Andrew took the steps to Becca’s front door in two leaps, pausing before he could bang down the door. But seriously? An arrest. How had he missed that?

You’re angry at yourself, he told himself. Calm down.

He glanced up into the sky and prayed Help me speak kindly.

He couldn’t think of much else to pray for, so he reached over and pressed the doorbell, something he’d done over a dozen times now, usually when a bag of food in his hand and anticipation building in his stomach for when he’d get to kiss Becca again.

He wasn’t thinking about kissing now.

She opened the door, her chin already lifted and her eyes blazing. “Come in,” she said in a professional voice. “I have everything on the computer for you.”

Andrew tried to tame his glare, but from Becca’s stoic expression, he hadn’t succeeded. She turned and walked into her house, leaving him to follow her. No hello. No smile or squeal of delight at seeing him.

He really didn’t like this tension between them, but he went into the living room and sat in front of the laptop she had open on the counter. “I’m going to go pack.” She disappeared, and Andrew peered at the screen, an image of a lot of people marching down the street, carrying protest signs not all unlike the one that had hit him a few weeks ago.

He recognized this march, and it had to do with equal rights—a worthy cause. So why had she been arrested?

The article didn’t say much, only that a few hundred people had been taken in for questioning. They were held overnight and released, and his anger simmered away into frustration and then foolishness.

She hadn’t really been arrested, just as she’d said. “Becca,” he called, not wanting to go into her bedroom.

“Yeah?” She walked down the hall and paused at the edge of the living room.

“Why would Stuart Musgrove call me and say you’d been arrested?” He stood from the counter, curiosity burning through him now. “On a Sunday, no less.”

“The day before the tour starts.” Becca’s voice sounded a bit hollow, and her eyes had glazed over at the first mention of Stuart’s name. She snapped back to attention and looked at him. “Do you think he knows about the robot?”

“No.” Andrew shook his head with complete confidence. “We’ve kept that knowledge under lock and key. Need-to-know basis only.”

“Then it has to do with me,” she said.

“Everyone would know about the press conference tomorrow, and you’re listed as the first speaker.”

She looked like she was about to be sick, what with her face all pale like that. “I went out with Stuart a couple of times,” she said. “Maybe three. He was…insufferable. When he called to ask me out again, I said no.”

Andrew’s eyebrows went up and he took another step toward Becca. “Insufferable?”

“He’s a know-it-all.” Becca waved her hand dismissively. “It was just after the march, so he knew I’d spent the night in jail.”

Andrew tilted his head, wondering what that night would’ve been like. “Any other marches or fake arrests I need to know about?”

“Probably,” Becca said. “Didn’t you say our worst dirt would be thrown at us on this tour?”

That he had, but he also thought he’d known what the mudballs would be made of. This news of her being taken in for questioning after a right march had set him all the way to hot in a single breath.

“I’m almost done packing,” she said. “I’ll be ready in the morning.” She turned to go down the hall.

“Becca.”

She paused, but she didn’t look at him. Something had changed between them now that he’d called angry, now that he’d let his emotions show, now that he’d indicated that he didn’t trust her.

You’ve always let your emotions show when it comes to Becca. In fact, he was able to be himself around her, one of the things he liked most about her. She never judged him when he griped about the accounting department. Consoled him when one of the biggest towns near their dig sites had refused to let them come speak at an official city event.

Becca had been the one to suggest holding an event under two huge white tents, with hot chocolate and pastries, to talk to the people on Musgrove Creek about the robot. Not only that, she’d coordinated the whole thing. Rented the tents. Ordered the food. Printed up flyers and made digital ad materials for their social media.

“Thanks for stopping by,” she said, walking away. He stood in her living room for another few moments, but she didn’t come back. Her message was clear—show yourself out, Andrew.

So he did, wishing he could apologize for the accusatory nature of his phone call and visit. He flipped his phone over in his hand. Over and over. Finally, he called Graham, who probably wouldn’t answer as it was Sunday afternoon nap time at the ranch where he lived.

“Hey,” he said in a whisper. “What’s up?”

“Real quick: Is it lame to send an apology in a text?”

“To who?”

