He didn’t want to play it safe now.

      Dave slipped his arms around Kara and drew her to him ever so carefully, a nurseryman with a new cactus he was still trying to determine how best to handle without getting pierced.

      “I remember,” he replied, his voice low, his mind already trying to figure out how to survive the turbulent ride looming ahead.

      Part of him was fervently hoping that the impact of that first kiss was, for some unknown reason, all in his imagination.

      Part of him was hoping it hadn’t been.

      Dearest Reader,

      People are always asking me where I get my ideas for stories. Most of the time, they are knitted together from bits and pieces that come from newspapers, magazine interviews, TV shows and conversations around me. It’s usually hard to trace back an idea to its origin. That’s not the case this time. This story has its roots in handwritten letters, then typed ones and finally, e-mails, all of which have spanned over the last thirty-plus years.

      I first met Nancy, my oldest young friend, in third grade. She was poised and pretty and I idolised her. Slowly, because I was shy back then, we became friends. We never stopped. I moved to California, she remained in New York. We wrote sporadically. And then we both became mothers at the same time. She had a son, I had a daughter. Hers was born in April, mine in July. And over the years, one or the other of us has wistfully said, “What if …?” Luckily, from our kids’ point of view, there is not a chance in the world that our wistfulness will bear fruit since there’s three thousand miles between the two homes. So, I did the next best thing. I imagined it on paper. And hopefully, you will be entertained (and for the record, if you’re wondering, neither one of us is going to tell our kids about this book).

      Thank you for reading and, as ever, I wish you someone to love who loves you back.

      Best,

       Marie Ferrarella

      About the Author

      USA TODAY bestselling and RITA^® Award-winning author MARIE FERRARELLA has written more than two hundred books, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website, www.marieferrarella.com.

      The Last

      First Kiss

      Marie Ferrarella

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      To

      Nancy Parodi Neubert,

      My Youngest Oldest Friend

      Chapter One

      “Oh, c’mon, Lisa, think about it. What have we got to lose?”

      Maturity, for the most part, had been kind to Paulette Calhoun, leaving few of the customary telltale age lines on her face. Closing in on sixty, the tastefully dressed strawberry blonde with deep blue eyes leaned her still very trim body in, as if the proximity would add more weight to her urgings and win the other woman over.

      Lisa Scarlatti, younger by three months, sat facing her lifelong friend across a black lacquer-top table for two. She held a cup of tea between her hands, the warmth just beginning to fade.

      “Well, offhand, I’d say our kids. If Dave so much as smells a romantic setup, quiet though he normally is, he’ll read me the riot act. And, if memory serves, I’m pretty sure that goes double for your independent, outspoken Kara.”

      Laughter sparkled in Paulette’s eyes. “They won’t smell a setup because they know that we know better than to try one, which is the beauty of all this.”

      Lisa frowned. Her heart fought with her brain. Since they lived a good sixty miles apart, she and Paulette got together for lunch several times a year. More often now that they both found themselves unavoidably and sadly unattached. Paulette’s husband had died almost thirteen years ago, while Lisa’s had passed away after an accident eight years ago.

      “I never thought of alienating my child as having anything to do with beauty,” she told Paulette. “For heaven’s sake, Thomas and I put that boy through medical school. I’m finally coming out from under that staggering debt. Let me enjoy Dave for five minutes before I do something that will have him renouncing me in the public square.”

      Paulette rolled her eyes. “And here I thought I was the dramatic one. Dave’s not going to renounce you,” she insisted. The subject of setting up their children had been on her mind ever since she’d heard about her second cousin’s overwhelming success in playing matchmaker for not just her daughter, but her friends’ daughters—and son—as well. Hell, if Maizie could do it, she could, too. And so could Lisa.

      “Listen, this plan is perfect,” Paulette enthused. “You said your niece’s little boy has a birthday coming up, right?”

      There was a trap here somewhere. Lisa knew Paulette too well for there not to be. “Right,” she replied cautiously.

      “And what, according to you, does Melissa’s adorable son, Ryan, want more than anything in the whole world for his birthday?”

      Lisa sighed. She saw where this was going.

      “‘The Kalico Kid’ video game,” Lisa finally said because Paulette was obviously waiting.

      Nodding, Paulette asked, “And what is impossible to get?”

      Why were they playing this game? “‘The Kalico Kid’ video game.”

      Paulette’s wide smile grew wider. “And where does my daughter work?”

      Lisa closed her eyes. She was being sucked into this, but there was no other course open to her. “At the video game company that puts out ‘The Kalico Kid.’”

      “Exactly,” Paulette declared with feeling, warming to her subject. “So, since Dave is a softhearted sweetheart who likes making his cousin’s little boy happy, and Kara has access to copies of the all-but-impossible-to-get game, it’s all very simple.” She paused for a moment for effect, then delivered her plan’s grand finale. “I ask Kara to get a copy and deliver it to Dave when he’s volunteering at that free clinic near where Kara works—”

      “And just like that—” Lisa snapped her fingers, a touch of uncustomary sarcasm in her voice “—they’ll see each other, and angels will sing while the sound of heavenly music echoes everywhere.”

      “No.” Paulette dismissed her friend’s convoluted scenario. “Dave’ll be grateful and offer to take Kara out to dinner to repay her for her kindness. You raised a very polite son, Lisa.” Paulette folded her hands before the still half-full teacup. “And then they can take it from there.”

      “Maybe there’ll be no place to take it,” Lisa suggested.

      She knew how stubborn her son could be. He hadn’t told her anything close to personal in more than ten years. The only way she deduced that he was unattached was that he kept coming back to his childhood home on his days off. Much as she loved seeing him, she wanted him to spend his days off with a woman worthy of him, nurturing a relationship.

      “At least we would have tried,” Paulette insisted. She attempted another tactic. Putting her hand on top of her friend’s, she peered up at her, a silent plea in her eyes. “Don’t you remember how we used to all go on family vacations together when our husbands were alive, just the six of us? And you and I used to watch the kids play and dream about Dave and Kara getting married?”

      “We used to watch them fight,” Lisa corrected. “And anyway, that was a long time ago. It hasn’t been the six of us for a while now,” she reminded Paulette. “Thomas and Neil aren’t around any longer.” The