The next day, I spent the morning in the university library, trying to finish one of my papers. It was long and painful and boring and the last thing I wanted to do, so I didn’t have a very good morning, and I didn’t make much progress. At eleven forty, I had to stop because I had plans to meet my dad for lunch.

My father eats lunch at the same restaurant every single weekday—a good but overpriced place on the ground floor of the high rise where his office is—so I drove over to meet him.

The host knew me and took me to my dad’s table immediately, and when I saw my dad’s balding head leaning over his phone as he checked email, my day got a little better.

“Hi, princess,” he said with a smile, putting his phone away as I sat down.

It was a little gesture, but it meant something. A few years ago, he would have kept working on email even though I’d sat down at the table. I smiled at him, feeling tired and strangely emotional. “Hey, Dad.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Just been trying to slug through this paper, and it’s like torture. I’ve got to finish this one tonight so I can start the other tomorrow. I was stupid to procrastinate on them for as long as I did.”

We talked for a while about my paper. My dad isn’t any sort of expert on philosophy, but he’s a really smart man about ideas in general and he was quick to understand the direction of my argument and even to offer some good questions and suggestions about it.

When our food came, the conversation turned toward his work, and he told me a couple of funny stories about meetings he’d had that week. They made me laugh, and I was feeling a lot better as I finished my salad and sandwich.

But then my dad said, “Oh, princess, about that guy I mentioned the other day.”

“Dad—”

“Now don’t get angry. I really think you might like this one. He’s in town right now, and evidently he wants to meet you.”

“No, please, Dad. I’ve told you before I don’t want to be fixed up.”

“I know you don’t. But this is different. He’s not one of those boring losers like the ones you met before. He’s actually a—”

“No!” My voice was too sharp, but I was hit with a wave of emotion that surprised me. “I don’t care who he is. I don’t want to meet anyone.”

My dad blinked, clearly surprised by my reaction.

“I’m sorry,” I said. I must have been really tired and more emotional than normal, because my voice was wobbly. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. But I don’t want to be fixed up. It makes me…”

I trailed off, realizing what I was about to say.

Realizing that it would hurt my father to hear.

And I didn’t want to hurt him.

His expression was utterly sober as he leaned forward, trying to meet my eyes. “It makes you what, princess?”

I shook my head. I was having trouble holding back tears, and it was absolutely ludicrous. I was never like this over something so little.

“Tell me,” he prompted.

I sighed. “It makes me feel like you don’t trust me to take care of myself, like you think I need a man to make sure I don’t fall apart again.”

My dad was silent for a moment, taking in what I’d said. “That’s not it at all. That’s not it at all.”

“Isn’t it? In the back of your mind, isn’t this recent interference in my personal life because you keep thinking you might have another heart attack again? And you’re afraid that, if you’re gone, I won’t have anyone left? And you’re afraid I’ll totally fall apart again if I don’t have a husband to help me through it?”

A few tears slipped out of my eyes, despite my attempt to hold on to my control.

It hurt.

So much.

Because I could imagine it happening so clearly.

I had friends. I wasn’t completely alone. But if I lost my dad, I would have no family left.

And part of me was just as terrified of that happening as I knew him to be.

“Princess, no,” he said hoarsely, reaching over to cover my hand, which was fisted on the table.

“Tell me the truth,” I said, sniffing and clearing my throat. “At least part of you thinks that will happen. That’s why you’re always trying to fix me up with a husband.”

“I just want you to be happy. I do trust you. I’m so proud of you. But I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy. I don’t need a husband. I am happy.”

“Okay,” he said, his face worried, earnest. “I won’t try to fix you up again. Not another word about it. I promise.”

I used my napkin to wipe my face, the shuddering emotion inside me starting to relax at last. “Thank you.” I took a minute to pull myself together before I went on, “I know you were trying to help, but I just don’t have the energy to meet all the sons and brothers and nephews of people you know through business.” Letting out a breath, I added without thinking, “I’ve got enough to deal with in the guy department already.”

When I felt my dad straighten up, I realized I’d made a mistake.

“What’s this?” he asked. “Is there a guy?”

I groaned. “No. Not really.” At his questioning look, I admitted, “Oh, it’s just that guy who’s volunteering at the community center this week. He’s… been hovering.”

My father frowned. “Has he been bothering you?”

“He’s fine,” I said quickly, not wanting my dad to get the wrong idea. “He really is. I guess the truth is that it’s taking all my energy and focus to keep myself on a good… a good path, and I can’t let myself do anything that’s going to steer me away from it.”

