Her mind whirled through options like her last secretary leafing through her ancient round rolodex. She could drop the boxes down the stairs. She could toss the boxes over her shoulder. She could save the boxes and fall into the brambles herself. Any way she looked at it: ouch.

  “Wait!” she exclaimed, hoping the man would realize he was about to bowl her over.

  No such luck. He was the kind of guy who needed to open the door wide and make a grand entrance. Or in this case, a grand exit. “I’ll take care of it, Dad.”

  The thorns were a team of acupuncturists now, yanking her toward a complete body treatment. And that sexy voice was going to be the last thing she heard before she fell.

  She tilted backward, reaching for her lawyer-voice, finding instead her little-girl-lost voice. “He-eh-eh-elp!”

  Chunk-chunk. Splat-clatter.

  “Hey!” Strong hands grabbed her arms and pulled Cindy upright. “I’ve got you.”

  Mr. Sexy Voice saved her. But in an attempt not to fall, she’d squeezed her load too tight. A box launched toward Cindy’s savior.

  “Oomph.” His grip on her arms wavered, and then the box fell down the steps. Plop-splat.

  Cindy’s stomach did another pancake flip.

  “Put your boxes down, lady.”

  “No.” Was that her voice? It sounded like a waifish wail.

  Somewhere, bells chimed the eight-o’clock hour.

  Another box popped out. This time with less punch. Cindy clutched the outer row of shifting boxes, afraid to move lest the entire bundle tumble down the puddle-filled steps.

  “Lady…miss….” He was a blur. A tall, impatient blur.

  Plop-splat. There went another box.

  “For the love of….” He yanked the front door back open and swept her inside.

  The boxes tumbled into the foyer, Cindy on top of them. Wet cardboard gave way as she fell. And then something in her vest pocket crunched.

  My glasses.

  Cindy scrambled to her feet and rushed back into the rain to save the fallen boxes. One had spilled open. A shoe balanced on the walk. A white pump. Her grandmother’s wedding shoes.

  Cindy’s breakfast shifted. Upward this time. Toward Cindy’s throat.

  The man was already picking up boxes and Grandmother Drusella’s shoe, along with other items. A coffee cup perhaps, and—

  “My phone is a total loss.” Gone was his emergency-mode impatience. In its place was a weary resignation, as if his luck had been bad for far too long. He handed her the boxes and her precious pump.

  Cindy retreated to the foyer, stacked the boxes on the floor, and wiped the pump dry on her T-shirt as if it was a genie’s lamp. Something didn’t feel right. She brought the shoe within inches of her face. “It’s missing the buckle.”

  The man stood facing her in the rain. Without her glasses, Cindy had no way of knowing if he was handsome or homely, scowling or bewildered, well-dressed or frumpy. All she saw were black jeans and a royal blue jacket.

  “My grandmother’s shoe is ruined without the buckle.” She squinted at him, wanting her glasses. But if she pulled them out and they were broken, she might cry. And divorce attorneys were not supposed to cry. Ever. “I can’t see…. Can you look around for me? The buckle must be out there somewhere.”

  She didn’t have to see the color of his eyes to know one thing. He wasn’t married. She could tell by his bachelor-weary sigh. “What does it look like?”

  She rummaged through the soggy, flattened boxes and produced its mate. “Like this.”

  He dutifully searched the stairs and front walk. “I didn’t see it. Maybe it fell in the bushes.”

  Cindy’s shoulders drooped as low as her morale. Those brambles were thick and probably hid a treasure trove of lost items—keys and wheat pennies and broken promise rings.

  She sniffed.

  Do not cry. A buckle is not a lost child.

  He patted her shoulder awkwardly. “You could take it by King’s Shoe Repair around the corner. He works miracles.”

  The rain let up and a glimmer of sunshine reached the stoop, illuminating him and his short, blue-black hair.

  “You must be 3B. I’m 3A.” He extended his hand to shake. Or he could have been handing her a business card.

  Cindy couldn’t tell. Their hands touched. There was no card. Just his hand. Big. Warm. Meltdown erasing.

