Tackle this massive patching job and put off the unpleasant task for another day, or suck it up, call Becky, and get the job done?

Don’t procrastinate, Cox. Just do it.

Sensible advice.

Especially since those few minutes he’d spent with Grace in his office yesterday had confirmed everything his sister-in-law had said. The forensic pathologist with the ginger hair and animated hazel eyes might not be The One, to borrow Kathleen’s term, but if she wasn’t, she’d given him a preview of the sizzle to expect when the right woman did come along.

And Becky wasn’t her.

If he didn’t take care of this before this day ended, their usual Wednesday dinner out tomorrow would be worse than awkward. Tell her up front, the meal would be a bust. Wait until the end, the evening would be interminable—and nerve-wracking.

Tonight was the optimal choice.

He set down the compound and knife, sent a silent plea for courage heavenward, and pressed her number.

After four rings, it rolled to voicemail.

Odd.

Nate ended the call without leaving a message.

She always answered her phone. And on a Tuesday night at this hour she’d be with her mom, cell in her pocket. His call shouldn’t roll. Unless she’d sensed this conversation was coming and—

His phone began to vibrate in his hand, and Becky’s name appeared on the screen.

He punched the talk button. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Sort of.” She sounded winded. “There was an incident with Mom, and we were trying to calm her down.”

“Is she okay?”

“For the moment. What’s up? I don’t usually hear from you on Tuesdays.”

“I know.” He walked over to the window and propped a shoulder against the frame, surveying the bucolic field backed by woodland. Unfortunately, the peaceful scene didn’t work its usual soothing magic. “I wanted to ask if I could drop by your place for a few minutes later, after you get home from visiting your mom.”

Silence.

“Um . . . it could be late. I may have to hang around here longer than usual. I’ll see you tomorrow, won’t I?” The hint of apprehension in her voice suggested she already had an inkling about the topic he had in mind.

And she didn’t want to face it tonight.

Waiting wasn’t going to make the break any easier, but giving her the requested twenty-four hours to adjust to the idea and mentally prepare for the hard conversation ahead was the least he could do.

Even if he’d be on edge until this was over.

“Yes. I’ll pick you up at—”

“Why don’t I meet you instead? The, uh, seminar I’m taking this week has been running late.”

“No problem.” In fact, that would be less awkward. They could go their separate ways after dinner—literally and figuratively.

“Nate, could we eat at the Spotted Hen?”

That was different. But it was her favorite place. Truth be told, she’d have been content to give the diner all their business if he hadn’t suggested they venture farther afield for their Wednesday night dinners.