Sowing seeds of discontent in a young marriage wasn’t wise—even if she was picking up an undercurrent of negative vibes.

“Well, the offer stands if you ever change your mind. I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

“I’ll be here. And Eve . . .” She touched her arm again. “I know I’ve said this already, but thank you again for whatever influence you exerted to help me get this job. It’s been a godsend.”

“It was my pleasure. I remember how conscientious you were in high school, and I knew you’d be a perfect fit here. I’m glad it worked out.”

“Me too.” She motioned down the hall. “I should get with Doug to talk about pulling your correspondence. I’ll think about that spinning class.”

“Anytime.” Eve hoisted her tote bag and watched the other woman walk away.

Strange that the two of them had reconnected at this stage of their life. While they’d never been close in high school, it had been hard not to feel a bit sorry for the slightly overweight, shy teen with the nerdy glasses and lank hair. Pulling her into an occasional lunch back then had been a no-brainer.

And recommending her to Doug hadn’t required a second thought.

Meg Lassiter—Jackson now—was one of those gentle souls who’d always seemed in need of TLC.

And unfortunately, despite the attention Meg claimed her husband lavished on her, Eve would be willing to bet she wasn’t getting much tender loving care from the man she’d married.

She was waiting for him, as usual, at the bar.

Spirits lifting, Doug stopped inside the door of the popular downtown restaurant and adjusted the knot in the tie he always wore on Mondays.

The day he met Carolyn for lunch.

A niggle of guilt nipped at his conscience, and he frowned. That was ridiculous. There was no reason to feel guilty. This was a professional lunch between a mentor and a mentee. Nothing more. Yes, he’d been flattered after she’d sought out his advice eight months ago after they met at a journalism dinner event, but there was nothing personal about their get-togethers. They always talked about work.

He might like the warmth in her eyes . . . and her habit of resting her fingers on his hand when she made a point . . . and how her gaze never strayed while they talked, as if he was the most important person in the world—but he was a happily married man, and she was twenty years his junior.

Yeah, but she makes you feel young and hot again—and you like it. Too much.

Okay.

That was true.

But what guy wouldn’t be flattered by a pretty face who wanted to talk to him about more than bills and leaky roofs and college woes and in-law problems?