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“I’m a light sleeper and Nigel sleeps with me. I woke up when he started shaking.”

“Luck, then.”

“Yeah.” She took a big gulp of coffee. “It’s a good thing Sam wants more hours. She’s going to get some today.” Then her forehead wrinkled. “But you’re going to be exhausted. I’m so sorry.”

“Quit apologizing.” He held a little food on his finger to tempt Nigel. “I’ll go in and check on everybody and get some lab work ordered on this little dude, but I’ll probably reschedule what I can and take a nice nap in my office.” Molly started to say something, but he held up a hand. “Really. Don’t apologize again. This isn’t the first time I’ve pulled an all-nighter. It’s just part of the job sometimes. And I got a couple of hours of sleep before you called.”

“That doesn’t make me appreciate it any less.” She paused to press her head to Nigel’s, who responded by rubbing his honey-covered fur against her chin. “I hate to sound like one of those crazy cat ladies or anything, but Nigel’s my baby. I can’t bear to think of something happening to him. Especially when it’s my fault.”

“First of all, quit blaming yourself. Nigel’s not blaming you, and I’m not blaming you, so give yourself a break. Secondly, pets are like family. It’s tough to see them ill or in pain.”

“Nigel’s my first,” she confessed. “My sister is allergic, so we never had any growing up. Well, except for a few fish, but those aren’t exactly cuddly. Nigel, though, just
owns
me, heart and soul. Loves me unconditionally. It’s an amazing thing, and I hate that I had to wait this long to find out about it.”

She said the words casually, but they hit him hard. Whatever she’d left behind when she came here . . . Well, it couldn’t have been good. That knowledge clashed hard with the happy face Molly presented to the world, meaning she was either in deep denial or those self-help books were worth their weight in gold.

But the knowledge she’d been through something bad and come out okay gave him a new respect for Molly. She was more than just a pretty face, and way more than just “Molly-from-Latte-Dah.”

The ideas he’d been merely toying with suddenly became full-fledged convictions, with plans and images and even a sound track. And while now wasn’t the time to make a move, knowing he was going to—soon—added an edge of anticipation and excitement to the situation.

Molly bounced between concerned pet parent and gracious hostess—cooing at Nigel and then plying him with coffee and biscotti. They talked easily of small, unimportant things—Sophie and Quinn’s upcoming wedding, the bands playing during the Memorial Day weekend events, the possibility of him bringing another vet into the clinic to lighten his load, and her plans to eventually open a small coffee stand over near the beach to serve the tourists more easily. In a way, they were just killing time on the Nigel-watch, but it was nice, too. Comfortable.

Nigel was definitely on the mend, grooming himself and snuggling up to Molly for more love. When Tate went to test his glucose one last time, Nigel hissed and swatted at him, the “poke me one more time and I’ll shred you, buddy” message abundantly clear as he stalked off in the direction of Molly’s bedroom.

Molly laughed, then apologized. She looked tired now, with dark purple circles under her eyes from the lack of sleep, but the worry and strain had disappeared,
and the color was back in her cheeks. “I’d say he’s much better now.”

“I agree.” Tate stretched and started packing up. “I still want to run those tests on him, though. You can just drop him off at the clinic anytime after seven, and we’ll call you when he’s ready to be picked up.”

“I will.” She rubbed a hand over her face and pushed her hair back behind her ears. “Mercy, I’m exhausted. I’m so jacked up on caffeine, though, I don’t think I could sleep even if I wanted to.” She pushed to her feet and stretched, arching her back and groaning. Her shirt crawled a few inches up, showing off toned thighs—something he couldn’t possibly ignore now, thanks to his newly arrived-at decision of the evening. She was compact and rounded in all the right places, something even the baggy layers of T-shirt and hoodie couldn’t disguise.

Molly looked at the clock and shook her head. “I guess it doesn’t matter anyway. My alarm’s going to go off in forty-five minutes. I feel like I should offer to make you breakfast or something,” she said with a laugh.

At least she hadn’t noticed his stare. “Thanks, but no. If I go home now, I’ll have time for a nap.”

