Perfect Fit by Carly Phillips

the wedding invitation, right?” he asked.
    She smiled brightly. “You bet. I RSVP’d right away.”
    Mike merely nodded.
    Joe waved in dismissal. “I don’t pay attention to things like that. Who’s coming is Annie’s job. I just want to marry the woman.”
    Cara’s pleased laugh expressed how she felt about that sentiment. “Well, I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it.”
    “And not a minute too soon,” Joe said.
    A happy couple, Mike thought, and took a drink, enjoying the first burn as the liquor slid down his throat.
    “I knew you two would be good for each other.” Cara smiled, and warmth seeped through Mike’s veins.
    He tried to tell himself it was the alcohol hitting his system and not her megawatt grin.
    “Is Annie feeling well too?” Cara asked.
    “No MS episodes for a while now,” Joe said, then glanced toward the sound of his name. “Gotta go. I’m being summoned at the other end of the bar.”
    “Put it all on my tab,” Mike called out to the bartender before he made his escape.
    “That’s not necessary,” Cara said.
    He’d expected her protest. “Maybe not, but I’m doing it anyway.”
    She shrugged. “Thank you.”
    “You’re welcome. Now…what’s wrong?” he asked, bringing the subject back to where they were before Joe had interrupted.
    She frowned at him, and he discovered—or should he say rediscovered—her dimples. “I had a rough day.” She took a long sip of her drink. “No, that’s wrong. I have it good. Someone else is going through a bad time.”
    The pain in her voice bothered him. “Anyone I know?”
    She shook her head. “I volunteer at Havensbridge.”
    “The women’s shelter.” At her surprised look, he said, “I know we refer domestic violence victims there.”
    “One of the women…she’s so demoralized, and I’m afraid she won’t hold out long enough to get help, that she’ll go back to her ex.”
    He met her gaze. “You can’t make her choices for her.” Despite knowing better, he placed his hand over hers on the bar.
    Cara visibly stiffened, but he didn’t remove his hand. “All you can do is give her your advice.”
    “Sometimes words aren’t enough. I ought to know.”
    It was a small enough town that Mike knew that her parents didn’t have the best marriage. Her father wasn’t the nicest person around, especially when he’d been drinking. What Mike didn’t know was whether Cara had ever been on the receiving end of his abuse. The thought made Mike want to hit something or someone himself.
    “Cara?”
    “Hmm?”
    He wanted to ask if her father had ever hurt her. More, he wanted to protect her from anyone else harming her either. But she didn’t need his help any more than Mike knew what to do with these crazy feelings she inspired.
    “Do you want to dance?” he heard himself ask instead.
Not bright, buddy
, Mike thought to himself.
    She paused a beat before answering. “Why not,” she said at last.
    They wound their way through the morass of people and onto the crowded dance floor, the jukebox playing Adele. No sooner had they reached a comfortable spot than another slow, crooning song came on, and Mike had to wonder why the universe liked to toy with him this way. Still, he’d asked her to dance, and Lord knew he wanted her in his arms, so he held out his hand.
    She placed her smaller palm in his.
    He thought he’d been prepared for the crackle of electricity, but the zing that went through him was stronger than he’d remembered or anticipated. He pulled her into his embrace, hoping like hell he could control his body’s reaction because in this tight space, with her flush against him, there was no way she wouldn’t notice.
    She got to him.
    Cara didn’t talk, and neither did he. Somehow the ease with which she fit into his arms and the relaxed way they swayed to the music spoke for them.
    He ought to feel that uncomfortable itching sensation now, like the one he’d always used to experience when Tiffany tried to