Free Save the Date by Mary Kay Andrews

we get some sleep around here?”
    Maybe he couldn’t sleep because he was dreading the coming morning. And seeing Poppy’s owner again.
    The woman was a pistol, for sure. Her name was Cara Kryzik, Ryan told him. She wasn’t bad-looking, if you went for that kind of look. Which he didn’t. He’d always enjoyed blondes: tall, cool, athletic blondes. Like Zoey.
    This Cara person, on the other hand, was the opposite of his type. She had shoulder-length, flyaway not-quite-brown, not-quite-blond hair. Big brown eyes that glittered dangerously when she was pissed off, a heart-shaped face, high cheekbones, and full, pink, lips that reminded him of overblown roses.
    She dressed funny, too. That night, at the wedding, she’d worn an old-fashioned-looking pink silk rig that looked more like a nightgown, with its lacy inset bodice. She’d somehow managed to look sexy and demure at the same time, although he totally didn’t get how that look worked with pink cowboy boots.
    Every time he’d turned around at the reception, she’d been right there in his face, telling him off, demanding that he return her dog.
    His lamebrain brother, Ryan, found the whole scenario highly entertaining. But then, Ryan had notoriously eccentric taste in women. Take Torie, for instance.
    “She’s worth the trouble,” Ryan said, when Jack pointed out the differences in their personalities. “I like a woman with fire.” Especially, he’d added, “in bed.”
    It had been Ryan who’d coaxed Cara into dancing, despite her protests. His brother was a consummate party animal. He’d danced with almost all the women at the reception, including the seven-year-old flower girl, most of the bridesmaids, and their arthritic aunt Betty.
    And he’d forced Jack onto the dance floor, too.
    “You’re my best man,” he’d informed Jack, who would have preferred to melt into the woodwork. “It’s on the list of duties. Right up there with planning the bachelor party and making the first toast.”
    So Jack had danced with their mother, he’d danced with Aunt Betty, he’d danced with Torie, and he’d even, at one point, been tricked into dancing with Cara Kryzik.
    Torie had dragged him from the safety of the bar to do some stupid line dance, and he’d somehow ended up right beside Cara, who glowered at him with undisguised venom. Two dances later, Ryan shoved him into Cara’s clutches.
    It was a slow dance. She was a decent dancer, and she actually felt pretty good in his arms, with his hand sliding over the smooth pink silk, and the warm, sun-browned skin of her back and bare arms. Her figure was full and rounded in the right places. She wore the lightest of perfumes and her hair smelled faintly of cherries.
    But then it happened. Louie Armstrong’s wonderful world ended, and the DJ was playing “Come Monday.”
    He felt his face flush and his feet grow leaden. She’d looked up at him in shock. And that was that. Jimmy fuckin’ Buffet. He’d fled like a thief in the night.
    Smooth move, he told himself now, reliving that moment. Real smooth move, Ace.
    So, just to recap. He’d stolen this woman’s dog. Called the cops on her, accused her of stalking, insulted her, and then abandoned her in the middle of a dance.
    She, in turn, had called him a jerk and a liar. She was moody and dressed weird, and according to Ryan, she was just coming off a lousy divorce and seemed to hate all men, with the exception of her gay assistant.
    He flopped over on his other side, facing away from the still-vigilant Poppy. Tomorrow morning, first thing, he would have to return the dog and face her wrath.

 
    8
     
    Cara heard a buzzing from somewhere far away. Still dead asleep, she flung an arm in the general vicinity of the nightstand, searching for the alarm, to shut it off. She slapped wildly in the direction of the clock, but the buzzing wouldn’t stop.
    Annoyed, she flopped over, opened one eye, and stared at the clock. It wasn’t buzzing. And she hadn’t set