares at me. She blows out a frustrated breath and gives Alex a knowing look.

“Damn. Look, I’m sorry. I was just worried, Cece.” I grab her hand and sigh in relief. Speed dating or not, she walked out alone. Score one for the big man … that’s me, the big man.

“I’m a big girl, Cain. There’s nothing to worry about. Will you take me home now?”

Is it wrong that I get a chub at the sound of her asking me to take her home? Fuck it; if having a chub is wrong, then I don’t wanna be right. I tuck her into my side, and squeeze her. I smile when she snuggles into me, too.

“Of course.”

After seeing Alex safely locked in her studio, we hop in my truck and I drive Celia home.

“Did you meet the man of your dreams tonight?” I ask, trying to sound light, not in the least bit concerned.

Celia sighs and rolls her eyes. “Of course not. And neither did Alex, which totally sucks. I wish she could find someone amazing to make her forget her asshole ex.”

I know exactly what Celia means. I don’t know the particulars, but Alex has been torn up about this guy, and I hate that for her.

“Maybe she needs to let go of the past before she can move on to something even better,” I suggest.

“Maybe,” Celia says, tracing the seam of her skirt, completely oblivious to how my statement could pertain to her.

“Oh, I did find a new volunteer for the clinic, though. I think he’ll be a great asset.”

“He?” I ask, sitting up a little bit straighter. I watch her reaction closely, searching for any sign that she’s into the guy.

“He’s just a volunteer, Cain.”

“Well … that’s good. I’d hate to have to search his fridge for body parts.”

She sighs and stares out the truck window. “No, no search necessary. I don’t think I’ll need you to search anyone’s fridge anytime soon, but thanks for the offer. It’s always been just me, and I don’t see that changing. It can’t.”

She holds the pendant of her necklace in her fingers and absentmindedly runs it back and forth over the chain while staring into space.

“You’re always fiddling with that chain. Do you always wear the same necklace?”

She sighs and tilts the pendant in my direction. “It’s a St. Jude pendant. He’s the patron saint of lost causes.”

She turns away from me and continues playing with the chain, eyes trained to the telephones poles and passing cars.

“Oh, I don’t know, Tink. I think you bring hope to the hopeless every day. I’m thinking there isn’t a lost cause you can’t fix,” I say, poking her side with a laugh, but my cheerful mood doesn’t seem to transfer.

“That’s where you would be wrong … so very wrong,” she whispers.

I may be wrong about a lot of things, but I know one thing for certain: Celia Lemaire is not a lost cause, and I’ll do anything to prove it to her.

I climb Celia’s front porch steps two at a time, tape measure and counter samples in hand. I tap on the front door and whistle a happy tune under my breath. Am I overly excited about replacing the countertops in her kitchen? Yeah, I guess you could say that. Replacing countertops, being Celia’s shadow until she realizes how awesome I am—call it what you like, but however you look at it, I’ve got a serious job to do. If I happen to trip and my lips fall onto hers? Well, let’s just say, I wouldn’t exactly complain.

This is my MO—my strategy, if you will. Her porch needs sanding and repainting? I’m on it. The bathroom light flickers? Sounds like an extensive electrical rewiring is in order. At this rate, I’ll have a showroom-quality rental house on my hands. If things progress as I hope they will, maybe I could move out of my downtown apartment and reap the rewards of my labor with my hot ass, fairy girlfriend.

OK, so maybe I’m jumping the gun.

I hear her holler from the back of the house, inviting me in, so I open the door and proceed to the kitchen.

“Hey, Tink. Are you ready to pick out your new, fabulous countertops?” I call out when I don’t immediately see her.

My question is met with a loud ruckus, the slamming of doors, and a flustered Celia at the end of the hallway. She leans against the door handle, feet crossed and lips pressed together.

“Cain, you can’t just walk into my house whenever you please. What if I’d been naked?” she shrieks, way more upset than the situation calls for, if you ask me.