“You think he’ll steer you away?”

I gave a little shrug. “Not intentionally. I just… Right now I think I’m better off without a man. I’ll probably be in a better place in another year or two, and then I can think about a social life.”

He nodded, clearly accepting my word on the subject, although he still looked thoughtful, like he was mentally working through what I’d just told him.

Our lunch ended on a lighter note, and I gave my dad a hug as I was leaving, feeling better with the knowledge that he didn’t believe I was quite as helpless and dependent as I sometimes felt.

When he pulled back from the hug, he said softly, “Do you think maybe you should give Dr. Jones a call this evening?”

Dr. Jones was the therapist who’d helped me through my recovery.

I shook my head with a smile. “I’m really okay, Dad. A little shaky this week, but okay. I’ll go to the five-thirty meeting near the community center today.”

“Okay. Sounds good.”

I was still emotionally unsettled as I drove back to the library to get some more work done before three, and I was really scared about how I would feel when I saw Henry later this afternoon.

I already felt like I was on the verge of coming apart completely.

And I couldn’t come apart with Henry.

I would have no idea where it might lead.

***

I lost track of time at the library, so I didn’t make it to the center until exactly quarter after three. Since I had to lead one of the reading circles today, I didn’t have time to check in with everyone or even take a breath.

I didn’t see Henry. I figured he was still working in the book room.

It was good. It was better this way. Maybe I could even sneak away today without seeing him.

Time went quickly with the kids, as it always did, and as they were leaving, I’d still seen no signs of Henry.

I was in Marcus’s office, picking up my bag before leaving, when a voice behind me made me jump.

“Are you avoiding me?”

I whirled around with a racing heart.

As I expected, Henry stood in the doorway wearing jeans, a dark gray sweater, and a sexy little smile.

“Of course not,” I replied, trying to sound cool even though my mind was buzzing with excitement. “Why would I?”

“I don’t know. I just hadn’t seen you all day.” He took a step closer, his eyes caressing my face.

A familiar flash of fear overwhelmed my other responses to him, and I stepped back. “I’ve been busy. Don’t flatter yourself. My movements aren’t all about you.”

He advanced as I retreated until I ended up against the edge of Marcus’s messy desk. “So some of your movements are about me?”

I swallowed hard. “No.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” I took a ragged breath and pushed my hand lightly against his chest. “Can you give me some space, please.”

For no good reason, my voice wobbled at the end of the sentence. It was embarrassing. Far too revealing.

Henry obviously heard it because his brows drew together in confusion as he took a few steps away from me. “What’s the matter, April?”

“Nothing is the matter.”

“Don’t lie to me. Something is wrong.”

And of all the ridiculous things to happen, I was close to tears again. I’d gotten too emotional at lunch with my dad, and so it took almost nothing to trigger it again. I tried to inhale a deep, slow breath to steady myself, but it caught in my throat.

“Schatzi,” Henry murmured, moving toward me again and reaching out like he would cup my face. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

He sounded like we were close, like he needed to know, like it was natural that I would tell him.

And what was worse was I wanted to tell him. I wanted to share it all with him.

I’d known him for just one week however, and he was the one who had gotten me all rattled in the first place.

He wasn’t entitled to see into my heart.

He just wasn’t.

I jerked my head away from his hand. “Would you please leave me alone?”

Henry looked even more confused than ever. “April?”

“I’m serious,” I said, doing my best to sound firm. “I’ve asked you over and over again, and now I’m telling you. You need to back off.”

He must have heard something new in my voice because his face grew very still. After a long pause, he said slowly, “I thought you weren’t serious. I thought we were playing.”

My eyes burned and my chest ached, and I felt like I’d punched Henry in the gut.

He’d been right.

Despite my protestations before, we had been playing, we’d been flirting, we’d been dancing around something both of us were aware of.

But I was in no shape to be dancing. I still had too far to walk.

I breathed raggedly and couldn’t form any words.

“I thought,” he continued, very softly now, “I thought you liked me.”

I did like him.

Far, far too much.

“You’re wrong. And I’m serious,” I managed to say. “So will you please back off?”

He nodded, that little light I’d always seen in his eyes going away for the first time. “If you want me to, I will.” He paused before he added, “Can I ask one thing?”

I didn’t want him to ask anything, but it just seemed too rude not to let him. “Ask what?”

“Will you go to a meeting today?”

I stared at him, almost swaying on my feet.

