It Happened One Christmas. Leslie Kelly

I am actually glad the other company canceled. We’ve used them in the past and they’ve never had the response you did today. You’re wonderful with children.”

      Lucy smiled, appreciating the praise. It was funny—six years ago, she probably would have been horrified at it.

      Honestly, she wasn’t sure herself how it had happened. She just knew that, after two years in Paris, photographing cold-faced fashion models had lost all appeal. Same with old, lifeless buildings and stagnant landscapes.

      Then Kate had started having kids. Lucy had visited for summers and holidays, becoming a devoted godmother and falling head-over-heels for those babies. She had delighted in taking their portraits, finding in children’s faces an energy and spontaneity she seldom found anywhere else.

      So she’d gone back to New York. She’d set up a studio and begun exploring the amazingly creative world of little people. One thing had led to another, and then another. And soon she’d been getting calls from wealthy parents in other states, and had sold several shots to children’s catalogs and magazines.

      Who’d’ve ever thought it?

      Not her, that’s for sure. Nor would she ever have imagined that she’d really love what she was doing. But she did.

      Life, it seemed, took some strange turns, led you in directions you’d never have imagined. It had taken her from the windy city, to the Big Apple, then to another continent. And now right back to where she’d started, in Chicago.

      And back into Ross Marshall’s life.

      No, don’t even go there, she reminded herself. She wasn’t back in his life. She was in the same building with him for another five minutes, max. Then she could go back to forgetting about the guy. Forgetting how good he still looked to her. How his sexy voice thrilled her senses. How his touch had sent her out of her mind.

      How he’d once seemed like the guy she could love forever.

      4

      Then

       New York, December 23, 2005

      LUCY HAD TO GIVE THIS very handsome stranger— Ross—credit. He didn’t stand up and walk out of the coffee shop when she admitted she’d been fantasizing about separating an ex-boyfriend from part of his anatomy. He didn’t yelp, cringe, or reflexively drop a protective hand on his lap. None of the above. Instead he simply stared for a second, then let a loud burst of laughter erupt from his mouth.

      She smiled, too, especially because she hadn’t really been fantasizing about maiming Jude when this guy had walked up behind her. In fact, she’d been laughing at herself for having thought about it earlier. Somehow, her whole mood had shifted from the time she’d walked into the coffee shop until the moment this incredibly handsome man had approached her.

      Incredibly. Handsome.

      Around them, others in the café glanced over. Lucy wasn’t blind to the stares that lingered on him. Heaven knew, any woman with a broken-in vagina would stare. Heck, hers wasn’t broken-in and she could barely take her eyes off the guy!

      He’d been super-hot from across the room. Up close, now that she could see the tiny flecks in his stunning green eyes, the dazzling white smile, the slight stubble on his cheeks, well, he went from hot and sexy to smoking and irresistible. She’d actually shivered when their hands had met, unable to think a single thought except to wonder how those strong, rough fingers would feel sliding across her skin.

      Gorgeous, sexy, strong. And a sense of humor.

      Why couldn’t she have met this guy on a day when she didn’t loathe every creature with a penis?

      You don’t. Not every guy.

      Truthfully? Not even one. She didn’t loathe Jude. She would have had to care about him to hate him, and, honestly, having really thought about it, she knew she hadn’t cared much at all.