Chapter One

      RENÉ MUNROE hadn’t been this nervous since her first date at fifteen. Today, twenty years later, she worked like a madwoman to prepare a meal for her coworker, Jon Becker.

      She used whole tomatoes and garlic cloves, fresh basil and, because she liked tangy instead of sweet, she added her signature dash of balsamic vinegar to the marinara sauce. Then she went the extra mile to make the pasta from scratch.

      Tonight, if she handled things perfectly, could turn out to be an “extra mile” kind of night. The linguini looked delicious as she pulled the noodles through the gizmo, hoping all would turn out as planned. Add a salad of baby greens and fresh Italian bread from her favorite bakery, and she had a meal. A darn fine meal. A meal that might lead to a dream come true.

      She brushed off her hands, grabbed the dishes and tableware and hipped her way through the swinging kitchen door to the dining room while trying to push nervous thoughts out of her mind. Could she pull this off? She distracted herself by setting the table.

      Three years ago she’d found a classic Craftsman home in disrepair in the foothills of Santa Barbara. Since it was close enough to the medical clinic, she bought it for a good price and little by little began restoring it. The dining and living rooms were her favorite parts of the house. She’d knocked out one wall to bring an open, flowing feel to the area, but had maintained and refinished all of the built-in shelves and extra woodwork. This was a home she intended to live in for the rest of her life. A home she hoped to have a family in.

      She believed in keeping design uncluttered, like her life, and the simple dining table and chairs with a matching buffet were the only furniture in this room. Sage-green walls brought peace to her roiling jitters, and were a perfect contrast to the abundant rich golden wood.

      After tonight, if all went well, the last thing her life would be was simple.

      She put bright red place mats on the table to contrast the subtle earthenware vase heavily laden with colorful dried flowers. She needed things to be just so tonight, and did a quick walk-through of the living room to make sure nothing was out of place.

      A natural-rock fireplace served as the focal point, and even though she’d cheated with a gas log, the fire gave the living room that extra bit of coziness she wanted. Anything to help make easier the topic she was about to bring up with Jon.

      One mad dash to the bathroom to touch up her makeup and run the comb through her hair, and she was ready…just as the doorbell rang. Perfect timing.

      Jon stood on her porch with his typical serious expression and a bottle of wine in each hand. Along with his usual salt-and-pepper-brown closely cropped hair, he sported a new beard tracing a thin red-tinged line along his jaw, and wore a black fleece vest, long-sleeved gray shirt and jeans. When she let him in, he smelled good, like sandalwood and some exotic spice, and it struck her that she’d never noticed his cologne before.

      “Wow,” he said. “You’ve really done a lot with the house. It looks great.”

      He’d helped her do a walk-through when she’d first considered buying it, and had given his nod of approval. After his divorce two years ago, she wasn’t sure how to handle their mostly business relationship and, not wanting to send the wrong message, hadn’t invited him back again. He’d struck her as a recluse since then, avoiding anything that smacked of social interaction. In