He turned his attention back to his plate.

“That was a good answer,” I murmured.

“Let me ask you something,” he said.

“Go for it.” I took another sip of wine.

“Why do you work at a job you hate?”

I sputtered, spraying a little wine. “Uh, I don’t hate my job!” I said, dabbing my lips with a napkin. “I... It’s fun. Today was fun. Chip, that is. That part was fun.”

He folded his hands in front of him, looked me straight in the eye and sighed.

“I don’t hate it that much,” I said. “I’ll probably like it much more after what you just said so poetically.”

“When you’re paying attention, you’re not a bad editor. That being said, I think I can count on one hand how many days you’ve paid attention. And most of those days have been this week.”

“Yes, well, we live in a distractible society.”

He stared at me. Unfortunately, he was not distractible.

“Why haven’t you fired me?” I asked.

He took his time answering. “I like your mother,” he finally said.

I laughed. “Good for you. It’s not easy. Also, she’s my stepmother.”

He resumed his tidy eating. “How old were you when your parents divorced?”

“They didn’t. My mom died when I was three. Candy was my father’s first wife. And also his third.” I stood up and cleared our plates. “Thank you for dinner. It was very good.”

“I’m sorry about your mother.”

“Thank you.”

“Also, you make a good salad.”

I smiled at his awkward attempt at conversation. “Everyone has special gifts, Jonathan. Mine is salad.”

He glanced at me uncertainly, then finished clearing the table, and we loaded the dishwasher in silence.

“I’ll check the forecast,” he said, going into the other room.

Right. So he could get me home.

I followed him into the family room, where there were more framed photos of the girls on the mantel. Stone fireplace. I’d always been a sucker for those.

I sat on the couch, which was soft and comfortable. There was a yellow crayon stuck between the cushions, which made me happy for some reason.

The TV showed another red blob headed our way.

“Do you mind waiting till that passes?” he asked.

“Not if you don’t.”

“I don’t.”

He went back to the kitchen and returned with the wine bottle. Poured me a little more. “I don’t have anything to offer you for dessert. I’m sorry.”

“Life without dessert is sad, boss.”

Another robust crash of thunder. Jonathan turned off the TV and sat next to me on the couch. I curled into the corner and stared at him. He didn’t return the look. Then again, this allowed me to study his profile. The gods of bone structure had had a lot of fun with him—razor-sharp cheekbones, hard, well-defined jaw.

Funny that I used to think he was unattractive.

“How are you doing with your ex-wife and that, um, situation?” I asked.

The eyebrow I could see lifted. “It’s...difficult.”

“You were very polite on the phone.”

“Yes. Laine is the mother of my children. It wouldn’t help them to have us be at each other’s throats.”

I couldn’t imagine Jonathan at anyone’s throat.

I could, however, imagine him heartbroken.

“Do you ever talk to your brother?”

“No.”

“That’s a tough one.”

“Yes.” He swirled the wine in his glass. “My father and brother and I were very close, and when my father had the stroke, it was devastating. I worked at the magazine at the time and took over my father’s job there, as well.” He paused. “You may have noticed that I’m not the best at...” The hand that wasn’t holding his wineglass flailed a little as he searched for the words.

“Expressing human emotion?” I offered.

“That. Yes.” The cat jumped up on his lap, and he began petting him, eliciting a silky purr. The cat narrowed his eyes at me. I narrowed mine back. “So. The magazine was struggling, and I was working long hours so we wouldn’t have to lay anyone off. My brother was grieving, my wife was lonely, I was emotionally unavailable, according to Laine. So they found comfort with each other. For the sake of the girls, I’m trying to be civilized.”

“It’s still shitty, Jon. You’re allowed to be mad.”

“Oh, I was. Believe me, I was.” There was that deep voice again, low and dangerous and kind of...hot. “No one calls me Jon, by the way.”

“Do you hate it?”

“No. But no one calls me that.”

“Except me.”

The lips quirked again. “Yes.”

Luciano jumped down and began licking his privates, which were publics if you were a cat. Jonathan nudged him away, and the cat left with an impressive yowl.

“How’s that woman you mentioned?” I asked. “Remember? In divorce group? You said there was someone you liked.”

“I’m quite sure I never said that.”

“Well, Carly said you said it. In a prior session.”

“So much for the group’s confidentiality clause.”

“You were on a date the night Eric dumped me. Was that the woman?”

“No. That was my cousin.”

“Oh. Well, according to rumor, there was a woman, and you liked her.” I pulled a throw pillow against my stomach. “Come on. It’s raining, we have wine, I’m Dr. Lovely’s stepdaughter. You can tell me. How is she?” I felt oddly jealous. But of course he’d be dating someone. Though a little clenched, I’d discovered that Jonathan was...well, a kind man. A good father. He had those eyes and that voice. “There was a woman, right?”

He glanced at me. “Yes.”

“And? How’s it going with her? What’s she like?”

“It’s...complicated.”

“Why?”

“She doesn’t know what she wants.”

“Oh, one of those.” So she was stringing him along, then, huh? Sounded like she needed a hearty slap.

“Have you made your move?” I asked.

“No.”

“Why?”

“I repeat—it’s complicated.”

“Why is it complicated? God, this is like pulling teeth! Can you put two sentences together, please?”

He turned his head to look straight ahead once more. These humans and their interactions. So maddening. “She just got out of a long-term relationship.”

“So? Maybe she needs a good bang to get over him. A little boom-boom-pow.”

Jonathan didn’t answer. Thunder rolled across the fields outside, but it was fainter now.

Then he turned those beautiful eyes to me. “Also, she works for me.”

I sat bolt upright. “Really? Who—Oh.”

Oh.

I felt hot. My whole body felt flushed and tight and tingly.

“I’m not quite sure she even likes me.” He shifted so he was facing me. “Though recently, she seems to like me a little more.”

My heart jerked in my chest. “Just to be clear,” I said, my voice husky, “we are talking about me, right?”

He closed his eyes for a second—why do I get the idiots?—then opened them. “Yes,” he said, his voice so deep it was just a rumble. He didn’t look away, and there it was, that glimmer of gold in his strange, beautiful eyes.