Kristan Higgins - Until There Was You

Eternal thanks to Maria Carvainis for her sure-handed guidance of my career, as well as to Chelsea Gilmore, Martha Guzman and Lyndsey Hemphill for all they do for me. At HQN Books and Harlequin Enterprises, thanks to my brilliant and kindhearted editor, Keyren Gerlach, as well as to Tara Parsons, Margaret Marbury ONeill and the rest of the Harlequin family for their tremendous enthusiasm and support.

Thanks also to

Kim Castillo, worlds best PR assistant and my favorite breakfast buddy; the wonderful, good-looking gang at CTRWA; Shaunee Cole, Karen Pinco and Kelly Morse, who once again helped me kick this bad boy off, and who made me have Liam be a motorcycle hottie instead of something girly; Jimmy Spencer, who took me out on his Harley (Im free whenever you want to do that again, Jimmy, just saying); my dear mom, Noel Higgins, who proofreads all my manuscripts (and gave me life and raised me and all that other good stuff); Annette Willis who once again answered questions on family law; Christine Michaud, forever my consultant on all things Red Sox (may they never defeat the Yankees again so long as I draw breath); Terence Keenan, who filled in all the blanks on motorcycle parts and forced me to watch Orange County Motors; the wonderful Diana Phung, who sends me all sorts of good stuff to keep the batteries charged. And very special thanks to Dena Umberger, Lillian Lanouette and Joe Avellar, who shared their experiences on being adopted.

Biggest thanks of all to my beautiful, wonderful, brilliant kids, whom I love more than I could ever put into words, and to my husband, who is simply the best man I know. Dont know how I got so lucky with you three, but Im very grateful I did.

And to Digger, my faithful dog, who was by my side for every book Ive written to date. Thanks, old friend. Miss you.

My One and Only

All I Ever Wanted

The Next Best Thing

Too Good to Be True

Just One of the Guys

Catch of the Day

Fools Rush In

This book is dedicated to Pauline Keenan,
my mother-in-law, who raised the man I love and
raised him right, who loves her grandchildren with all
her heart and who brings me chocolate whenever she
comes to visit. I owe you a lot more than a book, Polly!

E VERY WOMAN HAS A fantasy about running into the man who broke her heart. In such a fantasy, shed be walking down the street, her well-dressed and gorgeous husband (lets say George Clooney, shall we, circa Oceans 11 ) caressing her, perhaps nuzzling her neck because he cant help himself. Shed be wearing something fabulous, her hair would be glossy and perfect, she and Clooney would have just left the nicest restaurant in town, perhaps, or the poshest jewelry shop, because he insisted on buying her yet another token of his loveand then, oh, my goodness, whos that? Why its him, the first man she ever loved, the one who didnt just break her young and loyal heart, but shattered it. Hes not looking so good these days. No, the years have not been kind. Hes grayor, better yet, baldingand slackly overweight, his posture hunched. He looks at her, recognizing immediately that the biggest mistake of his life was dumping her. Pleasantries will be exchanged. Clooney will shake his hand, giving Adored Wife a wry look (Him? Really?) , and as the happy couple walks away to their snazzy car, the heartbreaker of old is already forgotten. But he will gaze longingly after her, wondering how he ever couldve been so blind.

That wouldve been nice. Much nicer, Posey Osterhagen acknowledged, than being dressed in the waitress uniform of Guten Tag, her parents restaurantdirndl, ruffled skirt and vest embroidered with dwarves (yes, dwarves), not to mention the green tights and painted red clogs. Cheeks bulging with the potato dumpling shed just crammed into her mouth, as she was at the near-fainting part of her flea-like metabolism. The back door opened and there he was, standing right in front of her.

Liam Declan Murphy, the first man shed ever loved, and the only man whod ever broken her heart.

No Clooney. No jewelry. Just an empty kitchen in an aging German restaurant and a fist-size dumpling practically splitting her cheeks.

Poseys mind blipped into the blue screen of deathall data erased. Fatal error. Speaking was clearly not an option.

His eyes were still that unnerving shade of clear, glacier green. Black hair showed no signs of gray or thinning. Still tall obviously, Posey, people dont usually shrink in their thirties. Still radiating his bad-boy You want me/I ignore you vibe. Ohbieber. This was just not good. Chew, Posey, chew, her brain instructed. She obeyed with difficulty. It was a big dumpling.