“Still, it was extremely unprofessional.”

“No, it wasn’t. You were upset, and it just happened. We’re in an intense situation here dealing with my mom’s illness and the isolation of the island and everything that goes with it. I’d like to think this isn’t your typical job.”

“It’s not. It’s the best job I’ve ever had, and I’d hate to do anything to mess it up.”

“Then let’s not allow it to mess things up for either of us.”

“Thank you for being so nice about it.”

He smiled, hoping to reassure her. “It was no hardship to kiss you, Hope.”

“It’s been a really long time since I’ve kissed anyone. I probably suck at it.”

“Ahhh, no, you definitely don’t suck at it.” Something compelled him to take a step closer to her, closing the small distance that remained. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that kissing is just like riding a bike? You never forget the fundamentals, no matter how much time passes?”

“I, um… Your mom. I should get her up and ready for her appointment this morning.”

Startled to realize he’d been on the verge of kissing her again, Paul took a step back. “Leave at eight forty-five?”

Hope nodded.

“I’ll be ready.”

She started toward the house, and Paul fell into step with her. The early morning sunshine beat down upon them as another crystal-clear September day began.

“Is this going to make everything weird between us now?” he asked.

“No,” she said quickly—almost too quickly. “At least I hope not.”

“I won’t let it if you won’t.”

“Deal.”

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God… Those three little words had been on the tip of Hope’s tongue since the early morning hours when she’d lost her mind and kissed her boss! After crying all over him. Oh. My. God. The crying was understandable in light of Lisa’s sad death, but the kissing? In no way was that understandable or acceptable or justifiable or any other –able word that she could think of.

After everything she’d been through to start a new life for herself and Ethan. To risk it all so foolishly… It made her feel queasy as she went through the morning routine of getting Marion up and showered and dressed, all while answering a million questions about why she was there and who did she think she was helping her into the shower.

Different day, same questions. Such was the sad routine of working with dementia patients. In her old life, she’d worked at a memory care facility that specialized in dementia in all its many forms. She was used to the questions, the outrage, the indignity and the despair of the relentless disease that stole people from themselves and their families.