  “I’ll carry these boxes upstairs for you.” He knelt at her feet and bungeed the ruined boxes together.

  “I’m sorry about your phone.” Cindy followed him up the stairs, clutching her grandmother’s shoe to her chest.

  “I was going to upgrade it anyway.” Mr. Sexy Voice now had the patience of the pope.

  “I’d offer to make you a cup of coffee.” And offer to bear your children. “But I don’t think I could find the box with my coffeemaker.”

  “No worries. I have a meeting at The Local Grinder. I’ll grab a cup there.”

  He was so understanding, completely opposite of the angry, impatient, demanding lawyers and judges she normally dealt with. Maybe he was worthy of Grandmother Drusella’s shoes.

  And fairy tales do come true.

  Was this why she’d failed in the courtroom? Because she was a hopeless romantic?

  They reached the third floor landing. Lucifer let out a loud complaint. He had the most distinctive meow, like a baby’s cry.

  “Coming, baby.” Cindy rushed to the door.

  “Hey, uh, 3B. I’ve got a meeting. Can you take it from here?” Her neighbor deposited her shoe boxes at her feet.

  “Thanks again,” she called after his retreating back.

  She was thankful. Not just for his catching her when she would have fallen, but for the reminder that she could deal with setbacks with dignity, not tantrums or tears.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Mack Prince was always in a rush to be somewhere.

  This morning that meant meeting a potential new client in a coffee shop around the corner.

  Too bad his run in with his new neighbor—the pretty, sight-challenged, blue-eyed blonde—had resulted in his phone’s untimely death.

  A few months ago, the collision with his neighbor and resulting losses (coffee, phone) would have been tantrum-inducing, a dark cloud over his mood for hours, if not days. But that was before his father had a heart attack at age fifty-five and nearly died. Before the doctor warned dear old dad that his cutthroat law practice was killing him. Before that same doctor had looked at Mack and said, “I hope you’re listening. In a decade or two, this will be you.”

  Mack Sr. may not have taken the doctor’s warning to heart, but Mack Jr. had. He’d enrolled in an anger management class. He’d installed a small aquarium in his office to make him less stressed. He’d made a “stop doing” list of things that made his chest feel as if he was being buried alive. And he’d taken up running.

  He should have introduced himself to the blonde. She was sweet, and made him forget his reputation as a heartless divorce lawyer at King, Prince & Prince. On the other hand, 3B had a child, which meant there was a guy around somewhere—a husband or boyfriend or jealous ex-lover. Mack didn’t do messy.

  The rain had let up and the farmer’s market was just opening for business on Main Street. The original downtown had brick buildings, gas lamps, and a sense that time stood still.

  The old woman in red, the one with the handmade Love Advice sign, waggled her plump fingers in a familiar wave. “You need to slow down. Love takes time.” Her sing-song, bird-like voice carried over the noise of the growing crowd.

  Mack delivered his retort with a retort-softening smile. “Any slower and you’d be giving my eulogy.”

  “Any slower and you’ll bore me to death.” She winked, on top of her game today. “Wouldn’t want that on your conscience, would you?”

  “I’m a divorce lawyer. I have no conscience.” Mack continued down the sidewalk until he reached The Local Grinder, the neighborhood coffee house. The door was open, and the rich scent of coffee mingled with the buzz of caffeinated customers.

  A blond man with a goatee waved him over to a wooden booth. “Recognized you from your website, Prince. I’m Eddie Tremaine.” Eddie’s limp fish handshake took points off Mack’s initial character assessment.

  Mack waved at the barista for his usual shot of espresso and took a five out of his wallet. “What can I do for you?”

  “You came highly recommended.” Eddie stroked his goatee as if it was his favorite pet. “I…uh…I’m thinking I need to get a divorce.”

  “Thinking?”

  Eddie grimaced. “Decided.” And then he added, in a firmer tone. “She moved out, and I decided it’s time.”

  More likely, his pride had been hurt by her leaving. “Kids?”

  “Just one.” A slight upturn of lips. Perhaps he cared for his prodigy.

  “Complications?”

