He hated himself for this. All of it. After what he'd done, she'd be so wary and so guarded that she might never open herself up again, and every dream she had of a husband and a family might never come true.

She started to leave, then turned back. "The home tour-"

"You can still use the house. We'll work it out."

She nodded. "Maybe I don't know who you really are," she said quietly. "But I'm still going to miss you."

Brandon swallowed hard. "I'm going to miss you, too."

She turned and left his house, and as he stood at the doorway and watched her walk down the steps to her car. He gripped the door frame tightly, tormenting himself by watching her drive away. As her car disappeared from sight, he realized it might be the last time he'd ever see her.

What had Tom said? In the end, you'd make her way more miserable than Justin ever could.

And that was exactly what had happened.

Ten minutes later, Alison knocked on Heather's door. When Heather answered, her eyes flew open wide with concern.

"Oh, sweetie," she said. "What happened?"

Alison opened her mouth to answer, but tears overcame her for the umpteenth time since she'd left Brandon's house, and she couldn't speak. Heather led her inside, sat her down, and brought her Kleenex, and Alison told her the latest sob story in her quest for a husband and family. Heather hugged her and told her everything was going to be all right, even though Alison was pretty sure nothing was ever going to be right for her again.

"I should have listened to you," she told Heather. "You had it right. Brandon was just what you said he was." She balled her hands into fists. "God, Heather, I'm such an idiot! I keep making mistakes, over and over. I just want a man to love me. Is that really so much to ask when the world is full of them? What's wrong with me that I can't find at least one?"

"I don't know," Heather said quietly.

"You managed to do it," Alison said, wiping her nose for the twentieth time. "And I don't know how. I don't know how one day you could have been groveling around with me in the dating muck pile, and then suddenly you looked up, and there was Tony. The perfect man for you. And he carried you off on his white horse like you were some kind of princess, and I was still sitting there with nothing. I still have nothing."

Heather didn't say anything. But really, what could she say?

Alison wiped tears from beneath her eyes with her fingertips. "I don't want to be alone. I don't want to be that awful woman who's forty or fifty years old who has nothing to talk about except her health problems and her cats. I can't bear the thought of that. I just can't."

Alison felt as if there was a hole in her heart that grew bigger with every beat, and judging from the look Heather was giving her, every bit of the despair she felt was showing on her face.

"Alison?" Heather said gently. "Are you going to be okay?"

Alison took a deep yoga breath. Let it out slowly. Then she wiped her eyes for what she was determined was going to be the last time.

"Oh, come on, Heather." she said, smiling through the last of those tears. "I'm always okay eventually." She paused. "This one may just take a little longer than usual."

And then, damn it, she was pulling out another Kleenex and crying all over again, because this time it was different. This time she hadn't felt as if she was settling for an average man and hoping she would eventually learn to love him. She felt as if she'd found that one wonderful man the universe had been holding for her, just waiting for the right time to hand him over. And there would have been no learning to love him, because she already did.

The trouble was that she didn't know how to stop.

On Wednesday morning, Brandon drove to Houston and met Tom, who had driven down the day before. At two o'clock, they sat down at a conference room table at United Title, and over the next fortyfive minutes, it seemed to Brandon as if he signed his name fifty times on that pile of closing papers. And every time he did, he felt as if he was betraying Alison one more time.

Good God. Would he ever get her out of his mind?

"So what do you think, buddy?" Tom said as they left the title company, a big grin on his face. "We pulled it off. We actually pulled it off. It's going to be smooth sailing on this one, don't you think?"

"Yeah. It is."

"Listen, I've already checked into the hotel. I reserved a room for you, too. What say you check in, and then we go have a drink or two, and then have dinner at some ridiculously expensive restaurant? And then, who knows? One way or the other, we are celebrating."

Brandon stopped at his car. "You know, I'm not so sure I'm up for that. I think I'll just head back to Plano. I have a lot to do there."

"Oh, come on, Brandon! Don't flake on me! Tell you what. I'll spring for champagne. The good stuff this time. Not like that stuff in Kansas City that tasted like old sweat socks."

"No. Really. I'm going to head back." He pointed the remote and flicked open the driver's door.

Tom grabbed his arm. "Hold on a minute."

"What?"

"We just pulled off the deal of the decade. You don't sound properly excited about that."