He might have been hurt by my rebuff, but he was still worried about me. He was worried about my emotional state and didn’t want me to do something rash.

I nodded, swallowing over a growing lump in my throat. “I’m heading there right now.”

Henry didn’t say anything else. He let me put on my jacket, pick up my bag, and leave the office.

I felt his eyes on me until I finally disappeared out the door.

***

As I was leaving the meeting an hour later, the air had that cold chill that felt like a promise of snow.

The sky was overcast in a normal December way, but no flakes were falling yet.

I walked down the block toward where I’d parked my car, and my eyes strayed over—quite unintentionally—toward the café patio where Henry had been sitting before.

The tables were mostly empty again since it was too cold for many people to want to sit outside.

But the corner table was taken.

Henry. Drinking another cup of coffee and reading the same book.

I stopped in my tracks, staring at him.

In just a moment his eyes raised to meet mine.

“You’re not very good at backing off, are you?” I said, more resigned than annoyed.

“I wasn’t waiting for you.”

I arched my eyebrows incredulously.

“Okay,” he admitted. “I might have been waiting. But I wasn’t going to talk to you.”

“You were just going to stalk me? Much better.”

“No!” His eyes were searching my face, and he must have seen that my mood was better now and I wasn’t really angry with him. He gave me a quirk of a smile. “I just wanted to see with my eyes that you were all right.”

He’d wanted to see with his eyes.

He really was very sweet. Far too sweet for my emotional well-being.

“I’m fine. I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine. I’m not going to do something I’ll regret.”

“Good,” he said with a small nod. He glanced down at his empty coffee cup. “Can I buy you another hot chocolate today?”

“Thanks, but I’ve got this dreaded thirty-page paper to finish for a class. I’m on my way back to the library.”

“Okay.” He waved the server over. “Then we’ll get your hot chocolate to take away.”

I had to laugh at how bad he was at backing off, but I didn’t object. We waited for my hot chocolate, and then he left money on the table before we left the patio.

“What is your paper on?”

I told him about my philosophy classes as we walked slowly toward my car. As we reached it, I noticed a few snowflakes landing on his dark gold hair and his brown coat.

“Winter’s here, I guess,” I said, watching the flakes melt on his shoulder.

“You don’t sound happy about that.”

“I’m not. I’m not a fan of winter.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. It’s just so gray and cold and colorless.”

“But Christmas. Surely you like Christmas.”

I shook my head. “I haven’t actually had very good Christmases.”

“Why not?”

I took a couple of sips of hot chocolate, stalling until I decided I might as well tell him the truth. “Three years ago on Christmas Eve, my dad almost died from a heart attack. And every Christmas before that, my dad was working or I was dead-drunk. Or both.” I sighed, feeling kind of sick at all the memories. “I always got tons of presents, but I never had a good time.”

“That sounds lonely.”

“It was.” I straightened my shoulders. “Anyway, I didn’t mean to be a downer. I’ve just never been a big fan. What about you? Did you have good Christmases?”

“Yes. My family has always been together for the holidays, and we would have… big celebrations.”

“Are you going to see them this Christmas?”

“Yes. I’m planning to be there.” He gave me a wry smile. “My mother would never forgive me if I wasn’t. My youngest sister is getting married just after Christmas, so I definitely can’t miss that.”

“That sounds nice.” I sounded—and felt—a little wistful. I hated to be one of those poor little rich girls, when my life had actually been incredibly privileged, but I couldn’t help but be a bit jealous of someone who’d had such a warm, loving family.

“You could come if you want,” Henry said, his tone textured and slightly teasing.

“What?”

“To my sister’s wedding.”

“Where is it?”

His mouth twisted slightly, as if he’d just realized what he was saying. “In… in Europe.”

I laughed. “I’m not going to Europe to be your date for your sister’s wedding.”

“Okay. It’s a standing offer if you decide to change your mind.”

I was still smiling although I managed to roll my eyes. “I thought you were supposed to be backing off.”

“I will if you want me to. But I thought maybe you liked me again.”

I let out a long sigh.

I did like him, and there was absolutely no way to convince him—or myself—that I didn’t.

The air and light snow was making me chilly, but his eyes were soft and warm on my face—so I didn’t feel as cold as I should. His expression changed as he gazed down at me, and then he raised his hand to brush a few stray strands of hair out of my face.

“Do you always wear your hair back like that?” he asked.

Self-consciously I reached to feel the long, thick braid that fell down my back. “Yeah. Now I do.”