  “What?”

  “People usually hire me because they expect complications.” His new neighbor was a complication. She must be legally blind. He admired her independence, but he wondered about her living alone, especially with a baby. No mistaking that cry he’d heard from the other side of the door.

  “I want custody of our son,” his latest client was saying. “I suppose that’s what you mean.”

  “Mr. Tremaine…Eddie.” He was momentarily distracted by the woman in red across the street enticing a sucker to her table. “Unless we can prove to the court that your wife is a risk to your child’s safety, it’s highly unlikely that we’ll win full custody. More likely joint.”

  “She’ll treat him like she did me.”

  Mack quirked an eyebrow.

  “Look at my hands.” Eddie held them palms up. They were pruney and the skin was peeling from his fingers. “She had me scrub the apartment all the time. The floor was never clean enough. The sink was never clean enough. She sniffed our sheets before bed each night and if they didn’t smell laundry fresh—”

  “I get the idea.” This was why people should live together before they got married. “But still, being OCD isn’t enough reason to be granted full custody unless she’s abusing your child.”

  “My son is three. He has a play set of cleaning tools. It’s only a matter of time before she makes him scrub the house.” The barista delivered Mack’s espresso, ignoring Eddie’s leering gaze and earning her big tip.

  “I’ll see what I can do for you, Eddie.” If only people could be normal, divorce would be more civilized.

  “Talk to me about your assets.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Why did you move into a building with a broken elevator?” Cindy’s step-sister, Anna Tremaine, always seemed to enter a room with a toss of her hair and a toss of a put-down. “I had to leave Teddy’s stroller downstairs.” She set her toddler on the hardwood floor. “It’s a mess in here.”

  “I just finished bringing all my stuff in this morning.” Cindy snatched a soggy shoe box from Teddy’s reach. Her glasses may have been broken, but she could see shapes and sense a boy with mischievous intent. “I haven’t had time to unpack.” Or burst the hero-worship bubble Mr. Sexy Voice had left in her.

  “Maybe you should wait until everything is organized before you invite people over.” It was easy to be contemptuous. Harder to do it in a way that made it seem like Anna’s duty was to point out the failings of others.

  They’d grated on each other’s nerves growing up in the same house and weren’t on the best of terms now, but Cindy would stand by family. Even if she had to nail her soles to the floor.

  Cindy took a deep breath, refusing to lose her temper. “You invited yourself over.”

  “Only because I need you to start my divorce as soon as you can.” Anna leaned against the door. “Who was that hunk I saw coming down your steps just now?”

  “Blue jacket? Black pants?”

  “Louis Vuitton loafers. Designer jeans. Expensive haircut.” Cindy could almost hear the smirk in her step-sister’s voice.

  “He’s my neighbor. Nice guy.” Cindy sidled closer to her red-headed step-nephew. “Teddy, how about a story?” A nice nap-inducing story.

  “No,” Teddy said.

  Anna huffed by the door. “Of course he was nice to you. Just look at you.” Her distaste was palpable. “Your hair is frizzy, you’re squinting like a mole, and there’s a weed on the back of your pants leg.”

  Just as Cindy was about to sweep Teddy into a bear hug, Anna’s words sunk in. Her shoulders cramped, her jaw clenched, and Teddy crept out of reach.

  “I mean….” Anna and her need to clarify. “Don’t get any ideas and embarrass yourself. He’s way out of your league.”

  Cindy hadn’t dated in so long, she didn’t know what league she was in.

  Teddy disappeared behind a large suitcase. The little guy had a sixth sense for trouble. And Lucifer had been quiet since Anna and Teddy had arrived. The cat wasn’t the friendliest beast on the best of days, but he was a crank-monster from this move. If Teddy surprised him or yanked on his tail or tried once more to eat the “treats” in Lucifer’s litter box….

  Cindy navigated the maze that was her living room, trying to spot either lost party behind the stacks of boxes and suitcases. A change of subject was in order. “Why a divorce? I thought you loved Eddie. I thought he treated you like a queen.”

