But why did he have to choose here instead of her office, impersonal territory that held no memories for either of them? She could have handled it there, much more easily. Once he hadn’t appeared at her office, she’d assumed he’d show up the next day. Otherwise she would have prepared herself both mentally and physically for his arrival. She’d have put on something slightly less revealing and vulnerability-inducing than a pale peach robe with nothing but a pair of fuzzy slippers underneath it. Part of her wanted to escape to her bedroom to put on something more appropriate before she opened the door to him. She had no idea if he’d wait that long, and she wanted this over. She took one last look through the peephole, steeling herself for the encounter that was to come. She might not have changed much, but he had. Thirteen years ago, he’d been a young man just coming into his own—thinner, more wiry than he was today. Back then, he’d been clear-eyed and avid—hungry for the job.