“Why?”

I gave a little shrug as I set my hot chocolate cup on top of my car in preparation for digging out my keys from my bag. “I don’t know.”

“Do you really not know, or do you not want to tell me?”

There was no rational explanation for his knowing me so well already, but he did. It was like he could see into my soul.

So I admitted, “I guess I do know. Before—I mean, before I changed—I used to always wear my hair loose. And everyone would always talk about it. It was… it was what I was known for. All my wild, long hair. It just…” I had to take a few moments before I could finish. “It just reminds me of who I was before—and who I don’t want to be again.”

Henry seemed to understand. “You didn’t think about cutting it?”

“I did. I even went to my salon more than once, planning to chop it all off. But I never went through with it. I like my hair long. I just don’t want to be… that person.”

He nodded, lifting his hand again to brush back those same strands of loose hair that had pulled out of my braid. Then he stroked down the line of my braid. Then he caressed my flushed cheek.

He asked very softly, very thickly, “You don’t think you can be the person you are now and still let loose your hair?”

In any other context, the question would have sounded strange, unnatural. But it proved he understood exactly how I was feeling, exactly what I was afraid of, and so it made me shiver in response. “N-no.”

“Why not?” His eyes never left my face.

“It scares me,” I whispered. Quite without volition, both my hands had lifted up and clenched in Henry’s sweater. He was standing very close to me, and I wanted him even closer.

“You shouldn’t be scared, schatzi,” he murmured.

He wasn’t talking about my hair now, and both of us knew it.

The whole world seemed to shudder before my eyes as his face moved closer to mine.

Then his lips were brushing against my mouth—so lightly it was like the touch of a feather. And I wanted it so much. I wanted so much more that I made a little whimper and chased his retreat until I was kissing him for real.

He held my head in both his hands as his mouth worked over mine with both enthusiasm and skill. My head spun and my pulse throbbed and my knees buckled. I clung to him for support, opening my mouth to his tongue as he deepened the kiss.

I was so completely lost in sensation that I had no idea how far I would have let Henry go if I hadn’t heard a car door shutting very nearby.

I pulled back and turned to look, but it was just a woman who’d parked across the street and was getting out of her car.

I was panting loudly as I turned back to Henry.

He was flushed, with a hot, ardent expression on his face as he started to pull me toward him again.

With a familiar flare of fear, I put my hand out to stop him. “I think that’s probably enough for now.”

He stopped immediately, although I could see the tension of desire in his face, in his body. “Just for now?” he asked.

I nodded. I was still scared. Very scared. But that had also been the best kiss of my entire life, and I wasn’t sure I had it in me to never kiss him again. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said. We had a three-hour reading program for the kids every Saturday morning, which I assumed would be the last day of Henry’s week here.

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He stroked my hair one more time as if he couldn’t help himself. Then he stepped back and watched as I dug out my keys and got into the car.

Like yesterday, he was still watching as I drove away.

***

The whole night and following morning, I spent reasoning with myself.

It was fine to kiss Henry.

It was natural and normal and not a sign that I was losing control of myself.

After all, he just had one more day of volunteering at the community center, and then it was entirely likely that I’d never see him again.

He didn’t live in Minneapolis, as far as I knew. He lived somewhere in Europe.

He liked me well enough, and he was clearly amusing himself while he was here. But there was very little chance that he was serious about me—at least serious enough to keep pursuing me after his week volunteering was over.

I’d told myself all this over and over again, so many times that when I arrived at the community center at nine thirty the following day, I was almost convinced of it.

The kiss had been good. And casual.

And not a sign that my life was going to change.

For a normal girl my age, a kiss wouldn’t be earth-shattering. It wouldn’t be a symbol of something serious or dramatic or terrifying.

It would just be a kiss.

So it could be just a kiss for me too.

I wasn’t different from everyone else.

As I headed for Marcus’s office, I felt mostly in control of myself.

Marcus was at his desk, and he gave me a friendly greeting.

Then, while I was searching my bag for the budget file I needed to return, he said, “Oh, hey, did Henry tell you yet?”

“Tell me what?” I straightened up, feeling a sudden wave of nerves.

“He’s going to be volunteering here for longer than this week.”

“What?”

“He’s staying longer than originally planned. A couple more weeks. Until we break for Christmas.”

I stared at Marcus, trying to process this piece of information.

I’d thought the one week with Henry was all I was going to have. I’d spent the past twenty-four hours reminding myself of that fact.

But now I would have two weeks more.