Judy Duarte - Family Practice

She paused at the door. “Dinner was delicious. I had a nice time. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” It hadn’t turned out to be the sensual kind of evening he’d originally planned, but it had worked out for the best. Still, he couldn’t seem to shake the memory of the toe-curling kiss they’d shared.

“Maybe we can do it again before you have to leave.”

Do it again? The kiss immediately came to mind, even though he knew they were discussing dinner and friendly conversation. He hoped she hadn’t read his mind, but when she blushed, he realized her thoughts had drifted in the same direction as his.

She offered him a shy smile. “I was referring to dinner.”

“I know.”

He was amazed by her innocence and determination yet realized she had her own battles to fight in Harbor Haven. And he had a hell of a mess to go home to—a practice he needed to rebuild or move across the country and an ex-wife who continued to write him letters of apology for the gut punch she’d given his pride. No, he and Kara had nothing in common. And their differences were legion.

He took her hand and opened the door. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

“I told you I’d be okay,” she said, lifting her chin in determination.

Michael gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I know you’ll be just fine. But I’ll feel better knowing you got inside the house all right.”

Then, as he led her onto the porch, he left his front door open wide.

Because he’d be right back.

Because the lamp from his living room would help light their path.

And because he needed a reminder that he had a home to return to.

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