I floated back to my office, confused and excited by Rhett’s kiss. On the elevator ride to my floor, I pressed my fingertips to my lips, reliving the feel of his mouth on mine, the scrape of his beard over my chin, the gentle probing of his tongue against mine. My head was still spinning when I stepped into the white corridor leading to my lab.

As much as I appreciated his apology, I wasn’t sure I could ever trust him. Years ago, I’d trusted Walt Hunter, and look what he’d done to me. He’d broken my heart and laughed about it with his friends. I shivered, reliving the humiliation. I could be friends with Rhett, but he’d have to earn it.

Later that afternoon, Jo dropped by to check in. When I told her about the kiss, she was uncharacteristically silent.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “I know you’ve got something to say.”

“I think you should stay away from this guy.”

“Um, three weeks ago you were pushing me to him. Why the whiplash?”

“I wanted you to get out, meet some new people. I thought you were ready, but after this?” She shook her head. “I was wrong, pickle, and I apologize. You’re better off sticking with me and Dad.” Her arm circled my shoulders and she gave me a squeeze just like she had when I was five and had scraped a knee. “He’s just going to hurt you again. You don’t want that, do you?”

“No.” I bit my lower lip, contemplating. “But everyone deserves a second chance, don’t you think?”

“Not everyone. Harold doesn’t deserve a second chance.” Harold had been her fiancé. “Walt Hunter doesn’t deserve a second chance, does he?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” If Walt Hunter walked into my life today, would I be able to forgive him? “I don’t think you can compare Rhett to Harold or Walt. Rhett’s different.”

“He’s a guy, isn’t he?” Her tone dripped with animosity. “And you know they only want one thing. He’s just going to use you and dump you. That’s what they do.”

My temper ignited. “You don’t believe Rhett could actually care for me, do you? This isn’t about Rhett, is it? It’s about me. You don’t think anyone can love me. I’m too weird and too crazy for any guy to like me.”

“No, no. Pickle, no. It’s not that.”

“Don’t call me, pickle. I’m twenty-eight.”

“Bronte, calm down,” she replied. Her forehead crinkled. She took a step toward me. I backed up, keeping distance between us. “I’m not saying that at all. I just want you to be realistic.”

“What you want is for me to be an old maid like you,” I said. “You treat me like a kid, but I’m more of an adult than you are. I have an apartment and a Ph.D. and a fantastic job, while you’re still working in the coffee shop and living with Dad.” I’d gone too far, but the words were already out there. It was too late to suck them back in.

She inhaled a sharp breath. If my words hurt her, she didn’t show it. Another sign that she didn’t take me seriously. “One of us has to be the responsible one, and you’re not capable.”

“I think you need to go.” I walked to the door of the lab and held it open.

“Bronte, don’t be like this.”

“Like what? Opinionated? Confident?” I snorted. “This conversation is over.”

I slammed the door shut behind her. Two minutes later, the phone rang. It was Jo. I shut off the ringer and tossed the phone in the desk drawer, refusing to answer. She loved me but didn’t believe anyone else could. Her betrayal hurt. My immediate reaction was to fall into a cycle of counting and ritual behaviors. Instead, I took a few minutes to close my eyes and practiced the meditation I’d learned years ago from Dr. Mortensen. But I did it for eight minutes, because—well—I couldn’t give up everything at once.

When I felt able, I focused my efforts on my latest project. I worked late into the evening, going home only to catch a few hours of sleep and a shower before returning in the early hours of the next morning.

At 10:02 AM, I was deep into an experiment when Richard, Director of Research, entered my lab. The bright overhead lights reflecting off the top of his bald head distracted my attention from the package in his hands. He placed the package on my desk then beamed at me.

“You’ve got a delivery, and I have exciting news.” Behind the thick lenses of his glasses, his eyes grew round. “You’ve been nominated for the Cabot-Hendricks Award.”

“Me? Are you sure?” The strength disappeared from my knees. I dropped into the nearest chair. The Cabot-Hendricks Award honored the most respected and influential researchers in the United States.

“Absolutely. I have the email right here.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from the breast pocket of his lab coat. “You should be receiving a letter any day now.”

I took the email and scanned over the contents. He wasn’t joking. “You nominated me?”

“I did. You’re one of the most brilliant researchers I’ve ever met. And your work in the past year has been phenomenal.” He removed his glasses to rub the lenses with a corner of his coat before replacing them. “You deserve this award, Bronte. People need to know about your research.”

The first person I wanted to call after he left was Jo, but I had no idea how to approach her after our argument. She might see my news as bragging. I felt bad about hurting her feelings, but she’d wounded my pride. Although I’d been harsh with her, I was tired of being treated like baby. And everything I’d said was true; she was closed off and judgmental when it came to men.

I took a seat behind the desk. The package caught my eye. I turned it over, looking for the box seam, and slit the tape with the end of my scissors. Inside was a smaller box wrapped in gold-and-silver foil, dripping with curled ribbons. A small card was taped to the top. I opened the envelope and slid out the card. “None of these chocolates are as sweet as your kiss. Rhett.”

Beneath the lid were a dozen chocolates from the premier chocolatier in Laurel Falls. I’d walked past the shop before but had never been able to afford more than a sample. The first bite melted on my tongue. The decadent sweetness blossomed in my mouth.

“Mmmm. So good.”

The office phone buzzed. I licked my lips before answering.

“Dr. Hollander, you have a call on line four. It’s Mr. Easton from Ascension Corporation,” said the receptionist.

My heart jumped into my throat. “Thank you. I’ll be right with him.” I carefully replaced the lid of the box and stowed it on a corner of the desk. I drew in a deep breath to calm my nerves and clicked over to Rhett.

“Did you get it yet?” His deep voice reverberated across the line. It was the first time we’d spoken on the phone. I’d never noticed the smoothness of his tenor. It shimmered across the phone and straight into my panties.

“Yes. Thank you. It’s delicious.” A silly smile bowed my lips.

“I wasn’t sure what kind to get, so I thought I’d start with the best and work my way down from there.”

“You chose well.”

“I know you don’t like to talk on the phone, so I won’t keep you. I just wanted to make sure you got the delivery.”

“I did. And it’s fine that you called.” His words soothed my ruffled feelings and eased the confusion I’d been struggling with over the past day. Now that we were speaking, I didn’t want the call to end. “I got some great news today and I wanted to tell someone. I’ve been nominated for a Cabot-Hendricks Award.”

Silence.

“Rhett?”

“No shit?” Excitement vibrated through the phone line. “Bronte, that’s fantastic. Didn’t Einstein win one of those?”

“Yes. Posthumously.” His genuine excitement fueled a quiver of nerves in my belly. “Can you believe it?”

“Hell yeah, I believe it. Bronte, you’re amazing.” Heat warmed my face at his praise. “We have to celebrate. Are you free Saturday night?”

“Yes. Saturday is good.” After the fight with Jo, I wanted to prove her wrong, but most of all I wanted to prove to myself that I was able to handle a relationship with a man. And Rhett deserved a second chance. If he was able to look past my meltdown at the Seaforths, I could look past his baggage over his deceased wife.

“Excellent. I’ll pick you up at eight.”