“I think that’s…Sawyer,” Banks says.

  “Is he someone you met on one of your various shopping excursions for toys or bikes?”

  With a smile, Banks shakes his head. “All good guesses. Actually, I ran into him at Mister Fox, with Monroe. We played pool one night.”

  Banks calls out to the dark-haired man who looks a touch out of place in his button-down shirt and charcoal slacks. Sawyer’s more business-y than most people I see in town. When he hears his name, he turns around. It takes him a few seconds, then he must recognize my guy since the corner of his lips curve up and he says, “Banks.”

  We catch up to him on the corner of the street, and Banks makes quick intros, then nods to the real estate office. “Is that ‘maybe’ turning into a definite?”

  “Maybe,” Sawyer answers, but it’s said in a hopeful tone.

  “Aren’t you elusive?” Banks jokes.

  “I don’t want to jinx anything,” Sawyer says, then turns to me. “I might be opening a business here.”

  “You should,” I say, ready to sing Darling Springs’s praises. Except, wait. “It’s not a competing lavender farm, is it?”

  “Ripley will fight you on that,” Banks warns.

  “I would never dare. Not when there’s a world-class one already here,” Sawyer says.

  I look to Banks approvingly. “I like him. You may keep him as a friend.”

  “Thanks,” he says dryly.

  I turn my focus back to Sawyer. “I hope it works out. This is a great place to live and to run a business. Ideally, one that sells my lavender at checkout.”

  Sawyer flashes a confident smile. “If the deal comes through, I’ll sell your lavender. That’s a promise. And hopefully I’ll see you both around.”

  “Yes, and for another round of pool since I like taking your money.”

  “I don’t like that part. But I do need some pool,” Sawyer says, then sighs heavily as he meets Banks’s gaze. “So much stuff to figure out.”

  “Then that round should be sooner rather than later.”

  Sawyer gives a nod, then heads in the opposite direction, passing the dog day care where Chloe sometimes works. He pauses briefly at the window. For a second, I wonder if she caught his eye, but I probably just have romance on my mind.

  I focus on Banks, squeezing his hand. “You look good in Darlings Springs.”

  “Good thing I plan to be here quite a bit.”

  It sure is.

  We start making plans for what happens now that the job is over and our life together is beginning.

  EPILOGUE

  RIPLEY

  I’m not a fashion girlie, but some truths are immutable, and this is one: Thou shalt show your red-carpet dress to your besties.

  In my Los Angeles hotel room with my phone balanced on the bureau, I do the obligatory twirl for Chloe and Bridget via FaceTime. They’re at Bridget’s house.

  “What do you think?”

  Bridget taps her chin. “I mean, it’s kind of your color,” she deadpans.

  Chloe smacks her shoulder, then turns to the screen. “She means it’s totally your color, and you look perfect.”

  “You two are such assholes, and I love you.”

  “Love you too,” Bridget says, then Chloe brings my dog into the frame and adds, “Hudson says hi.”

  I blow him a kiss, then they sign off.

  I take a look in the mirror, and they’re right—lavender is my color. The satiny dress is a simple sheath with wide straps, and it hits at the knees. My hair is down, curling over my shoulders, and my fingernails are unpolished.

  I feel dressed up, but still…like me.

  It’s a good feeling. But I feel even better a few minutes later when my escort knocks on the hotel-room door. It’s our hotel room—we’re staying here together, but he stepped out to let me finish getting ready.

  When I open the door, his breath hitches. “You look incredible,” he rumbles.

  I feel incredible too, under his heated gaze. “Maybe I’ll let you spank me later.”

  “A man can dream,” he says.

  “We share the same dreams,” I say as I smooth a hand down his dark-blue dress shirt. He’s wearing a charcoal suit tonight, with no tie. The combo is doing things to me. He looks hot and all mine—just the way I like it.

  “We better go before I toss you on the bed and have my way with you.”

  “Later,” I say.

  He offers me his arm, and I take it. Together, we head to the theater for the premiere of Someone Else’s Ring, several months after it was shot in my hometown.

