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changes his sentence. “I mean you ran into me.”
    He reaches out and touches the tip of my nose with his index
finger. I flinch over his cute antics.
    “Thanks again.” I push the key into my lock and shove open
the door.
    “Saturday,” he asks, sounding like a little boy. “Are we on
for a hike?”
    The longing in his eyes touch me. “I’ll call and let you
know, okay?” It’s all I can offer at the moment without feeling pressured.
    “Okay. You have my number. Call me.” His face is clearly
etched in disappointment.
    He turns and heads toward the stairs and climbs down the
first six and stands on the landing for a brief second. “Goodnight.”
    “Night.” I wave goodbye and smile.
    A moment later, I’m in my apartment. I lock the door and
slide my back down to the floor, until my rear hits the throw rug. The thought
of spending time with him is overwhelming. I feel drained in so many ways, I
can’t number them.
    Confusion swirls through my mind, mixed with the fear. I’m
not sure what I should do about his invitation. Finally, my pent-up emotions
from the day expel in tears. For the next ten minutes, I’m lost in a crying jag
I cannot stop, because of the kind respect Ian Richards has shown me. I know I
don’t deserve it, but it felt so wonderful it makes me want more.

Chapter 3
    A Reluctant Acceptance
    I wake up Tuesday with my usual morning depression, after a
restless night’s sleep. Attorney blue-eyes kept showing up when I closed my
eyelids. He’s hard to eradicate, and now I have four days to decide whether I
want to accept his offer or not.
    After climbing out of bed and showering, I’m reminded that I
need to catch the bus to the body shop a few miles away to sign papers and pick
up a rental. Already, I’m behind at work, which adds more stress to my day. I
reach for my prescription and down my morning anti-depressant. Tonight at seven
o’clock I’ll take another.
    Three months ago, I had fallen back into the dumps. It’s
been a constant battle being on and off medication since I was a teenager. I
feel happy, and then I feel awful. When I think I’ve got the depression beat, I
go off the pills and feel cheerful for a few months. Then stress, loneliness,
and heartache take their toll again, and I’m calling my doctor begging for the
return of the purple-colored pill.
    I’m to the point in my life that I’m thinking of making this
a permanent arrangement. We’re old friends by now. I don’t know what else to
do, because I need to function so I can work and take care of myself. There’s
nobody else to do it for me.
    As soon as that thought crosses my mind, I think of Ian
Richards. It’s far too tempting to believe that a handsome and successful man
would find an interest in me, especially on a long-term basis. I’m not sure if
I accept his story that he wants to be friends. We’re not on the same playing
field. Another twang of distrust hits me as I try to figure out his motives for
wanting to take me on a hike.
    It doesn’t take long for the alone-in-the-woods thought to
resurface and the notorious serial killers of the Pacific Northwest to haunt my
mind. I can see it now—my poor bones with the flesh picked off by ravens will
make headlines in the Oregonian newspaper—unidentified skeletal remains found
on Larch Mountain by a hiker.
    If I do go with Ian, then I am choosing a trail that I know
is heavily travelled. Perhaps I should check his backpack to make sure he
hasn’t brought any duct tape. The irrational worries keep prancing through my
mind from rape to murder. I have four days to figure this out. At the rate I’m
going, I’ll make myself sick by then and won’t be able to go.
    After climbing into my economy rental, I drive to work and
park in the structure next to our building. I’m early enough not to get a
lecture, so I head upstairs to my desk and am greeted by the red roses that
look as fresh as the day before. They make me smile. I shove my nose into a