Sammie had been distracted all day, which was fair enough, she supposed, since all of her kids had been just as distracted. She'd done her best to keep them focused, to keep them on task throughout the day, but her mind was too focused on the clock.

She glanced at it now then pressed the flat of her hand against her stomach, trying to stop the odd quivering that had grown worse with each passing hour. It was almost three-thirty now. In a little more than ninety minutes, she'd be meeting Jon.

Maybe.

She hadn't made her mind up yet. In fact, she had tried to convince herself that she wasn't going to go. She had no desire to meet him, no desire to hear what he had to say. She owed him exactly nothing. And there wasn't anything he could say, no excuse he could give, to erase the pain she still felt.

So why was she still looking at the clock, watching the minutes tick away?

She knew why and called herself a fool. She was going to meet him, no matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, because some perverted part of her wanted to hear what he had to say. What excuse would he give her for throwing away their marriage, for tossing her and Clare to the side?

The pain was still sharp, brutal, even after all this time. God, she was such a fool. He shouldn't hold the power to still hurt her, not after everything that had happened. But he did, and she was very much afraid of what that meant.

She opened her eyes and tried to push all thoughts of Jon from her mind. She wouldn't go. She couldn't. It was too late. Whatever he wanted to say, whatever excuses he thought to make, couldn't matter.

She repeated the words to herself as she moved around the room, straightening the small chairs, picking up the stray toy here and a forgotten book there, things that never seemed to make their way back to the shelf. She moved to the chalkboard, mindlessly erasing the simple spelling words she had so carefully printed in big block letters on the black surface earlier.

If only she could erase the memories just as easily.

A knock echoed in the quiet room and she looked up, startled at the noise. Chris Godfrey lounged against the doorframe, the tie loose around his neck, the top button of his collar undone. A worn leather briefcase dangled from his right hand, his blue eyes shining with amusement as he watched her.

"I figured you would have been gone already."

Sammie offered him a small smile as she replaced the eraser then dusted the chalk from her hands. "I'm getting there. Just wanted to finish cleaning up first."

His gaze darted around the neat room. One pale brow lifted in silent amusement. "Looks clean to me."

"Yes, well, you should have seen it twenty minutes ago. Not so much."

Chris laughed, the sound cheerful and mellow and unthreatening. He taught second-grade math and had the patience of a saint and the friendly disposition of a loyal pet. Just an inch or so under six feet, with carefully trimmed blonde hair and laughing blue eyes. Friendly. Unassuming. Always neatly dressed in khakis and a button-down shirt and brown leather loafers.

Those blue eyes watched her now, quietly assessing. Sammie turned away and grabbed her coat, holding her breath and hoping that he wouldn't—

"Did you want to grab a coffee or anything before heading home?"

She released her breath with a mental wince and turned to face him, a small, apologetic smile on her face. "I can't, not today. Too much to do."

How many times had he asked her out? For coffee. A quick bite to eat. Nothing threatening, nothing serious. How many times had she said no?

Every single time.

She looked at him now, watching as he quickly hid the disappointment at her answer, and wondered why he kept asking.

And wondered why she always said no. Chris was friendly. Attractive. Even-tempered and good-natured.

Safe.

But she still said no. Every single time.

The reason why slammed into her and nearly knocked her off her feet. It wasn't because he was a co-worker. It wasn't because she simply wasn't interested—in him or in a relationship.

It was because he wasn't Jon.

And oh God, had she really been comparing him to her ex-husband all this time? Comparing him—and finding him falling far short?

He was nothing like Jon. Jon was tall, broad in the shoulders and chest, all hard planes and sharp angles. His body had been chiseled and sculpted from years of tossing hay bales and working with his family's small herd of cattle, and later from his time in the military. Jon had rugged features: a wide jaw covered in perpetual stubble no matter how often he shaved and deep-set eyes that could freeze you in place or melt your heart, depending on what he wanted.

Jon wasn't safe. He never had been.

Chris was almost the exact opposite. Too laid-back. Too relaxed. Too even-keeled. Like a cocker spaniel, who would curl by your side and patiently wait, grateful for whatever tiny bit of attention you would give him.

Jon was—he was like a pit bull. He didn't patiently wait for anything, he demanded, settling for nothing less than your undivided attention. And he'd be right there beside you in a fight, standing there and guarding your back, defending you until the very end.

Everyone except her. With her, Jon had simply walked away without a word.

Only that wasn't like him. That wasn't something he would do. Not unless he had a reason.

And oh God, why was she making excuses for him? Why now, after all this time?

Because—

No, there was no because. There couldn't be. She wouldn't—couldn't—allow it.

Except she was afraid she already had.

Sammie swallowed back a groan of frustration and anger and pain, worried that it would end in a scream of self-pity and sorrow if she let it out. Afraid it wouldn't stop at all. Maybe she wasn't as successful as she thought because Chris's brows shot up in surprise and he pushed away from the doorframe.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. Fine." Except she wasn't, and hadn't been in a long time. She jammed her arms into the sleeves of her coat, grabbed the stuffed tote bag resting beside her desk, and hurried across the room. She almost plowed into Chris as she turned to pull the door closed behind her. He caught her arm to steady her then quickly dropped it and moved back.

She mumbled an apology then practically raced down the hall, the hem of her long skirt swirling around her ankles. She needed to get out of here, needed to go somewhere to think.

She yanked the straps of the tote bag over her shoulder and glanced at her watch. Was it too late? No, she still had a little more than an hour. That should be plenty of time.

Sammie pushed through the double doors and raced down the steps, one hand grasping the railing to steady herself as she pulled her cell phone from the tote bag with another and selected a number from her list of contacts.

The phone rang three times before a breathes voice answered. "Reigs. What's up?"

"I need you to stop me from making a huge mistake."