Her eyebrows went up. “Even after all that coffee? I feel like I’ve failed at my one job.”

“I’ll manage. Provided I can drag myself up off this floor.”

Surprisingly, Molly extended a hand to him to help him up. Considering he topped her by a good six inches and probably at least thirty pounds, he found the offer a little amusing, but he took the proffered hand anyway.

Molly had a nice firm grip and soft, warm hands. When her first halfhearted tug accomplished exactly nothing, she used her other hand to grasp his wrist and
planted her feet wider apart. “On three,” she said. “One . . . two . . . thr—”

Nigel chose that moment to streak back through the room, right between Molly’s legs, startling her and throwing her off balance.

In one slow-motion second, he realized that if she fell, Molly would hit the edge of the coffee table, probably with her head, and he gave her arm a sharp tug instead, pulling her forward and into his lap. Molly’s knee landed painfully on his thigh, and her head bounced off his collarbone with a sharp crack. Still, it was better than the alternative, even as it knocked the breath out of him.

Molly sat up on her knees, hands pressed against her nose. “Ow! What did you do that for?”

“It was either that or stitch your head up after you cracked it open on the coffee table. I made a judgment call.”

“I think my nose is broken.”

Well, that was one way to make an impression on a lady.
“Let me see.”

Even through watery eyes, Molly managed to give him a “get real” look.

“Come on, I’m a doctor, remember.”

“I’m not a poodle.” The words were muffled behind her hands.

“I don’t know,” he teased. “With all that curly hair . . .”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

“MD, DVM . . . Beggars with possible broken noses can’t be choosers.”

With a sigh, Molly let her hands drop. As she was still kneeling between his thighs, her face was almost level with his.

Her nose was a little red, but there was no blood, no swelling. He gave the bridge a gentle squeeze, but it felt
solid, and she didn’t even wince when he did it. He wasn’t an expert on human anatomy, but he couldn’t see any obvious signs of a fracture. “I think you’re fine. Maybe put some ice on it.”

Molly froze then, her eyes widening. It took him a second to figure out why. Without even meaning to, he’d moved from examining her nose to pushing the hair back out of her face and tucking it behind her ears. His hand was still resting on the side of her head, his thumb gently stroking her hair.

Ah, hell.

Jerking away would make him look guilty or ashamed, but continuing on could make him look like a jerk. Or clueless. It was a bit of a catch-22. But Molly had the softest hair; all the curls rioting around his fingers tickled his skin, and he didn’t want to let go. Those coffee-colored eyes were huge in her face—not in a bad way, just in a startled, “well, this is new” way. She was close enough that he could smell the peppermint of her lip balm and feel her breath as she exhaled.

He wasn’t quite sure what he should do. He wasn’t even one hundred percent sure what he
wanted
to do. This wasn’t exactly how he’d pictured his move, but the deed was done and he didn’t want to screw it up now. The longer Molly stayed there, not objecting to his touch but not moving otherwise, the more unsure he got.

Then Molly closed her eyes and her head moved ever so slightly against his hand. If he hadn’t been so keenly focused on the feel of her, he’d have missed it entirely. Desire slammed into him, making his skin feel tight and hot, his brain taking that movement as permission.

But a second later, it was over, and he was left grasping the air where Molly used to be.

Molly was blinking and clearing her throat, feeling
the bridge of her nose and clamoring gracelessly to her feet, muttering the whole time. A flush climbed up her neck to her cheeks, clashing with the purple shadows under her eyes.

He could almost convince himself that it hadn’t happened.

But it had happened.

And it changed
everything
.

•   •   •

Molly decided she was way too old to be pulling all-nighters. She felt like death on toast, and while her body craved sleep, she could not shut her brain down long enough to actually
fall
asleep for longer than a few minutes, even though the lack of sleep and the vivid, jarring dreams made her thoughts foggy and disjointed at best.

She was simply no good for anything today. She’d made it through the morning at Latte Dah, leaving Sam in charge once things had slowed down, and had come home with every intention of a long, hard nap, but that just wasn’t happening.

Lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling was starting to annoy her. She’d splurged on the duvet and linens, making her bed into the perfect nest, but she couldn’t seem to get comfortable.

She was worried about Nigel, of course, but it wasn’t a panic. By the time she’d dropped him off at the clinic this morning, he was so fully recovered, even she began to wonder whether she’d imagined the night before. If there had been some terrible underlying cause for last night’s crash, she’d know soon enough, and she knew better than to borrow trouble by running worst-case scenarios through her head.

But that didn’t keep her from trying to tell herself that she was
totally
and
completely
worried about Nigel, and that was the
only
thing keeping her awake and edgy.

Unfortunately, she was a terrible liar.

No, the thing that had thrown the monkey wrench into her mental gears was that moment last night when Tate had stroked her hair and looked at her as if . . . well, as if he’d
wanted
her. It was one thing for her to play with the idea from
her
side—there was no real harm in it, other than the mild strain of frustration.

It was a whole different thing to think that Tate might be also playing with the same idea.

Men had flirted with her ever since she moved here. Mostly it was light and harmless and fun, just enough to buoy her ego when she felt unattractive and unlovable. But she kept everyone kindly and safely in the Friend Zone, and it hadn’t been a problem.

But now Tate, who’d never given her so much as a flirty glance before, was shaking her equilibrium like an earthquake. Because what happened last night hadn’t been flirty and it certainly hadn’t been light. There’d been that moment of . . .
damn
. A shiver went through her again, same as it did every time she thought of it.

This was a whole new kind of frustration. Earthquake Tate had shaken something loose inside her, and the frustration had a new, sharp, and scary edge.

She was imagining things she had no business imagining. Her mind had taken that moment and run wild with it, giving Tate a starring role in some pretty graphic fantasies every time she closed her eyes. Every nerve she had was on edge, yet she was unable to make a move either way.

It wasn’t just frustrating. It was infuriating. And it was hell.

Plus, there was the complication of Helena. Even if she could act on any of these ideas, disaster lurked. Helena and Tate had a bond Molly had to respect even if she didn’t fully understand it. And while Helena
might have played with the idea of matchmaking between her friends, Molly doubted Helena had thought the possibilities all the way through—especially what would happen if it went bad. Even if Molly had been free to act, Tate would still be a hazard area for that very reason. She and Helena were close, but probably not close enough for Molly to hurt Tate without repercussions.

But if Tate did make a move, how would Helena react if Molly rejected him?

She flopped over onto her belly and pulled a pillow over her head.

Of course the most hair-pulling part of it all was that even if she could decide what she wanted to do, there was only one option actually available to her.

Nothing.

And she hated doing nothing. Hated the feeling that there was nothing she
could
do.

Since she couldn’t sleep and it was too early to drink, Molly went and took a long, hot shower. She felt better, awake if not rested, and a careful application of concealer over the bags under her eyes made her look awake and somewhat human—at least from a distance.

At least banging her nose last night hadn’t blacked her eyes.
That
would have just been too much.

She called Sam as she tied her shoes. “I’m about to head that way. Do you need anything? Do I need to go by the bank for change?”

“I was hoping you’d call before you came, because I didn’t want to call and wake you up. First, no, I don’t need anything, and everything is under control. Second, Jane is on her way in. She says you should take the rest of the day off, and she’ll help me close.”

“That’s sweet, but—”

“And Tate called. I told him that you’d gone home,
but he didn’t want to call and wake you. He said if you called to tell you that Nigel’s fine, and all the tests came back normal. You can call him for the details, but he didn’t want you to worry.”

“That is a relief.” It meant that giving Nigel that new food
had
been the catalyst, and though it was her fault, at least he didn’t have some horrible disease. “But Jane doesn’t need to—”

“It’s fine,” Sam insisted. “We’ve got it worked out. Take the rest of the day off and relax.”

She hesitated. It wasn’t that she was a workaholic who couldn’t leave her business alone—she had a great, trustworthy staff completely capable of running Latte Dah in her absence. But taking the rest of the day off didn’t sound that appealing. She’d already discovered that she couldn’t be left alone with her thoughts today. Relaxing didn’t seem likely.