Yes, I can’t explain why Lucas lied, but if I analyze the time I’ve known him, there wasn’t a single occasion in which he hasn’t been completely honest with me. Well-behaved? Maybe not always. Especially not the first day we met when he yelled at me, but I’m blaming that on sugar deprivation. Don’t touch the man’s donuts, I’ve learned that much.

Is one lie worth closing the door on him forever?

The more I sit on it, the more uncertainty gnaws at me. Leslie has a point—I did rush in dismissing him. I should have given him a chance to explain. Well, I still can. And, like all important things, it should be done face to face.

Decision made, I’m in such a hurry to go that I don’t even change into more decent clothes. Sweats were good enough for Lucas’ so-called client emergency, and they’ll do for an impromptu home visit.

Tegan has gone to the movies with friends again so, when I exit the house, I need nothing more than my bag and keys.

I have to ask Leslie for the address of Lucas’ condo, as I never got as far as going to his place. And this time, I don’t plan to do so in sexy lingerie. It gives me satisfaction that I’m wearing the oldest, crappiest underwear set I own. No, not even a set, as the bra and panties are mismatched.

The trip to lower Manhattan doesn’t take too long on the subway, and his house is thankfully just a short walk from the station. I’m searching the front door of the building for a bell or something when the glass doors open and Lucas comes out.

“Vivian.” His eyes widen at finding me on his doorstep.

He’s dressed casually in jeans and a dark green sweater. And, damn him, if he doesn’t look yummier than a triple-glazed donut, if those even exist.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“I wanted to talk.”

Lucas tries to subtly check the time on his watch.

“Somewhere you have to be?” I ask.

He turns defensive. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

“Another emergency you can’t tell me about?”

“It isn’t an emergency, but I still can’t tell you where I’m going. But, Vivian”—he gently grabs my wrist—“I want to talk to you. There’s nothing I want more.”

I yank my arm free. “Don’t bother. Coming here was a mistake.”

“Vivian, please! I promise you I’m not doing anything wrong, I’m just protecting someone else’s privacy.”

“Who? A client?”

His lips go taut. “I really can’t tell you any more than I already have. You have to trust me on this.”

And there it is, hanging between us like a sword, the unspoken question I’m facing.