"Come on, Tom. You know I am."

"I'm not so sure," He eyed Brandon carefully. "Are you good with this deal? I need a partner who's one hundred percent on board."

"I am," Brandon said. "I just have a lot on my mind."

Tom let out a sigh of resignation. "Yeah. And her name is Alison Carter."

Just hearing her name made Brandon feel depressed all over again. "There's nothing between us. Not anymore."

"That's right. There's not. So there's no need for you to sound so miserable, is there?"

Brandon kept telling himself he just needed to get back in the swing of things. Once he put a crew together and renovations were under way, his old life would come roaring back, and he'd be in the groove again.

"No," he said. "There isn't. I just need to get back to Plano and shut things down. Then it's full steam ahead."

"Hell, yeah," Tom said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Just wait until we get the warehouse roughed in. Once the framing and Sheetrock are up, that's when you'll start to see it come together. And that, my friend, is when all those dollars signs will start dancing in your head."

Tom was right. There was always that one moment during every project that he felt it shift from what it had been to what it was going to become. From that moment forward it was a race to the end, the excitement building, until finally it was ready to be put on the market. And then came the money.

In this case, it was going to be one hell of a lot of money.

Brandon got into his car and drove back to Plano, ticking off in his mind the things he needed to do once he got there. Tomorrow he'd spend the day getting his business documents and tax information in order and deciding how he was going to break the news to his clients that he was shutting down the business. Then he had to get the home tour out of the way. Alison's plan was to put the finishing touches on the house on Friday before the tour on Saturday, but he decided he'd call in a professional cleaning service to do the last minute cleaning so they didn't have to. He'd say it was his contribution to the cause. The least he could do.

The very least.

But no matter what, he didn't want to see Alison. He just couldn't. So he decided he'd drop a house key off with Heather, then make himself scarce on Friday and Saturday. Once the tour was over, he'd spend the next week making calls to his clients and issue refunds for matches unmade. After that, he'd contact his grandmother's attorney, let him know that he was leaving, and turn over possession of the house to the First Baptist Church. Then he'd hit the road for Houston, where he was going to turn an old warehouse into luxury loft apartments and watch the money roll in.

It was nearly nine o'clock when he reached Plano and pulled into his driveway. He grabbed the mail and went into the house, where Jasmine greeted him with that screeching meow, winding her way around his ankles. He hadn't yet figured out what he was going to do with her when he left. Maybe the neighbor across the street who'd kept her when his grandmother died would be willing to take her again. He had no intention of abandoning her, but the answer hadn't come to him yet.

He started to toss the stack of mail onto his kitchen table when he noticed an oversized square envelope handaddressed to him. He opened it up, and he couldn't believe what he saw.

A wedding invitation?

Mr. Jack Warren and Ms. Melanie Davis request the honor of your presence as they join each other in holy matrimony...

Jack and Melanie? Brandon had to think for a moment, but then he remembered. They were the first couple he'd successfully matched up.

Then Brandon saw a handwritten note included in the envelope. It never would have happened without you, Brandon. We hope you can be with us on our special day. Love, Jack and Melanie.

Brandon picked up the invitation again and stared at it, thinking back to the beginning when he'd been so cynical. He'd matched up these two with very little thought. The fact that they actually liked each other meant he could collect his money with no further work, and he'd considered that a good thing. But not for one moment had his thought process gone beyond that. Not once had he ever envisioned this.

Brandon had never been to a wedding in his life. He'd always imagined lace and bows and men in uncomfortable suits and cake and punch and old ladies pulling out tissues to dab their eyes because it was all so beautiful.

Then all at once, he was transported back fifteen years, to the times he'd watched his grandmother put on her best Sunday dress and leave the house to go to her umpteenth wedding. She said nothing made her happier than to watch the people she'd matched up commit to each other forever and know she'd had a part in it. That's how I know I'm doing what the good Lord wants me to, she'd told him. Someday you'll find your calling, too.

And all he could think back then was My calling is to travel the country, make millions, and live it up for the rest of my life.

When he'd jumped into his grandmother's business, it had been almost like a joke to him. Pair people up almost at random, and if something stuck, okay. If it didn't, that was okay, too. He'd take whatever money he'd earned and move on.

But this...this proved it had meant so much more.

His first wedding. He hadn't had a clue it would feel like this.

