Knowing You

 

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CHAPTER ONE

N
OTHING LIKE A WEDDING
to make you feel more … single.

But Stephanie, “Stevie,” Ryan wasn't complaining. She liked being single. She was good at it. Although at the moment, she felt about as conspicuous as a stowaway on Noah's Ark. Everywhere she looked, there were couples. From teenagers, clinging to each other like survivors of a sinking ship, to the Swansons, whose combined age would probably make a decent SAT score. Even the grade-schoolers were paired off, for a little hair-pulling and name-calling.

Yep, in a world of matched luggage, Stevie was a duffel bag.

Still, she was okay with that, most of the time. It was only on days like this when she really felt the lack of a man in her life. Although the last time she'd
had
a man in her life, she'd ended up wishing she'd stayed single. So, what was the point, really?

Half the town of Chandler, California, had turned
out for Carla Candellano's wedding to Jackson Wyatt. And even though the bride and groom were long gone, off to their wedding night at a luxury hotel in Monterey, the reception had kept right on rolling.

In the open meadow at the edge of town, tiny white lights had been strung in the trees and across a makeshift dance floor in the clearing. Off to the left, the Pacific Ocean roared out a solid, steady beat as waves pounded against the shore and slammed into the rocks lining the beach. Moonlight poured down from a clear late-summer sky and the stars looked as though God had hung strings of lights through the night sky to help with the celebration.

The party was finally winding down—there were only a few diehards left out on the meadow. And though Stevie's fingers were tapping to the music, she was ready to make her getaway. All she wanted now was a pint of fudge brownie ice cream, an old movie, and her jammies, not necessarily in that order.

She glanced down the length of the white-cloth-covered table. Grabbing her chance, she stood up and slunk away while most of the Candellanos were busy talking. Quickly she made her way along the tree line toward town. Music and the noise of the crowd faded into the distance, sounding almost ghostly as she moved farther away from the party. Humming along with the music, she heard twigs snap beneath her feet as a cool evening breeze drifted in off the ocean and skittered along her skin. She shivered but lifted her face into the wind, loving the feel of the sea-scented air surrounding her.

She sighed. It had been a good day all in all. Her
best friend was married to a man who clearly adored her. And Stevie had managed to escape the maid of honor's curse of being trapped with the most boring man in attendance. Which in this case would have meant Frank Pezzini.

“Oh, man,” she murmured. “Now that Carla's off the market, I wonder if this means Frank will start turning his charms on me?” A sobering thought. Another shiver rippled through her, but this one had nothing to do with the wind. Ye gods, just thinking about having to sit and chat with a man who had shined up his best white patent-leather shoes for the wedding was enough to make her run for the hills.

Stevie hurried just a bit, eager now to put Wonder Frank well behind her. An old Supremes song soared from the distance and she picked up her pace, keeping time with Diana Ross in her prime. Taking a shortcut through the trees, Stevie lifted the hem of her dress and ducked her head to avoid low-hanging twisted branches, stretched out across the path like black leafy arms. Then one of those arms snatched a handful of her hair and twisted it around a gnarly piece of bark.

“Ow.” Stevie skidded to a stop, her feet sliding on the leaf-littered ground. “Damn it.” She grabbed at the top of her head as she twisted to try to escape. But she only managed to knot it further. “Oh, this is perfect,” she muttered, and slanted a glance toward the crowd, too far away now for her to expect any help. “This is just great. Now what do I do?” She had two choices. Stand here and become “one” with the tree … or rip her hair out at the roots.

Neither one worked for her.

“Come on, tree, give me a break here, okay?” She reached up and worked her fingers around the snarl, but every time she moved, she only made it tighter. So much for the “good day” theory. “Look, you seem like a nice tree, but—”

“Would you two like to be alone?”

A deep voice, familiar. With more than a touch of laughter in it. Turning as far as she was able, Stevie glanced to one side and spotted two long tuxedo-clad legs. Thank God. The cavalry. “Paul?”

The legs moved closer. “Yeah, it's me. What are you doing?”

Dumb question. She tried to turn her head farther so she could get a look at his face. But he was too tall for that and she had to settle for a glimpse of his white shirt. “Oh,” she muttered. “Just hanging around.”

“Very funny.”

“Gee, I'm sorry I'm not at my witty best—what with being held captive by a tree and all.”

“I can wait.”

She kicked at him, but since she was caught and he wasn't, he managed to avoid the toe of her strappy little sandal. Probably just as well. The way she was going, she might have broken a toe.

