Polly wasn’t happy. “What was that about?” Kit asked her. “Why did Jon want to talk to you? What was so important that he needed you to step outside with him?”

“He wanted to apologize for a shitty thing he did a long time ago.”

“What did he do?”

They’d reached Kit’s car and Polly faced her. “He took credit for something I did, and then stole my biggest account from me, earning him a big fat bonus and a promotion, when both should have been mine. Schmuck.”

“And he feels bad now?” Kit asked, unlocking the car doors.

“Apparently so.”

“He is a schmuck,” Kit agreed as they both climbed into her car.

“I know.” Polly was silent a moment as Kit started the engine and merged with traffic. “Worse, we were seeing each other back then. He was supposed to be my boyfriend. I thought he was the one.”

Three

The one, Kit silently repeated, after dropping off Polly at her condo complex and heading for home, a charming 1895 Queen Anne in Oakland’s Highland Park.

She’d owned her house only since June, and it still needed a ton of work, but she didn’t mind. Her dad and uncles had helped with some of the bigger home improvement projects, while she’d tackled other do-it-yourself projects on her own after getting inspired by HGTV. Some of the projects hadn’t turned out so well, but just trying to do something outside her comfort zone had been rewarding. Exciting.

Her love affair with her house had helped her unplug from Love.com. She didn’t need a man to give her stability and security, not when she was doing it for herself, and she was so happy in her little house, with its high ceilings and big windows and red dining room with the glossy white trim.

There were moments when a little voice niggled inside of her, teasing her with possibilities…Wouldn’t it be even more wonderful to share her beautiful little house with someone else? Wouldn’t she love to have men’s shirts and coats hanging in the closet with hers again? Kit had liked seeing Richard’s suits and button-down shirts across from dresses and blouses in their condo. His clothes gave the closet a sense of order. Purpose. She felt more grounded somehow, seeing his starched blue shirts and white shirts in close proximity to her coral and peach and burnt-cherry sweaters and dresses. Kit loved color. Warm, lush color. Maybe redheads weren’t supposed to embrace color, but Kit couldn’t stay away from it.

And, of course, Richard, the engineer, hated color. He was always asking Kit to tone it down…her laugh, her voice, her curls, her personality. Why had she stayed with him? How could she have imagined that she’d be happy with a man who would decorate their condo only in shades of gray, taupe, and beige?

Were those even real colors?

She rubbed at her forehead, disgusted with herself for wasting ten years on someone who hadn’t ever truly loved her, and didn’t really want her. Ridiculous. She’d never had great self-esteem, but still.

Kit parked and swiftly climbed the steps to her front door, grateful that over the summer Dad had installed automatic lights on her front porch so that she never came home to a dark house.

Dad was so good about doing little things like that. He’d always put his family first, and their safety was number one. He was generous with his time, too. Kit had thought all men would be like Dad. Wrong.

She was just shutting the front door behind her when her phone rang. It was her sister Sarah calling from Florida. Sarah was raising her children in Tampa Bay, as her husband, Boone, was a designated hitter for the Rays. “Hey, girl,” Kit said, locking the door behind her. “How are you?”

“Fine.