  “He complains about everything, and—”

  “Okay, divorce it is.” On second thought, Cindy wasn’t in the mood for a laundry list of Eddie’s faults. Eddie was a pretentious pill. Where had that rugrat gone? “You can afford my fee, right?”

  “You’d charge me? I’m family.”

  “I’d charge my father for services rendered.” Okay, maybe not Dad. Cindy sighed and moved into the kitchen. No rugrat. No raccoon-sized black kitty. Her doom-o-meter pinged into the red zone.

  “I need to get out, Cindy. Being a single parent is exhausting.” Anna’s voice sounded as if she’d already shattered and had taped herself back together, but without enough tape.

  “You’ve been a single parent for one day.” She was letting Anna get to her. Cindy took a breath and tried again. “That’s a healthy perspective.” Cindy bent and squinted to check under the sink.

  “I knew I could count on you. Teddy’s things are in the stroller downstairs.”

  And then Cindy heard the front door open and close.

  “Hey, wait.” Cindy returned to the living room, but Anna was gone.

  Teddy giggled.

  Cindy whirled around to find the little bugger had opened the suitcase with her lingerie. He wore a purple Wonderbra strapped onto his head like a ski-cap, her lime green polka dot bathrobe sash around his neck, and was using a pair of her red sport socks like mittens. Without her glasses, Teddy looked like a Skittle-sprinkled snowman.

  “Photo opp.” Someday, Aunt Cindy was going to use that shot as blackmail.

  Teddy giggled and tugged on the bra straps, beeping with every tug as if he was a truck driver.

  Sadly, that was the most male attention that bra had ever received. Being a workaholic cramped her dating life. Cindy hoped that moving to Brody Falls would change all that.

  Teddy smiled at her and for a moment, Cindy saw another young face. Big grey eyes. A ponytail of thin brown hair.

  A tough child custody case related to a divorce she was handling had nearly broken her. She’d been unable keep her cool under pressure in the courtroom, unable to remain detached. She’d let her client down. In the worst possible way.

  Things would be different here. Things had to be different here.

  “Okay, Teddy. We’re going out.” Cindy needed a change of scenery, even if it was only a watercolor world she saw.

  And maybe if Teddy got some fresh air, he’d crash until Anna came home. And since Mr. Sexy Voice had mentioned the shoe repair shop around the corner, Cindy decided to take her grandmother’s shoes.

  She wrapped the delicate pumps in a clear plastic bag, and led a now braless Teddy downstairs—one careful step at a time (since he insisted on walking). The rain had stopped and the sky was beginning to clear. She carried the stroller to the sidewalk, strapped Teddy in, and searched the front stoop, the steps, and as much as she dared poke around the brambles for the missing buckle. No luck.

  “Auntie, go-go-go!” Teddy kicked his little sneakered feet.

  Cindy pushed him around the corner toward the farmer’s market, her grandmother’s shoes resting on the stroller’s hood.

  She’d never been to the market, but it was a well-known feature of Brody Falls and she’d been looking forward to experiencing it. She rounded the corner and took it all in. There were more people than expected. They milled about, pausing in front of stalls with what looked like produce and fresh flowers and other unidentifiable stuff. How am I going to move in that crush with the stroller? It was more crowded than Disneyland in July.

  Something caught Teddy’s eye. “Truck, auntie. Truck!”

  “No truck.”

  “Truck!” His legs kicked out and one of his sneakers flew off. “Puh-lease….” He tilted his head back and smiled angelically.

  What was an auntie for if not to spoil her only nephew? “Okay, truck.” Cindy picked up Teddy’s shoe and pushed into the melee. Miraculously, the crowd parted. Pushing a stroller wasn’t such a bad thing after all. “Where’s the truck, Teddy?” Hopefully some other little darling hadn’t brought one from home. One not for sale.

  “Bring the shoe to me.” The words reverberated around Cindy as if she was in a cave and the voice of God (as a woman) had come to her.

  Cindy stopped in the midst of the crowd and squinted in all directions.

  “Red!” Teddy cried, pointing to an older woman wearing a red sweater and scarf, sitting at a card table.