“Almost all the men I met were coworkers, and I was too young for them.” It had come as a great surprise to her when a few of her colleagues had asked her out. By then, she’d traded her glasses for contacts. Her other features had grown so that her nose had come into proportion. She’d entrusted herself to a skilled hair stylist and learned how to shop for clothing that complemented her. While it had been pleasant to discover that she no longer repelled men, that revelation had not converted to real-world application. “Besides, Dylan consumed my time. Whatever was left went to my master’s program.” She shrugged. “I seem to be missing the attraction gene.”

“What do you mean?”

“All the women I know swoon with attraction over men. I do not.”

Except . . . just as the words I do not left her mouth, she did experience a bout of physical attraction. A very real, warm tug of longing in response to Sebastian Grant.

Chills of delight—or maybe horror—slid along her arms.

Confound it!

What in the world was happening?

This felt like a pleasurable menstrual cramp even though the relationship between cramp and pleasurable was a non sequitur.

“I see,” he said.

A blush glided up her cheeks. She neutralized it by drawing in air and common sense. Romance and marriage were not for her. The sentimentality of it all! The bad choices, the weakness, the flawed thinking that women in love displayed!

She had God, and years ago she’d resolved that He was quite enough, thank you very much. Ever since, she’d worn her countercultural disinterest in a spouse like a badge of honor. “Number theory thrills me, but romance does not. I’ve found contentment in my long-standing relationship with Han Solo.”

“You’re a Han Solo fan?”

“Very much so.” She woke her phone to show him the Han Solo photo she’d set as her background image.

“Your name is Leah, so how could you not like him?”

“Naturally. Princess Leia and I don’t spell or pronounce our name the same way, but we both have a weakness for scoundrels.” She angled the phone back toward herself and saw that just five minutes remained before their meeting. “Shall we?” She gestured toward the bank of elevators.

He nodded.

She tossed her cup in the trash as they crossed the lobby.

Once inside the elevator with an old man and young woman in scrubs, Sebastian punched eight and up they went.

“Han Solo is clearly the best character in the Star Wars galaxy,” Sebastian commented.

“Clearly.”

“Luke was too wholesome.”

“Too wholesome,” she agreed.

They exited on their floor and entered a suite of offices. The receptionist invited them to sit and informed them that Donna McKelvey, hospital administrator, would be with them shortly.

They sat.