They looked at each other. Unity had no idea what to say. Thaddeus motioned to his car in the driveway.

“Ready to go?”

“Sure.”

She collected her purse, then made sure the front door was locked behind her.

He held open the passenger door, which freaked her out a little. Fortunately, the interior of his car was so nice, she could think about that rather than the fact that she was in a car with a man she barely knew, about to take a two-hour drive to go indoor skydiving.

Not that she was worried about him being a serial killer or anything. He was Dagmar’s great-nephew. Still, it was very strange.

“I brought my camera,” she said, as they headed for the freeway. “I’m hoping I can take a picture and then email it to my friend Ellen.”

He glanced at her. “Because if your phone doesn’t text, it probably doesn’t take pictures, either.”

“Not everyone needs the latest technology.”

“It might be nice to have something from this century.”

She grinned. “My phone’s not that old.” She thought of her list of challenges. “I might be getting a new one.”

“Let me know when you decide.”

They merged onto I90, heading west. Thaddeus’s car was quiet, with comfortable seats. It felt expensive and powerful. Nothing like her van, that was practical for work but not exactly a fun machine to drive.

She was aware of the man next to her. His T-shirt left his arms bare and they were sitting close together. Everything was just so strange, she thought, torn between wishing she’d refused his invitation and the knowledge that she really had to do this.

The rolling hills and hay and alfalfa fields quickly gave way to forest. The mountain range stretched north and south, heading up to Canada and down to California. The highest peaks still had snow while the lower elevations were thick with vegetation.

“I’m sorry about before,” she said, deciding to address the issue head-on. “When we met. You were unexpected.”

“I get that a lot.” His voice was teasing.

She smiled, then glanced at him. “I don’t do this.”

“Drive in cars?”

“Go out with people.” She waved toward him. “Male people.”

“Men?” he confirmed.

“Men.”

“Because you’re not over your late husband?”

A blunt statement that got right to the heart of the issue, she thought, trying not to writhe in her seat. “Yes, that.”

“Why did you say yes to me?”

“I had to.” She closed her eyes, then opened them. “I might be trapped. I don’t feel trapped—I like my life—but circumstances are conspiring to show me that maybe I’m more stuck than is healthy.”

“I’m part of your rehab?”

“Maybe. Is that bad?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been anyone’s rehab before.” He glanced at her. “Just to confirm, your late husband has been gone for three years?”

“Yes. His name is Stuart.” Was Stuart, but she didn’t correct herself.

“And you haven’t been on a date since then.”