Faith managed to avoid North Callaghan over the next few days. She actually didn’t even have to try very much. They simply didn’t bump into each other. She was starting to wonder if maybe he was avoiding her. For some reason that stung. Was he trying to make a point? Did he really expect her to come after him? To cross that proverbial line in the sand? Not. Happening. She went about her life and tried not to glance next door every time she emerged from her house or pulled into her driveway.

She spent Tuesday and Wednesday conducting interviews around Sweet Hill. She visited the elementary and the middle schools, responding to concerned calls placed by staff members regarding specific students. She completed a few home visits as well. She thought she was done for the day at five but just before leaving the office, she received a call from the local police department requiring a social worker present as they executed an arrest at a home with a child in residence. Faith took the four-year-old and stayed with her in one of the back rooms at the police station. One of the officers ran out and bought the little girl a Happy Meal, which she happily munched on as she and Faith drew together in a Dora the Explorer coloring book until the grandmother was able to come and collect her.

It was after nine by the time she arrived home. North’s bike was missing from the driveway. She told herself she didn’t care as she stumbled through her house to her bathroom. After a quick shower, she made her way down to her kitchen. Opting for easy, she pulled a frozen pizza out of the freezer and stuck it in her oven.

Leaning against her stove, she sighed as she waited, rolling out her neck. Truthfully, it wasn’t the day that had her tense. Her gaze drifted to the kitchen window and the shut blinds. Call it pent-up sexual frustration.

She released a gust of breath. Things were gonna get a whole lot more pent up because trains would not be colliding and she would not be crossing that line in the sand.

When her pizza was ready, she took it upstairs with her diet soda and ate in bed while watching TV. She rarely ate in bed, but she did it now so that she would not hear when North pulled into the driveway. It would keep her from rushing to the blinds to score a glimpse of him. She didn’t need that temptation.

Her plan worked. Only she was more tired than she realized.

She didn’t hear North come home. Nor did she hear her alarm go off. Probably because she forgot to set it. She fell asleep with the TV on. She opened her eyes to the sounds of a morning talk show and sunlight streaming through her blinds. Her heart lurched to her throat. She’d overslept. She bounded from bed with a yelp, her plate flying to the carpet with a thud.

She dressed quickly, wildly shoving a blouse into a skirt. She cast a quick glance down to make sure her top half matched her bottom half at least moderately well. Satisfied, she raced downstairs, skipping applying even the minimal makeup she used for work. She could put it on at stoplights.

She forwent breakfast and flew out the front door, hopping as she stuck first one foot inside a heel and then the other. She wasn’t looking where she was going. Head down, hunkered halfway over, she caught herself just seconds before colliding into North.

“Faith Walters,” he greeted with exaggeration. North looked rested and shower-fresh. Yes, that was annoying. Especially considering she looked like a train wreck. His dark damp hair brushed the collar of a shirt that bore the logo for Sammy’s Garage in the corner and his jaw was clean-shaven. “Late night? Looks like you went on a bender.”

“Charming as usual,” she grumbled, straightening her spine and adjusting her briefcase bag over her shoulder.

His gaze flicked over her. “Your shirt isn’t tucked.”

She glanced down with a huff of indignation. Half her blouse dangled out. “It’s called a blouse. You’re wearing a shirt.”

“Ah.” He rolled his eyes. As though to clarify, he pointed at his chest. “Shirt.” He pointed to her. “Blouse. I’ll be sure not to make that mistake again.”

She stalked past him.

“What? Good girls don’t go on benders?” he called behind her back.

“Don’t confuse your behavior for mine,” she tossed over her shoulder, punching the unlock button on her keys.

She yanked open her car door and tossed her bags inside.

“Faith,” he called.

She stopped and looked back at him. “What?”

“I’ve missed you.” His tone was mocking, the glint in his dark eyes taunting. Even if he was teasing, just hearing those words out of his mouth made something flutter inside her.

Just like that, some of her bluster faded. He grinned, his flashing smile transforming his face, softening his usually severe features.

“Say what you will. I’m still not crossing that line in the sand.”

“Not yet,” he countered. Without another word, he moved down his driveway and climbed into his truck.

