Why did it always sound so simple, so plausible, when spoken aloud? The little trickle of fear returned, and her voice firmed. “My job’s here.”

“I guess it comes down to priorities, doesn’t it?” Bryan knew she wasn’t being sympathetic, just as she knew it wasn’t sympathy that Lee needed. Because she cared a great deal, she spoke without any compassion. “You can keep your job and your apartment in L.A. and be miserable. Or you can take a few chances.”

Chances. Lee ran a finger down the slick surface of her desk. But you were supposed to test the ground before you stepped forward. Even Hunter had said that. But … She looked at the mangled paper clip in the center of her spotless blotter. How long did you test it before you took the jump?

It was barely two weeks later that Lee sat in her apartment in the middle of the day. She was so rarely there during the day, during the week, that she somehow expected everything to look different. Everything looked precisely the same. Even, she was forced to admit, herself. Yet nothing was.

Quit. She tried to digest the word as she dealt with the panic she’d held off the past few days. There was a leafy, blooming African violet on the table in front of her. It was well-tended, as every area of her life had been well-tended. She’d always water it when the soil was dry and feed it when it required nourishing. As she stared at the plant, Lee knew she would never be capable of pulling it ruthlessly out by the roots. But wasn’t that what she’d done to herself?

Quit, she thought again, and the word reverberated in her brain. She’d actually handed in her resignation, served her two weeks’ notice and summarily turned her back on her steadily thriving career—ripped out its roots.

For what? she demanded of herself as panic trickled through. To follow some crazy dream that had planted itself in her mind years ago. To write a book that would probably never be published. To take a ridiculous risk and plunge headlong into the unknown.

Because Hunter had said she was good. Because he’d fed that dream, just as she fed the violet. More than that, Lee thought, he’d made it impossible for her to stop thinking about the “what ifs” in her life. And he was one of them. The most important one of them.

Now that the step was taken and she was here, alone in her impossibly quiet midweek, midmorning apartment, Lee wanted to run. Out there were people, noise, distractions. Here, she’d have to face those “what-ifs.” Hunter would be the first.