The Lucky in Love Collection - Lauren Blakely Page 0,3

of the man known as the Lucky Falls Panty-Melter. Star of the fireman calendar. Resident charmer. All-around ladies’ man. Dark-blond hair, soulful blue eyes, and a body that could advertise all the workouts in the world.

Kill me now.

Of all the people to run into. Of all the guys in this godforsaken town to inadvertently thwack with a piece of cheese. The bare-chested Gabe Harrison wears running shorts, sneakers, and a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his pecs.

As well as a slice of Gouda that sticks momentarily to his chest.

Stopping short, he surveys me and what’s left of the cheese and crackers, then his sternum, plucking the food from his skin like this happens every day and it’s no big deal. “If you’re going to turn more of the cheese and crackers into projectile missiles, allow me to help.”

“I’m so, so sorry,” I choke out, and the dam breaks.

The waterworks have been let loose, and anger has turned to sadness.

Tears fall as I sink down onto the blanket, crying into my cheese and crackers. Who cares if he’s the town playboy? It’s not like I’m on anyone’s naughty or nice list right now anyway. It’s not as if I’m looking for anything but a shoulder to cry on.

He drops down and wraps a strong arm around me. “Hey there. You want to talk about it?”

I can’t talk because I’m too busy crying the Nile onto his broad, slicked chest, the site of the cheese bullet I lobbed at him.

2

Gabe

Some women are silent criers. Some are snifflers, gently dabbing away at barely-there tears. And some are epic bawlers. Snot, soaked tissues, streams of water sluicing down their cheeks—the whole nine yards.

Then there’s Arden East. She’s going to need a new category. Because holy shit. I’ve encountered more than my fair share of tears in my line of work, but never enough to refill a reservoir.

She cries and cries and cries, and when she’s maybe, possibly, almost finished replenishing the Pacific Ocean, she launches another pair of geysers from her eyes.

Judging from the picnic blanket and the food, I have a wild hunch her man disappointed her.

Badly.

In my field, I’ve learned plenty about how to handle this kind of sadness.

You need to let the tears fall, plain and simple.

After a few more minutes, she starts to quiet. “I’m so stupid,” she blurts, the first sign that she’s nearing the end of the crying jag.

“Of course you’re not stupid. Why would you say that?”

“I thought . . . he wanted . . . to be . . . with me.”

David.

She’s been dating one of the ER docs. He’s a solid doc, but that’s about all I know of David Green. Except now he’s most likely a dickhead, since he’s the one who disappointed her badly. Who makes a woman cry like this but a guy who deserves the Dickhead of the Year Award?

“I made a picnic for him, and he dumped me.” She swipes her palms against her cheeks. “He showed up and broke up with me, and he still asked for a piece of cheese.”

My brow knits. “Seriously?”

“He said I was too nice. He didn’t want to be with me, but he still wanted a cracker. Apparently, my food is enough for him, but I’m not.”

I scoff. “I’m pretty sure that goes against all the codes and bylaws in the handbook of How to Treat A Woman.”

Arden’s chocolate-brown eyes are shot with red, but they twinkle the slightest bit. “I’m pretty sure I’d like to chuck that handbook at the back of his head. Please tell me it comes in hardcover?”

I smile, pleased she’s retained her sense of humor in the face of the ultimate bonehead move. “It does, and also, on behalf of all men everywhere, I want to let you know that he’s officially won the Dickhead of the Year Award. The guy committee has unanimously voted for him to receive it because the kind of shit he pulled gives men a bad name.”

She offers a contrite smile. “That’s why I was throwing the cheese. I’m sorry I hit you.”

“I’m just glad it wasn’t the bottle of wine you were practicing your shot put skills with. Wait. I don’t want to give you any ideas.” I grab the open wine bottle and hide it behind me.

“I promise I won’t throw the wine at you.” She cracks a grin through the tears.

Carefully, I set the wine back on the blanket. “Or almonds. Those can pack a punch too. You might have