“Becca.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, thanks.” Andrew hung up and looked at Becca’s front door. He’d tell her tomorrow. He still had all of his own packing to do, another brief to read, and he needed to go over his speech with Celia.

So he backed out of Becca’s driveway and headed back to the lodge, the weight of the tour feeling as big as the earth. And because he was nowhere near as strong as Atlas, one wrong step would send everything crashing down.

The following morning, he parked behind the city buildings, in a parking lot with a security guard. When he got out of his car, he was twenty minutes early for the agreed-upon time he and Becca would meet. Yet she clicked toward him in a navy blue dress with wide, sweeping white flowers on it. Her heels were practical and business-like. Her makeup professional. Her hair actually not quite as haphazard as he’d seen it previously.

She was stunning and spectacular though the sun hadn’t even come up yet. “Good morning,” she said, handing him a to-go cup of coffee from The Jumping Bean. She didn’t look like their little spat yesterday had caused her an ounce of trouble, and for the first time in his life, Andrew wished he could wear makeup to hide the exhaustion on his face.

“Morning.” He sipped the coffee and found it exactly as he liked—cream and sugar and caramel. “Are we ready for today?”

She met his eye, something sparking in her gaze. “I am, Mister Whittaker. Did you get the last-minute changes to your speech I sent over?”

At midnight, and yes, he’d still been awake. “Yes, thank you,” he said formally. He wanted to take her hand in his and dart down the alley between the two buildings. Kiss her until all the tension bled from his shoulders and the words of his speech aligned.

Later, he told himself. They had this meeting this morning, and one scheduled in Jackson Hole for that afternoon. They’d spend the night there before heading to their next destination, and while they’d have a lot of support here due to every employee at Springside being in the crowd, the other cities and towns would contain less fanfare.

“Nervous?” she asked.

“Yes,” he admitted. “You?”

She nodded, her throat working as she swallowed. “I really think you should speak first.”

“We’ve been over it, Becca.” He didn’t mean to sound tired or short with her, but he was afraid he’d been both.

“Yes, sir.” She turned away from him, so perfectly poised and professionally put together that his heart squeezed. She’d changed so much from the jean-clad, tree-hugger T-shirted woman he’d been smitten with the moment he’d bled because of her.

She had such a strong spirit, and Andrew really admired that. He caught up to her and touched her forearm. “Becca?”

“Yes?” She paused and looked at him. Even with her heels, he still stood a few inches taller than her.

“Would you mind if we had a quick prayer together before we go in?” His stomach felt like he’d tied it in knots and then eaten a meal the size of Thanksgiving. He’d never seen Becca at church, and they hadn’t spoken about religion in their relationship yet. But he always prayed before a big speaking event, and he wanted her to know it.

“Of course.” She glanced around. “Right here? Or do you want to go back to the car? Find a room just inside?”

He looked around too, and another car entered the manned parking lot. “Maybe your car,” he said. They went back to it, and she started it, sat in the driver’s seat, and waited for him.

“Okay,” he said, suddenly so much more nervous about this than the speech. “Lord, we’re grateful that we could be here on this fine October day. Please bless each of us that we’ll speak clearly, that the crowds will be kind, and that we can get along.” Where the last words had come from, Andrew wasn’t sure. Maybe straight from his heart.

“Amen,” he said quickly, before more of what he felt in his heart could be voiced. He reached over and gripped Becca’s hand. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I made some assumptions about you I shouldn’t have.” Last night, and long before he’d officially met her.

She looked at him, and his heart pounded in his chest and up into his mouth. Would she not forgive him?

“I suppose we all make erroneous assumptions sometimes.” She swallowed, leaned forward just enough to let him know she wanted him to kiss her, and waited.

Andrew kissed her quickly, glad that she’d given him another chance so easily. “I’m trying to see things from all sides,” he said. “It’s really hard sometimes.”

“Yeah.” She gazed out the windshield. “Especially if you don’t even know how many sides there are.” Something hid beneath her words, but Andrew wasn’t sure what it was. His watch beeped, a calendar reminder that he should be at City Hall right now.

He took a deep breath. “Show time.”