The clock marked another thirty seconds. The hallway leading to the bathrooms stayed empty for another twenty-three seconds. An older woman with a walker inched her way down the hall. No one was behind her.

Sara dropped her head into her hand. Dale was not a bad man. He was stable, relatively healthy, gainfully employed, had most of his hair, and except for the cheese between his teeth, had the appearance of good hygiene. And yet, all of this wasn’t enough. Sara was beginning to think she was the problem. She was turning into the Mr. Darcy of Atlanta. Once her good opinion was lost, it was gone forever. Changing the direction of a steamship was easier than changing Sara’s mind.

She should try harder at this. She wasn’t twenty-five anymore, and forty was breathing heavy down the back of her neck. At five feet eleven inches, her dating pool was already limited. Her auburn red hair and fair skin were not to every man’s taste. She worked long hours. She couldn’t cook to save her life. She had apparently lost her ability to conduct any small talk whatsoever, and the mere mention of her dead husband could send her into a hissy fit.

Maybe her standards were too high. Her marriage hadn’t been perfect, but it was pretty damn good. She had loved her husband more than life itself. Losing him had almost killed her. But Jeffrey had been gone for almost five years now, and if Sara was being honest, she was lonely. She missed a man’s company. She missed the way their minds worked and the surprisingly sweet things they could say. She missed the rough feel of their skin. She missed the other things, too. Unfortunately, the last time a man had made her eyes roll back in her head, she’d been fighting boredom, not writhing in ecstasy.

Sara had to face the fact that she was extremely, awfully, horribly bad at dating. There hadn’t been much time to practice. From puberty on, Sara had been serially monogamous. Her first boyfriend was a high school crush that had lasted until college, then she’d dated a fellow student all through medical school, then she’d met Jeffrey and never given another man a second thought. Except for a disastrous one-night stand three years ago, there had been no one since. She could only think of one man who had even remotely given her a spark, but he was married. Worse, he was a married cop.

Even worse, he was standing at the cash register less than ten feet away from her.

Will Trent was wearing black running shorts and a long-sleeved black T-shirt that showed his broad shoulders to good advantage. His sandy blond hair was longer than it had been a few months ago, when Sara had last seen him. He’d been working a case that involved one of her old patients at the children’s clinic back home. She’d stuck her nose so far into Will’s business that he’d had no choice but to let her help with the investigation. They had shared what felt like a flirtation, and then when the case was over, he had gone back home to his wife.

Will was extremely observant. He must have noticed Sara sitting at the table when he walked in. Still, he kept his back to her as he stared at a flyer pinned to the bulletin board on the wall. She didn’t need the clock to count off the seconds as she waited for him to acknowledge her.

He turned his attention to another flyer.

Sara pulled out the clip holding up her hair, letting the curls fall past her shoulders. She stood up and walked over to him.

There were a few things she knew about Will Trent. He was tall, at least six-three, with a runner’s lean body and the most beautiful legs she had ever seen on a man. His mother had been killed when he was less than a year old. He’d grown up in a children’s home and never been adopted. He was a special agent with the GBI. He was one of the smartest men she had ever met, and he was so dyslexic that, as far as she could tell, he read no higher than a second-grade level.

She stood shoulder to shoulder with him, staring at the flyer that had caught his attention. “That looks interesting.”

He made a very bad show of acting surprised to see her. “Dr. Linton. I was just …” He tore one of the info tags off the flyer. “I’ve been thinking about getting a bike.”

She glanced at the ad, which had a detailed drawing of a Harley Davidson underneath a headline asking for members to join. “I don’t think Dykes on Bikes is your kind of ride.”

His smile was crooked. He’d spent a lifetime covering up his disability, and even though Sara had found out, he was still loath to acknowledge there was a problem. “It’s a great way to meet women.”

“Are you looking to meet women?”

Sara was reminded of yet another one of Will’s traits, which was that he had an uncanny knack for keeping his mouth shut when he didn’t know what to say. This resulted in the sort of awkward moments that made Sara’s dating life look downright ebullient.

Thankfully, Will’s order was up. Sara stood back as he took the box of pizza from the tattooed and multipierced waitress. The young woman gave Will what could only be called an appreciative glance. He seemed oblivious as he checked his pizza to make sure they’d gotten the order right.

“Well.” He used his thumb to twist the wedding ring on his finger. “I guess I should go.”

“All right.”

He didn’t move. Neither did Sara. A dog started barking outside, the high-pitched yips traveling through the open windows. Sara knew there was a post and water bowl by the front door for people who brought their pets to the restaurant. She also knew that Will’s wife had a little dog named Betty, and that the care and feeding fell mostly to him.

The yipping intensified. Will still made no move to leave.

She said, “That sounds a lot like a Chihuahua.”

He listened intently, then nodded. “I think you might be right.”

“There you are.” Dale was finally back from the restroom. “Listen, I got a call from the hospital …” He looked up at Will. “Hi.”

Sara made the introductions. “Dale Dugan, this is Will Trent.”

Will gave a tight nod. Dale returned it.

The dog kept barking, a piercing, panicked yelp. Sara could tell from Will’s expression that he was prepared to die rather than acknowledge ownership.

She found some mercy in her heart. “Dale, I know you need to get to the hospital. Thanks so much for lunch.”

“Sure.” He leaned in and kissed her squarely on the lips. “I’ll call you.”

“Great,” she managed, resisting the urge to wipe her mouth. She watched the two men exchange another tight nod that made Sara feel like the only fire hydrant at the dog park.

Betty’s yips intensified as Dale walked across the parking lot. Will mumbled something under his breath before pushing open the door. He untied the leash and scooped up the dog with one hand, keeping the pizza box steadied in the other. The barking stopped immediately. Betty tucked her head into his chest. Her tongue lolled out.

Sara petted the dog’s head. There were fresh sutures crisscrossing her narrow back. “What happened?”

Will’s jaw was still clenched. “She got into it with a Jack Russell.”

“Really?” Unless the Jack Russell had a pair of scissors for paws, there was no way another dog had made the marks.

He indicated Betty. “I should get her home.”

Sara had never been to Will’s house, but she knew the street that he lived on. “Aren’t you going right?” She clarified, “This way?”