  The lightbulbs don’t flash when I step out of the limo. The cameras don’t pop. The entertainment press has figured out—mostly—that I’m not my sister. It took a little time and some strapless dresses for them to learn the difference. But I also know the world is fascinated with identical twins, so sometimes we give them what they want—a shot of us together.

  Haven waits for me on the red carpet. We smile for the cameras, and a sea of photogs snaps shots of us—the star and the sister who hosted the film crew.

  Silas and Ludwig are here behind their lenses. Funny how they were never really the problem. They’re just a couple of guys trying to make a living. As for Ian, he was charged with trespassing and simple assault and served a short jail sentence. I also have a restraining order against him, so he can never set foot on my farm again.

  It’s good to be proactive, though, so I took a self-defense refresher course that my boyfriend gave me as a gift. Sometimes, I even practice on him. Well, I don’t kick him in the balls. I rather like all his parts.

  With the photos done, I step out of the limelight, letting Haven take the spotlight she deserves as she walks the red carpet with her fiancé.

  Notting Hill.

  William proposed to her a few months ago, and they’re getting married in Darling Springs in a couple of weeks. I happen to know the perfect place for their wedding—Lavender Bliss.

  They went public as a couple shortly after she returned to LA. Their first public date? A bookstore in Silver Lake where they ordered coffees and kissed over a stack of paperbacks.

  New Chris also made his first public appearance recently with his new girlfriend. And wouldn’t you know it? She’s from Darling Springs as well. Turns out the fortune teller at Tell Me Your Tarot was spot-on. Chris Carlisle, one of the world’s most bankable stars, is seeing Katrina from The Sweet Spot. Cookies were the way to his heart.

  They head in next.

  Grandma is here too. She flew home from Paris to attend the premiere. She’s been having the time of her baking life with Laurent, her Frenchman. I miss her fiercely, but I couldn’t be happier that she’s getting to enjoy her golden years while I manage the farm, her bees, and often, the lives of Ramona and Cyrus. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  After Grandma and her man sail into the theater, I go inside with my boyfriend. But tonight, he’s doubling as my bodyguard.

  Banks likes to play that role from time to time when I have public events, and since I’ve always had a thing for his protective side, I don’t mind it one bit.

  Oh, who am I kidding?

  I love it.

  Banks

  Inside the lobby, I stop to say hi to Dean, who wears a black suit and an earpiece.

  “Everything good tonight?” I ask my business partner.

  “Everything’s great,” he says, then turns to Ripley. “Glad to see his better half,” Dean tells her.

  “And I’m happy you’re keeping busy,” she says.

  “Me too.” It’s said with relief, but also with contentment. Dean claps me on the shoulder. “Get inside, brother. You’re off duty. Go enjoy the movie with your woman.”

  I smile. “I will.”

  As we weave through the glittery crowds, I set a hand on Ripley’s back, as I’ve always done. I keep a close watch for threats, as I always will. She’s not a client anymore, but I’m not a bodyguard most of the time either.

  Sure, with Apex Solutions I take the occasional job as a close protection officer, but mostly I’ve transitioned to training new guards and to management and IT security.

  The other benefit? I can do it remotely a lot of the time. Apex Solutions has offices now in Los Angeles and just outside of San Francisco, and I can spend most of my days in the small town I’ve come to love.

  All is well with Dean. My friend understood when I told him I’d put my heart on the line for Ripley. Love happened on the job—I’m not the first, and I won’t be the last.

  And in the end, our business has grown because we’re damn good at what we do. True, we didn’t get the Webflix gig, but Tabitha sent us more work, and now we handle any security needs for Ruby Horizons Productions, including red-carpet events like this one. We’ve picked up other clients, too, in the entertainment business and out of it, including Lavender Bliss. The farm has grown in popularity as a tourist destination, and Ripley hosts celebrity events there that require security.