At nine o'clock on Thursday night, Alison sat with Heather on her sofa, leaning against the sofa pillow, sipping the martini Heather had made for her. She'd pulled her feet up beside her, which she'd tucked into a pair of fuzzy purple socks that had been hideous even before Lucy had clawed them half to shreds. Ricky had plopped his fat butt on the sofa beside her, his head against her thigh, purring so loudly she was surprised the neighbors hadn't complained. She petted him absentmindedly, and he turned and looked up at her adoringly.

Well. At least one male on the planet was crazy about her.

She looked down at her martini. "I think I'm going to stop drinking."

"Please don't," Heather said. "Tony and I own a bar. You're half our revenue."

Alison dropped her head to the sofa cushion behind her. "But it's not working. I can't get him out of my head. I dated Randy for eight months and thought he was going to ask me to marry him, and I banished him from my brain in about two hours."

"That's because Randy was slime."

"And Brandon? What was he?"

Heather shrugged. "I know what he did. The lies he told. But I still think he cared about you. He was just the wrong man at the wrong time."

"Please don't tell me that. I need to find a way to hate him. Tell me he's slime like Randy, and maybe I'll forget all about him."

"He's slime like Randy." She paused. "Except that he offered to bring in a professional cleaning service so the house would really sparkle for the tour and we didn't have to mess with it at the last minute. That was nice."

"Will you stop with the redeeming qualities? He's a terrible person who hurt me and I hate him." Alison sighed, her shoulders drooping. "Or not."

Heather tilted her head. "Do you need some ice cream to go with the vodka?"

"No. Right now I'm just a lush. That'll make me an overweight lush."

"You have a right to drown your sorrows for a while."

"Do you know I spend half my life having sorrows, and then I have to spend the other half drowning them? But I guess that's good news for you and Tony, economically speaking."

She looked at her half-empty martini glass, thought about taking another sip, then simply set it down on the coffee table with a heavy sigh.

"You're not doing too well with this, are you?" Heather asked.

Alison took a breath. "No. Not really. And I'm so not looking forward to going to Brandon's house on Saturday."

"Would it help if I took over as tour guide?"

Alison forced a smile. "You? Please. I don't think you could work up much enthusiasm for a hundred-year-old house. You'd be telling people how ugly the furniture was and swearing there were rats and spiders in the basement."

"Hey, I could keep my thoughts to myself. Just give me your notes on the history of the house, and I swear I'll play nice." She shrugged. "To tell you the truth, the place kind of grew on me."

Alison's smile faded. "I know. Me, too."

Heather sighed. "I'm sorry, sweetie. That was the wrong thing to say."

"No. You don't have to tiptoe around me. And you don't have to take over for me, either, okay? I'll be just fine."

She hoped so, anyway. But until the tour was over and she left Brandon's house for the last time, she couldn't even begin to put it all behind her.

Just then, Ethel jumped up on the sofa beside Ricky. She reached out a paw and tapped Alison on the leg. Alison scratched her behind the ears, and she practically turned herself inside out to take full advantage of all five fingernails.

Then Alison remembered. Jasmine had done the same thing.

She felt a shiver of worry. Jasmine. Brandon was leaving town. What was he going to do with her?

The next morning, Brandon slept late, only to be awakened at ninethirty by the musical trill of an incoming text message. He rolled over and fumbled for his phone on the nightstand.

The text was from Alison.

His heart beating rapid fire, he opened it. What about Jasmine? she asked.

If only he knew. He still hadn't come up with a solution.

I'll find her a home, he typed, and sent the message. A moment later, Alison responded. She's too old. Nobody will want her.

Sadly, Alison was right. He wouldn't mind keeping her, but since he rarely stayed in one place for long, taking her with him would be next to impossible. But how was he going to find a home for a fifteenyearold cat?

Then he heard his text tone again. He looked at the screen. I'll take her.

That instantly brought back memories of the day he'd been working on his air unit and she brought him her questionnaire. I know what you're thinking, she'd said. Don't even go there. Three is absolutely normal. Four means you're a crazy cat lady.

That seemed like a hundred years ago.

Since he didn't know what else to say, he texted back. Thank you.

A minute passed, then another message came in. Of course, I'll need to change her name to Fred.

For some reason he couldn't fathom, Brandon felt tears burn behind his eyes. It was a joke, but...