I started walking with no direction or destination in mind. It was dark out now, the city taking on a whole new life and energy from what it had during the business day. Steaming food carts dotted the sidewalks, along with a vendor sel ing framed artwork, another hawking novelty T-shirts, and yet another who had two folding tables covered in movie and television episode scripts.

With every step I took, the adrenaline from my flight burned away. The maliciously gleeful thoughts of Gideon coming out of the bathroom to find an empty room and paraphernalia-strewn bed ran their course. I began to calm down…and seriously think about what had just happened.

Was it a coincidence that Gideon invited me to a gym that just so happened to be conveniently close to his fuck pad?

I remembered the conversation we’d had in his office over lunch and the way he’d struggled to express himself to keep me. He was as confused and torn about what was happening between us as I was, and I knew how easy it was to fal into established patterns.

After al , hadn’t I just fal en into one of my own by bailing? I’d spent enough years in therapy to know better than to wound and run when I was hurting.

Heartsick, I stepped into an Italian bistro and took a table. I ordered a glass of shiraz and a pizza margherita, hoping wine and food would calm the vibrating anxiety inside me so that I could think properly.

When the waiter returned with my wine, I gulped down half the glass without real y tasting it. I missed Gideon already, missed the playful happy mood he’d been in when I left. His scent was al over me—the smel of his skin and hot, grinding sex. My eyes stung and I let a few tears slide down my face, despite being in a very public, very busy restaurant. My food came and I picked at it. It tasted like cardboard, although I doubted that had anything to do with the chef or the venue.

Pul ing over the chair where I’d set my bag, I dug out my new smartphone with the intention of leaving a message with Dr. Travis’s answering service. He’d suggested we have video chat appointments until I found a new therapist in New York and I decided to take him up on that offer. That’s when I noticed the twenty-one missed cal s from Gideon and a text; I

fucked up again. Don’t break up with

me. Talk to me. Pls.

The tears wel ed again. I held the phone to my heart, at a loss for what to do. I couldn’t get the images of Gideon and other women out of my mind. I couldn’t stop picturing him fucking the hel out of another woman on that same bed, using toys on her, driving her crazy, taking his pleasure from her body…

It was irrational and pointless to think of such things, and it made me feel petty and smal and physical y sick.

I startled when the phone vibrated against me, nearly dropping it. Nursing my misery, I debating letting it go to voice mail because I could see on the screen that it was Gideon—plus he was the only one who had the number—but I couldn’t ignore it, because he was clearly frantic. As much as I’d wanted to wound him earlier, I couldn’t stand to do it now.

“Hel o.” My voice didn’t sound like mine, clogged as it was with tears and emotion.

“Eva! Thank God.” Gideon sounded so anxious.

“Where are you?”

Looking around, I didn’t see anything that would tel me the name of the restaurant. “I don’t know. I…I’m sorry, Gideon.”

“No, Eva. Don’t. It’s my fault. I need to find you. Can you describe where you’re at? Did you walk?”

“Yes. I walked.”

“I know which exit you took. Which way did you head?” He was breathing quickly and I could hear the sounds of traffic and car horns in the background.

“To the left.”

“Did you turn any corners after that?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t know.” I looked around for a server I could ask. “I’m in a restaurant. Italian. There’s seating on the sidewalk…and a wrought iron fence.

French doors…Jesus, Gideon, I—”

He appeared, silhouetted in the entrance with the phone held to his ear. I knew him immediately, watched as he froze when he saw me seated against the wal toward the back. Shoving the phone into the pocket of jeans he’d had stored at the hotel, he strode past the hostess who’d starting speaking to him and headed straight for me. I barely managed to get to my

feet before he hauled me against him and embraced me tightly.

“God.” He shook slightly and buried his face in my neck. “Eva.”

I hugged him back. He was fresh from a shower, making me achingly aware of my need for one.

“I can’t be here,” he said hoarsely, pul ing back to cup my face in his hands. “I can’t be in public right now.

Wil you come home with me?”

Something on my face must have betrayed my lingering wariness, because he pressed his lips to my forehead and murmured, “It won’t be like the hotel, I promise. My mother’s the only woman who’s ever been to my place, aside from the housekeeper and staff.”