  Tonight, though, my job is to go on a date with my woman. We head into the auditorium to watch the movie. I take her hand in mine, and as the love story plays out on the screen, I slip back in time, remembering the way our tale played out behind the scenes.

  For a while, I wasn’t sure if we were just one of those “it seemed like a good idea at the time” kind of things.

  Now I know exactly what we are. We’re the kind of good idea that lasts a lifetime.

  Soon, very soon, I’m going to put a ring on her finger, maybe after we return to Darling Springs.

  Our home.

  Want more unputdownable forbidden romance?

  You’ll love my brand new spicy, forbidden hockey romance JUST BREAKING THE RULES! It’s a brother’s best friend romance set in a small town a lot like Darling Springs and there’s all kinds of yearning! JUST BREAKING THE RULES is available now in KU!

  Intrigued by Sawyer? His spicy, grumpy/sunshine, secret identity, workplace romance with Chloe comes to KU this summer in I’ve Got A Crush On You!

  For more Ripley and Banks, click here for an extended epilogue or scan the QR code!

  Turn the page for more fun!

  EXCERPT - I’VE GOT A CRUSH ON YOU

  Chapter One

  Chloe

  I can’t believe I’m being fired for a balloon explosion.

  I’m making my case one last time to my boss at the event planning agency. “I don’t even like balloons.” But the look Phineas Fitzburger deals me from across his desk is not confidence inspiring. Fitzburger Events has been a bit of a laughingstock since the town square balloon bursting at the annual spring festival went viral.

  Turns out there was a big problem—the see-through balloons got a little too excited in the heat, spewing a glittery stream all over the town square. Like burst…condoms.

  But even though Phineas wants heads to roll for the embarrassment (and the associated memes about the balloons’, ahem, release), that doesn’t mean I’m to blame for the sparkling of the town square. I certainly didn’t order the monstrosities. I sure as hell know who did though, and I hope, I truly hope, dear daddy can put two and two together soon and realize it equals…his son. My ex.

  It’s not that I like this job working for my ex’s father; it’s that my bank account requires my paycheck. I bite my tongue to stop myself from saying, August wanted them. This fiasco was your son’s fault.

  Phineas blows out a long sigh. “Here we are with a very unhappy client and a town square full of hot-pink glitter to clean up. This is a mess.”

  He shakes his head, and I know what’s coming. Prickles of fear race up my spine. My side hustle as a dog trainer is nowhere near profitable enough for me to live on, even with the celebrity client who hired me recently. One high-profile client does not a business make. I need this event planning job desperately to make ends meet.

  Story of my freaking life.

  I glance at the glass wall behind me and the silhouette of my ex happily plinking away at his keyboard in a cubicle beyond.

  I hate being a tattletale. But desperate times and all.

  I hold up my chin high as I go full narc. “August did it. He ordered the see-through balloons from a paintball friend, and they wanted the event to go viral. That was the plan. Fill the balloons and watch them fly high in the air. But the material was super cheap, and it was an unusually hot spring day, so they exploded in the heat,” I blurt out.

  Phineas simply shakes his head some more, takes a minute or two, then sighs deeply. “Chloe, I was sure we could set the past behind us with the way you broke my sweet August’s heart once upon a time, but to suggest he’d use my company to pull off a viral stunt? I think it’s best we let you go.”

  I grab the edge of his desk to hold on. My world tips upside down. “I didn’t do it, sir. I can show you the version history from the presentation,” I say, going for a Hail Mary to prove my innocence by showing him the receipts, but I hate the tremble in my voice, the way it reveals that a tear is coming. My throat tightens annoyingly and my eyes sting.

  Don’t let your enemies see you cry, my mother always says. Unless you’re onstage—then let it all out.

  “The version history? Really? I think it’s best we move on. I’ll let HR know you’ll be cleaning out your cube today,” he adds, then offers a sympathetic grin. “But do say hi to Captain. We enjoyed having that handsome boy here from time to time.”

  Are you kidding me? “I will not tell my dog you said hi,” I say, then grab my backpack, fling it on my shoulder dramatically, and storm out.