Shaking her head, she sank down behind her steering wheel. He backed out and turned down the street. She stayed where she was, suddenly forgetting that she was late. Or not caring. I’ve missed you.

She wondered if he really meant it.

Her phone rang all day. From the moment she arrived (one hour late), it was nonstop. While it was a great way to keep her mind off North, it was not very conducive to keeping headaches at bay. Everyone wanted to complain about something . . . or wanted to make their jobs easier by inconveniencing her. Or they simply wanted her to perform a miracle.

She managed to escape for a brief lunch break. When she returned it was only to find her phone ringing—again. Sighing, she lifted it to her ear, ready to resume the marathon. “Faith Walters here, how can I help you?”

“Do you sleep well at night, Miss Walters?”

Faith stopped midaction as she was tearing a sticky note off the pad to remind herself to check on a case before leaving the office today. “I beg your pardon?”

“Stealing people’s children? You sleep well, you cunt?”

She jerked at the words. “Who is this?” Her voice came out a breathy demand, but at least she wasn’t stammering. She’d dealt with disgruntled parents before. She’d been called ugly things before. She didn’t take it personally. The rewards of her job made this occasional verbal attack worthwhile. In moments like this, she just had to remember that.

“What? You steal so many kids from their parents, you can’t guess who this is?” the voice demanded.

“If you would like to lodge a formal complaint—”

“I’m complaining to you, bitch. You’re the kidnapper who took my kids.” She thought back to the last child she had placed in foster care just yesterday. A little girl. Faith didn’t recall any men in the picture when she had searched Hannah Moriarty’s background for relatives to take her. The mother had been MIA for days. The little girl had gone to a neighbor when her mother had left her alone.

“You belong in jail,” he continued. “Or worse.”

Or worse. It didn’t take much imagination to realize what he meant by that. Still, his words made her shiver a little. She’d dealt with unhappy people before. They only needed to blow off steam and she was a good target for that. Even so, that didn’t mean she didn’t have her moments where she wondered if maybe she should have been a music teacher. Or an architect. Something with a little less day-to-day drama.

His words flayed her like bullets. “Enjoy your sleep, bitch. While you can.”

The phone went dead. She pulled it back and stared at it for a moment before setting it back down.

“Who was that?” Wendy asked from her desk across the way, looking at Faith curiously.

Faith shook her head. “Just someone that wanted to nominate me for Social Worker of the Year.”

“Riiiight.” Wendy snorted as she lifted her coffee cup and took another sip. “So you never answered my text. I want the scoop on your date.”

“It was nice.”

“Uh-oh.”

She angled her head. “What?”

“Nice. That’s the kiss of death.”

She stifled her wince. “What are you talking about? That’s not true.”

Wendy lifted her eyebrows in disbelief. “I’m just saying I’ve been on a lot of nice first dates. Sometimes they make it to a second date . . . even a third. But notice, I’m still single?” She wiggled her fingers, pointing to her ring finger for emphasis.

Faith shook her head. “Well, I want a nice guy so a nice date is just fine with me.”

“Oh, Faith.” Wendy tsked, moving her head in a reproving motion. “Don’t you want passion? A guy that can drop your panties with one look? Chemistry is an important foundation.”

Chemistry! She sounded like North. Faith would bet that Wendy would tell her to go for it—to go for him.

“I thought friendship was the most important foundation,” she countered.

Wendy made a pfft sound and waved her hand in dismissal. “What will keep you warm at night? Friendship or a sexy beast of a man, ready for a romp—”

“Okay, okay, Wendy.” Faith cut her off as their supervisor walked between their offices, sending them both speculative glances.

Faith swung back around and returned her attention to her laptop. Unfortunately Wendy’s words replayed through her head and made her think. And wonder. She already knew North could make her panties drop.

But Wendy was wrong. It wasn’t enough. Not long-term. Passion wasn’t everything. It wasn’t enough. She needed friendship. She needed nice, too.

If that meant she had to leave dirty, gritty passion for others, then so be it. It wasn’t for her. Not for Faith Walters.

She’d have to learn to let that go.