LITMIR.BIZ

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to see in Wrightsville outside of her obligatory Christmas visit to her dad. But here she was, live and in living color, the epitome of trouble on two legs.

      Two legs, he realized, that had somehow gotten a lot longer in the years since he’d seen her last. Long, slim legs in faded jeans, with ridiculous bright pink boots on her feet.

      He caught himself with a cough. Grace was his best friend Tommy’s little sister. She didn’t have…legs. Well, yeah, of course she had legs, but not…legs. Not like that, anyway. But that had definitely changed sometime in the past couple of years.

      Running a stop sign and smacking into a police car, though, that was the Grace he had always known.

      “Impulsive” was her middle name. Along with “reckless,” “fearless,” and, well, “distracted by whatever shiny new thing came along.” Which wasn’t a word, but whatever. It was still the truth.

      Grace had once set her backyard on fire when she tried to start the grill to make lunch for her father. Another time she’d decided to try ice fishing on the pond, only to sink into the water once she started cutting through the pond’s frozen skin. She’d tried to go blond, but she’d used household bleach on her dark curls, nearly choking herself on the fumes in the process.

      And that was all before she was eleven.

      The girl was a walking disaster, and always had been. Except she wasn’t a girl anymore, and judging by the suitcases and boxes he could see through the VW’s windows, she planned to be back in town for a while. Which was just frigging weird, because the one thing that Grace had always been was restless, to get out of Wrightsville most of all.

      “Billy will be down any minute,” he said as he walked back to her.

      She tilted her head, looking up at him quizzically. “Billy?”

      “Down at the precinct,” Nick explained, settling his hips against the hood of the cruiser and crossing his arms over his chest. “I can’t write up my own report, since I was involved.”

      “There’s going to be a report?” She took off her sunglasses and turned horrified brown eyes on him. “It’s just a little fender bender! Hardly worth mentioning, really. I can pay for the damage, and no one even has to know…” She trailed off when he stared her down, arms still folded over his chest, immovable.

      Leave it to Grace. Yeah, he’d taken care of the Great Microwave Disaster of 1988, and the time she’d lost the two Pomeranians she was dog sitting, but this was a little different. It was an official police vehicle, not his own battered Jeep, and Grace, well…He shook his head. As far as he could tell, she had never really learned to anticipate consequences.

      Like wearing jeans that looked molded to her hips, and a white blouse that didn’t completely hide the outline of a lacy bra.

      Not that he was looking. Definitely not. He swallowed back a growl of arousal and turned toward the VW, gesturing vaguely. “What is all that, Grace? What are you doing here?”

      He’d forgotten how blinding her smile could be, and it surprised him all over again. He was still blinking at the brilliance of it when she said, “Coming home, of course.”

      His eyebrows nearly shot off the top of his head. “You’re…moving back here? To Wrightsville?”

      “You don’t have to say it like I just announced I’m having an alien love child and going on the talk show circuit.” She frowned, the light in her eyes turning to smoke the way it always did when she was mad at him. Boy, was that look familiar.

      “Doesn’t Robert work in New York?” he asked, glancing at the old bus again. And why on earth was Grace driving that thing? He didn’t know Robert well, or really at all, but he did know he wasn’t the vintage hippie-chic type. “Commuting to Bucks County is an awful long trip.”

      “Robert won’t be commuting.” It was Grace’s turn to fold her arms in front of her, but Nick was surprised to realize she didn’t look upset. Instead, she was calm, almost peaceful. “Robert is moving to Chicago, to work for The Museum of Contemporary Art.”

      If his eyes widened any farther, they’d probably roll out of his head, Nick realized with a start. “And you’re…?”

      “Not,” she said simply, and gave him another smile. The sun gleamed on her hair. “I’m starting over, Nick. I’m getting a divorce, and I’m going to figure out a career, and I’m going to do it right here in Wrightsville.”

      Just when he’d convinced himself Wrightsville was getting a little boring, Nick told himself as he restrained a groan. Grace back in town, at loose ends, looking for work and maybe romance?

      They were all doomed.

      At least Billy, Nick’s fellow officer, was understanding about her rather clumsy entrance back into town, Grace thought when he drove off almost an hour later. Especially since she hadn’t thought to ask about insurance and registration for the car she’d borrowed and had to make an embarrassing emergency phone call to her friend Regina for a clue to where the VW’s paperwork was kept.

      All while Nick was scowling, shaking his head, and generally oozing exasperation. At least that made it easier to ignore how well his uniform fit on his long frame, and how good he looked a few years older, the smooth lines of his face sharper now, his skull clearly outlined beneath hair cut so short, she was pretty sure the barber had used clippers instead of scissors.

      But she couldn’t think about that. She wasn’t even divorced yet, for one thing, and for another it was Nick. Nick. Not to mention the fact that she had things to do, plans to make. A life to figure out, for heaven’s sake. Romance—or especially the good old-fashioned lusty fling variety—was out of the question. She didn’t even have a place to live yet, much less a job.

      She was just…well, startled to see him, and to see him looking so honestly delicious, that was all. She hadn’t run into Nick for a few years, and she was fairly certain that the last time was when they’d merely bumped into each other at the supermarket over the Christmas holiday, which wasn’t exactly conducive to extended conversation. The supermarket at Christmastime always made Grace a little homicidal, actually. She’d probably been hoping to escape Nick’s notice before she broke down and beat someone over the head with a carton of eggnog.

      “Why are you doing this?” Nick said when she walked back to the old bus. He’d lost the scowl, but he didn’t look much happier. Instead, he looked serious, and possibly uncomfortable. “I mean, really, how come? I thought you and Robert were happy.”

      She wrapped her arms around herself and leaned back against the decrepit old VW. “Robert was happy. I was…comfortable.”

      There was that scowl again. It was sort of criminal that he looked so lickable when he did that, Grace decided. “What’s the difference?” he said.

      “Oh, my God, you are such a man.” She rolled her eyes and held herself tighter. The breeze off the river was cool, and her shirt didn’t provide much by way of warmth. “Happy is…loving your life, being eager to get up in the morning. Comfortable is thinking, well, this doesn’t suck, and it could be worse.”

      “Grace.”

      She shrugged. “It’s okay, Nick.” She laughed a little then, the morning’s earlier lightness bubbling up inside her. “In fact, I’m happier now that I’ve left him than I have been in the last few years. Robert is a wonderful man, but he isn’t the one, you know?” She snuck a glance at Nick, who was gazing out at the water thoughtfully. “You don’t know. You man, you.”

      His laugh was gruff, sort of rusty, but it was sympathetic. “I guess I don’t know, but I’m glad you’re…well, happy. Couldn’t you be happy in a better car, though?”

      “It’s just for now,” Grace said archly. If he kept up the smart-mouth remarks, it would be a lot easier to remind herself that she and Nick had always fought like dogs and cats, that he thought she was irresponsible and impulsive, and that

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