Dominique reached her home but sat in the driveway with the car idling. She wasn’t ready to go into her big, empty house and even emptier bed. So she headed toward her favorite spot back up on the boulevard. It wasn’t quite Cheers, but she ate there often and everyone at this cozy Italian establishment knew her name.

Frankie greeted her at the bar and poured her favorite Chianti without her asking. She requested a menu and after ordering an appetizer settled into the comfy bar chair to shoot the breeze and dish the dirt with the guy who seemed to know everything that went on from one end of Ventura to the other. Within minutes she’d finished half her Chianti and ordered another, threatening to max out her two-drink limit before her food arrived. The wine, cozy setting, and friendly camaraderie between her and Frankie had Dominique more relaxed than she’d been all day. So she was totally unprepared for how her body froze up seconds later when a heavy hand squeezed her shoulder and a flutter-causing voice whispered in her ear.

“Well, well,” Jake murmured, his breath like a hot melody on her ear lobe, sending a chorus of fire throughout her body. “Fancy meeting you here.”

10

10

Dominique let out a shaky breath as Jake came from behind her to slide on to the next bar seat. “Jake.”

He didn’t respond but instead waved over Frankie and ordered a beer. He looked at her, his expression unreadable. Was it anger? Disgust? Disappointment? Hurt? Dominique couldn’t tell, so she took another sip of wine and waited for the lambasting she felt was sure to come.

Jake eyed her again before taking a long swig of his brew. He placed the glass on the table, ran a strong, thick thumb over the condensation formed outside it and then leaned back in the chair. Eyes boring into Dominique’s, his voice was deceptively soft, his question simple. “Why?”

Dominique lowered her eyes, grateful to the waiter who chose this moment to deliver her clams and mussels sautéed in a creamy tomato broth. The aroma wafted up to her nostrils but Dominique’s appetite had fled along with all the excuses she’d used to cancel the date. Now, with Jake’s sincere, questioning eyes boring into her, she was asking herself the same thing. Why did she cancel her date with this handsome, intelligent, interested man? “I don’t know,” she finally murmured, feeling nothing like the bold, confident woman who oversaw a multimillion dollar publication. Now she felt like the teenager and young adult she used to be—insecure, unsure, and vulnerable. She pushed memories of that woman to the background, determined to express exactly how she felt. At the very least, he deserved her honesty.