  Because really, you should also make a grand exit when you’ve been canned. Leave your mark, my mother says.

  I beeline for my cube, snag my dying succulent—because of course I can’t even keep a succulent alive—along with my We Ride at Dawn mug that my BFF Bridget made for me last year, then go. As I pass August, I clench my jaw.

  Don’t give him the satisfaction. Really, Chloe, just don’t. Resist the urge to open your mouth.

  With a grin worthy of a supervillain, my devil of an ex-husband smiles and waves goodbye. “Bummer it didn’t work out, Chlo-Chlo,” he says.

  He has the audacity to use that affectionate nickname on me? The name he gave me during our failed marriage that lasted all of six months. So much for keeping my mouth shut. “Yeah, bet it was a real surprise too,” I snap, then narrow my eyes and whisper, “I know what you did.”

  But he leans back in his chair, crosses his arms, and smiles. “You still haven’t gotten over me,” he says.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. I can’t believe I took this job against my better judgment a few months ago. I can’t believe I’d thought enough time had passed and that he’d moved on.

  Like an adult.

  His high school–level sabotage is a perfect reminder that you should never ever work with someone you’ve been involved with. It always ends badly—the romance, or the job. Or even both.

  But there is one silver lining. While I’m the one who just got canned, he’s the one who has to clean up the town square mess. “Good luck removing glitter until the end of time,” I say, wishing it were punishment enough. And just in case it’s not, I lob in one more zinger. “Also, my dog’s smarter than you.”

  I march out, head held high, walking straight to Roxie, my car with the broken handle on the driver’s side door.

  I wrestle open the passenger side door using one hand and my butt. After I set the plant, backpack, and mug down on the floor, I hop into the passenger seat, then scoot across the console to the driver’s side.

  Hey, it’s how I get my push-ups in. My arms will be rock hard someday soon.

  I turn on Roxie and pull out of the lot, wishing she would squeal as I peel off, but she wheezes instead, since she’s stitched together by spark plugs, a persnickety turn signal, and hope.

  Once I’m a block away and out of sight, my eyes flood, and I jerk the car toward the curb, cutting the engine before my vision goes blurry. Dropping my head on the steering wheel, I let the stupid tears fall.

  For once, I’d just like something to work out in the work department.

  As I’m staring into the freezer weighing whether salted caramel tiramisu ice cream or super-chunk brownie goes better with boxed wine for my pity party of one, a notification chirps at me from my phone. I glance listlessly down at the screen on my kitchen counter.

  Florence Faye’s Fete.

  That’s tonight? I’d forgotten all about the comedian’s party in the aftermath of getting fired. No way can I get ready in time. It starts in two hours and it’s in the city, where she lives part-time, since she also has a place a few towns away. The city’s at least an hour and a half from here. Like I’d be good company tonight for anyone anyway. Except Captain. My German Shepherd mutt lies curled up by my feet on the tiled floor.

  But as I reach for the salted caramel tiramisu pint—since when in doubt, always go with salted caramel tiramisu—a voice in my head says, You dumbass.

  Great. Now the voice in my head is insulting me.

  Psst. The party isn’t for Florence. It’s for her dog.

  Ohhhh.

  A smile forms, slow and devilish. I jam the carton back in the freezer and slam the door. “Thank you, voice in my head.”

  After her recent Webflix special became a huge hit, the comedian hired me this spring to train her dog for her upcoming tour. Tonight is Bagel’s birthday party down in San Francisco. An extravagant, over-the-top affair. Which means there will be potential clients there. Imagine when they find out I’m the one who taught Florence’s Corgi mix to trot across the stage and high-five her—high paw her—before the start of each stage show?

  Excitement courses through me since when one door closes, another one opens. All I need to do is network my ass off tonight. I hunt through my past emails for the details on the party. When I find it, I scan for the location, then read the no gifts please note too.

  I run some quick calculations. A speedy shower and outfit selection and I should be able to pull this off. I’ll be on the road and dropping Captain at my mom’s in no time.