Page 71 of Catch and Release Groom

Fresh pain squeezed her heart, so raw there was no chance of hiding it. “Well, of courseIfelt it. He’s funny and sexy, and once he opens up, surprisingly easy to talk to. At times he can be a huge grouch, but that also makes it that much sweeter when I’m able to tease out a smile or a laugh.”

Happiness stitched through her, a bittersweet stab that tugged at the thread of memories. “He’d do anything for his dog, for his friends, and doesn’t hesitate to help anyone in need. He literally charges into dangerous situations to rescue strangers, and he doesn’t even realize how brave and incredible he is.”

Suffice it to say, she had it bad.

Here came the kicker, though, and it was a doozy. “But he didn’t want me back.”

Unable to stifle her sniff, Imogen strode down the hall and ducked into the bathroom. “I spilled my guts, too. I told him I cared about him and asked if he’d consider pursuing a relationship, and…” She expelled the last of her breath in a harsh whoosh and peeled off and wadded the three remaining squares of toilet paper. “He didn’t even want to try.”

“Oh, hon,” Constance said, “I wish we were there to hug you.”

“Here.” Margot scooted to the edge of the couch and brought the phone closer so she and Constance could envelop her in a virtual group hug.

Even more amazing, Imogen felt it. With the barrier of the screen, she didn’t even mind the excess of chihuahua tongue. Her new friends assured her she was strong and brave, and that if Easton couldn’t see what a catch she was, that was his loss.

Mallory said similar when they’d met for coffee and a recap, and while she didn’t necessarily agree, Imogen at least believed she was worth so much more than how logical or sensible she could be. Passion mattered to her, and now that she’d experienced the intense connection she’d always craved, she wouldn’t settle for a lack of it again.

As she was still a realist, she understood that, compared to Easton, she’d always have to settle for less.

But she wouldn’t settle for second place, either.

Afraid she’d ruin all pretenses of being okay if she didn’t wrap up the conversation, she thanked them for the chat and wished them well, with promises on both sides to keep in touch.

As soon as she disconnected the call, Imogen let her smile fall and used every square centimeter of the mangled, two-ply layers of tissue to blow her nose.

In the span of a few months, she’d endured two devastating heartbreaks. The first involved breaking the news to a man she loved but was no longer in love with, and knowing she’d hurt him, regardless of her intention. As awful as that loss was, she’d projected her thoughts to the future and the idea of meeting someone with whom she could share passion and comfort, love and friendship, who also understood who she intrinsically was and could speak to her soul.

She’d never expected to find him so quickly after breaking off her engagement.

Never imagined what’d happen if she fell hard and fast, only to crash and burn and have to start healing over again.

Chapter Thirty

“Did you forget your key again?” Imogen called from her cozy corner of Mallory’s couch. Also known as her current bedroom, since finding an apartment in her price range wasn’t easy.

Her laptop warmed her thighs, and the list of links and their even tinier descriptions blurred as she rubbed gritty sleep from her eyes. In a matter of weeks, she’d gone from borderline obsessed with rationale to paranoid the universe was pissed at her.

Currently, karma was teaching her a lesson for all the times she’d denied someone a mortgage loan—which seemed especially unfair, asshedidn’t set those guidelines.

The knock came again, and Imogen sighed and set her laptop aside. “Coming!”

Crumbs of potato chips fell from the folds of her shirt as she stood, and she wiped her fingertips on the booty shorts beneath her oversized tee.

In order to find a place to live, she’d worked remotely from this same couch for the past week, putting in long hours that were more about occupying her brain than catching up. As she reached up to redo a messy bun she’d worn so long it could no longer be undone without conditioner, she caught a whiff, andyikes, it was definitely time for a shower.

While she was determined to dust herself off and engage in social activities again instead of watching the three-part documentary about Ancient Rome on a constant loop, she was still working on the execution. With each apartment she toured, her gut would scream it was all wrong the entire time, and she’d learned to listen.

That didn’t mean having her life so up in the air wasn’t stressful. When the idea of heading into the office and facing all the awkward questions caused her throat to close up, she’d requested another week off to sort it out, which was unusual enough her boss asked if she was actually okay.

Imogen scooted around the coffee table, stepped over her suitcase and other belongings with no place to call their own, and padded to the door.

Since it was what it was as far as her appearance, she ran her tongue over her teeth and swung open the door.

Then froze in place while her heart dropped to the floor.

Easton Reeves, the very guy she absolutely wasn’t going to spend any more time thinking about, towered over her, filling the majority of the doorway and stealing all her air.

What was he doing here?

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