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    Why did he feel like such a jerk?
    Carrie took the bill, glanced at it and slid her card onto the table. They waited for the waitress to pick it up and return it. Carrie signed the receipt and said, “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
    Jay was more than happy to leave. He jumped up and pulled the chair out as Carrie stood. Walking beside her through the restaurant, he touched her elbow and guided her around a waiter laden with a tray of food. Somehow, when they stepped out into the muggy June night, his hand found its way to hers. Her grasp was cool, her fingers long and slender. Another knot caught in his chest, and he felt like a sixteen-year-old on his first date.
    But she was quiet. Too quiet. Jay opened the door for her, and she slipped into his battered Mustang, the one he had bought just a few days ago. Maybe he’d blown it with that stupid incident in the restaurant. Damn! Of all the rotten luck.
    Climbing into the driver’s seat, Jay started the engine and revved it. The heady “vroom” sound pierced the night. Backing out of the parking spot, he twirled the steering wheel with one hand and stepped on the gas again, shooting out of the lot and into the flow of traffic.
    What was he doing? Gunning his car like a high school kid? Carrie sat ladylike, hands folded in her lap, her lips in a tight smile. What kind of impression was he making? Suddenly he wanted to disappear into the floorboard.
    Instead, he took her home.
    Opening the passenger side door, Jay had his apology ready.
    “Will you come inside?” she asked as she stepped out of the car.
    Her invitation surprised him. He couldn’t get the words out and just nodded like a dolt, his nerves vibrating throughout his body.
    Carrie’s house was in the older part of Louisville, Kentucky—a large, two-story wooden structure from the turn of the century painted a cool shade of blue. Inside the spacious living room with high ceilings and tall windows, she had decorated with the same cool blue, which found its way to the sofa and the throw rugs that scattered across worn hardwood floors.
    “I’ll make some iced tea.” She dropped her purse on a chair. “If you like.”
    “That will be fine.” Jay glanced at her as she went toward what he assumed to be the kitchen.
    Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he strolled toward the central focus of the room, a fireplace surrounded by an antique mantle painted off white. Pictures dotted the mantle—Jesse as a baby, Carrie and Jesse, and Carrie on her wedding day.
    Jay studied the picture. Carrie looked so young, but not as happy as a blushing bride should look. The white veil framed her face, showing the gaunt angles of her cheeks. She’d put on weight since then. The added maturity had smoothed her features, making her look even younger than the girl in the picture. This would not be something suitable to point out to her though, Jay reflected with a suppressed grin.
    The last picture on the mantle must be her husband. Jay stared at it, surprised to see a man much older than he had expected. Tate had a serious look in his eyes, his lips pulled into a grim line. What was a man like who wouldn’t even smile for a photograph?
    Yet he had been Carrie’s husband and probably had smiled at her with love. For a stark moment, Jay felt a stab of jealousy.
    “Here it is.” Carrie walked into the room carrying a large tray with a rainbow-colored pitcher and two tall glasses balanced on it.
    “Let me help you.” Jay took the tray and set it down on the coffee table.
    She licked her lips, pulled a tiny smile and nodded toward the sofa. “Have a seat.”
    “Thanks.” He perched awkwardly on the edge of the sofa.
    Carrie poured the tea into one of the tall glasses. “Sugar?”
    “No thanks.”
    When she handed him the glass, their fingers brushed briefly. The jolt of longing startled him. His face flushed hot once more. Trying to compose himself, Jay gulped the tea. A sprig of mint tickled the tip of his