A Hero to Come Home To by Marilyn Pappano

Author:Marilyn Pappano
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Romance, Family Life, Fiction, Contemporary, Contemporary Women
ISBN: 9781455520053
Publisher: Forever
Published: 2013-06-24T14:00:00+00:00

Jeff had hated to shop for anything besides electronics or tools he would rarely use. If it didn’t come with a plug or a USB connector, he wasn’t interested. Carly couldn’t say for sure that Dane enjoyed it, but he didn’t give off any of the disinterested guy signals Jeff had excelled at. He picked out the trim paint, estimated how much they needed, got a tub of caulking and a scraper to fill in any imperfections.

“Knowing how you like perfection,” he said drily with a glance her way.

“Aw, come on.” She bumped him with her shoulder. “Doesn’t everyone want things as close to perfect as possible?”

“You know perfection rarely exists.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course it does. You just have to have a realistic view of it.”

Now he mimicked her eye-roll. “Perfection by definition is perfect.”

“But who defines perfect? We do. My vision of perfect might not match yours, but to me, it’s still perfect.”

“I bet your family would have a few arguments for that.”

“Oh, yeah. But it’s not their life or their perfect, so their opinion is just that.”

As they left the hardware department, Carly saw the perfume counter ahead and remembered that she hadn’t replaced her fragrance yet. She hadn’t worn Jeff’s favorite again, though. It was excellent support for her argument: He’d thought it the perfect perfume and she hadn’t been wild about it.

She wondered what Dane would find perfect, then immediately discounted the thought. A fragrance that she wore every day had to meet her approval, no one else’s.

And she wasn’t ready yet. It would be kind of like packing up Jeff’s clothes or selling his car or taking off his wedding band. It would be saying good-bye and moving on in a way that she couldn’t take back.

She paid for her purchases, and they went to Dane’s truck, so new it still had that new smell. She gave him a choice of restaurants in town, and he chose Luca’s, a small Italian place that occupied an old house just a block away from CaraCakes.

Though it wasn’t even six o’clock, most of the dining rooms the hostess led them through were full. They got a table for two in the corner of what had once been a library. Dark paneling still hung on the walls, and dark velvet drapes at the windows. It was her favorite room, especially when a fire simmered in the small marble fireplace. Now only a trio of candles burned there.

“You lived in Italy,” she commented as she spread the damask napkin on her lap. “Do you still like American Italian food?”

“Lasagna is good pretty much wherever it’s made.”

“There’s a town a few hours southeast of here, just a little bit of nothing where there are a half dozen well-known Italian restaurants and a great Italian market.”

“Krebs.” A smile warmed his eyes. “I’ve been there. When I was a kid, my dad liked to take Saturday trips every couple months. I think we visited every out-of-the-way restaurant with a reputation within half a day’s driving distance of Dallas.

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