“You're enjoying this, aren't you?” she accused.

“I shouldn't be, should I?”

“You're just gonna stand there? Is that it?”

He chuckled and she glared at his knees.

“I'm not worried,” Paul said, his deep voice rumbling out around her. “I think your … ‘bark' is worse than your bite.”

“Oh, tree humor. Swell.” She tugged at her hair
again and tears welled up in her eyes. “Are you gonna help me or just stand there?”

“I'm trying to decide.” He came even closer and bent down, hands on his knees, so he could look her square in the eyes. One corner of his mouth lifted into a half-smile and she gritted her teeth. “You know,” he said, “seeing you like this … it's déjà vu.”

She frowned at him and seriously considered ripping her hair out. It'd be a lot less infuriating. But it would hurt, too. So she forced herself to take a deep breath, bite back her aggravation, and ask, “Déjà vu?”

“Yeah. Only the last time, your ponytail was caught in the hinge of our back door and—”

Memories flooded her brain and she nodded, then winced at the accompanying pain. “And you left me standing there, caught, while you and Bill Wilder went to the beach.”

“Hey, I was seventeen.”

“And I was stuck for a half hour.”

“How long you been here now?” he asked.

“A couple of minutes.”

He looked up at the branch where her hair was in a knot, then lowered his gaze to hers again. Grinning, he said, “Then for old times' sake, I'll be back in a half hour.”

Stevie couldn't believe it when he stood up and moved past her. “Paul?” She twisted her body, trying to look behind her, but it was just too hard, what with the tree having a death grip on her head and all. “Paul, if you leave me here, I'll…”

“You'll what?” he challenged from behind her.

“I'll…” Think, Stevie. What could she do to get
back at him? Sabotage his computer? Tell his mother? Hmm.… “Okay, fine, I can't think of anything while my head's caught in a tree … but once I'm loose…”

“Oh, now there's incentive to help you out.”

“Paul—”

“Kidding. Just kidding.”

He walked back to her and stood right in front of her. Stevie's head hit the middle of his chest and she leaned into him while he tugged at her hair. The scent of Old Spice drifted to her and she smiled to herself. An old-fashioned scent—but on Paul, it worked. He was warm and solid and comforting—now that he'd finally decided to give her a hand.

“Why'd you have your hair all piled up on top of your head, anyway?”

“I am maid of honor, hear me roar. Ouch.”

“Sorry.”

“Uh-huh,” she muttered, and winced as he pulled and tugged. “Anyway, ponytails are not the preferred hairdo for weddings.”

“Your hair looks good down.”

“If I have any left when you're finished, I'll keep that in mind.”

“Everybody's a critic.” He tugged again. “There.”

“Free at last, et cetera,” she muttered, and moved out from under the tree before she slowly straightened up, eyeing that branch like an enemy. Lifting one hand to the top of her head, she rubbed her aching scalp and felt where her wedding “do” had fallen apart. Fingering several long stray locks of hair hanging to her shoulders, she said, “Well, I bet this looks great.”

She shifted a glance at Paul. He folded his arms
across his chest and shrugged shoulders that somehow looked a lot broader in a tux. “Wedding's over anyway; take it down.”

“Good idea,” she said, and reached for the remaining pins holding half of her hair up. She pulled the last few out, then shook her hair free, running her fingers through the mass until most of the bark and leaves were gone.

“More me, now?” she asked, smiling up at him.

He just stood there, looking at her. In the pale dappled moonlight she couldn't really see his dark brown eyes very well. Those wire-framed glasses he wore acted something like a shield. But then, she'd always felt as though if Paul didn't want you to know what he was feeling, you'd never be able to guess it.

Tall, dark, and gorgeous, Paul and his twin, Nick, were as different as two men could be. Paul was thoughtful, brilliant, and mysterious. Nick was loud, athletic, and in-your-face outgoing. But it wasn't just their personalities that made them different. Though both of them were total hunks, despite being twins, they looked nothing alike. Nick was a little taller, a little more muscle-bound, and had the once-broken nose of an athlete, while Paul's features were cleaner, sharper, and somehow more … Kurt Russellish.

“Oh, yeah,” Paul said, his mouth tipping up into the crooked grin she knew so well. “This is definitely the Stevie we all know and love. Tree bark in her hair and a tear in her dress.”

“A tear?” She looked down. There it was. Right at the hem. She must have stepped on the damn thing during this trek through the “wilderness.” “Just … perfect.”