She turned back to the seascapes on the wall. There was a young couple, smiling, arms flung around each other. So happy, so carefree. She’d always thought of herself as happy and carefree, too, but she felt neither at the moment.

There’d been ties over the years, with coworkers, clients. Other men. She’d enjoyed every one of them, and had amazing memories, but none compared to the tie she’d once had, and then given away, with this man. “Do you ever think about it?” she murmured, still staring at the joyful couple who’d lived one hundred years ago. “About us?”

He was silent for so long she tipped her head up and looked into his face. His lean jaw hadn’t been shaved today, maybe not yesterday either. His mouth, wide and firm, was unsmiling. And yet in those light eyes flickered a few memories as he gave her a long, considering look. “Sometimes.”

“I do too,” she admitted, but not the rest. That the old Joe had drawn her because he represented everything that had been wonderful about her childhood. That the new Joe, with his laugh lines and knowing eyes, with his matured low voice and confidence in his own skin, with his badge and gun, drew her too, yet in a very different manner. The decidedly unexpected sexual tension—at least on her side—was new enough to shock her into silence.

He turned from the pictures and slid his eyes to hers, revealing nothing of his own thoughts. “It was all a long time ago.”

And people moved on. She knew that. She’d moved on first, in fact, but she’d never regretted anything more. “I wanted to see you on the few trips I made here. I…didn’t know how.”

“If it was that hard for you, you did the right thing.”

She smiled past her regrets, determined not to spill her guts just because once she would have. “You’re probably right.”

“Yeah.” He lifted the clipboard. “I have to go find your mother.” He paused. “I’ll be easy on her, I promise.”

A reassurance. A kind one, and grateful, she put her hand on his arm. Under her fingers, his muscles tensed. She stared up at him, registering, without meaning to, that beneath his shirt his body was muscular and hard.

Once she’d been out on a winter snowshoe trek in Alaska. She’d stood too close to the campfire trying to get warm and had singed her fingertips. They felt singed now, too, though she didn’t pull back. “Thanks,” she whispered.

He stared down at her hand on him, then back into her eyes. “This is new.”

So he felt it too. “Yes.”

“It’s not going anywhere.”

“Joe—”

“It’s not.” Slowly, with only a speculative and quietly unnerving look, he walked away.