Debbie Macomber: 204 Rosewood Lane

Justine discovered almost immediately how wrong she was. Only one word was written on the card.

Warren .

She groaned with disappointment and tossed the small card onto the kitchen counter. She set the vase carelessly on the table, cringing every time she looked at it.

An hour later, while she was scrounging around her refrigerator, seeking out something easy and edible for dinner, the doorbell rang.

She answered it to find Warren Saget standing there, wearing a flashy thousand-dollar business suit and an even flashier smile. “Hello, Justine.”

“Hello, Warren,” she said without enthusiasm.

“Did you get my flowers?”

She didn’t invite him inside. “I did, but I wish you hadn’t.”

“I wanted to thank you for having lunch with me.”

She’d guessed as much. “It was very thoughtful.”

He met her eyes, then stared at the handle on the door. “Can I come in?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” If her mother had heard about their lunch date, Justine wondered how many other people in town already knew. She had no intention of adding to the gossip by having Warren’s visit to her apartment reported next.

“All right,” Warren said, looking hurt and a little confused. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You didn’t, it’s just that…” She stopped herself from saying more. Warren was far too clever when it came to getting his own way and she wasn’t going to make it any easier.

He waited for her to continue and when she didn’t, he asked, “Do you have any plans tonight?”

She certainly wasn’t telling him that the most exciting plan she had was a rerun of Nash Bridges . “Why?”

“I was hoping you’d have dinner with me. No pressure. It’s just that I figured you might be lonely with Seth gone for so many weeks. I thought you might enjoy a night on the town.”

“No thanks, Warren.”

He shrugged. “No harm in asking,” he said with a forced smile.

“Actually I think there might be.”

He arched his eyebrows as if she’d surprised him.

“The two of us shouldn’t be seeing each other. It’s…inappropriate. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t visit me again—either at work or at my apartment.”

The hurt-little-boy look was back. “Justine, you don’t think I’d purposely do anything to jeopardize your relationship with Seth, do you?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. I mean it, Warren, stay away from me.”

“You told him, didn’t you?” Warren’s eyes narrowed. “That big Swedish oaf is jealous.” He laughed, although the sound was humorless.

She refused to defend Seth or make excuses for him. Her husband was uncomfortable with her seeing Warren and that was the end of it. Her relationship with Warren was over; it had been for a long time, regardless of their recent lunch date. Nothing he said or did was going to change her mind.

“The next thing I know,” he said bitterly, “you’ll be telling me that big oaf got you pregnant.”

“Warren, please.” She dragged out his name, implying that this conversation was boring her. “Just go.” She wasn’t willing to stand in the doorway and argue with him. She started to close the door, but Warren’s words stopped her.

“You are pregnant, aren’t you?” he demanded. “Don’t you see what he’s doing to you?”

“Warren…”

“Don’t let it happen, Justine. I’d hoped you’d come to your senses before—”

She was through listening and shut the door with a resounding bang.

Leaning against it, Justine felt weak with relief. He was gone. She’d been an idiot to go out for lunch with him that day. She saw now that it was disloyal to Seth; furthermore, Warren was too competitive to ever be a friend, as she’d naively thought. Not only that, Cedar Cove was a small town, and perceptions mattered. She couldn’t risk humiliating her husband by allowing people to think she was seeing Warren—her supposed former lover—behind his back.

Warren had brought up an interesting point, though. Pregnancy. Shortly after Jordan’s death and her parents’ divorce, Justine had decided she didn’t want children. But now that she was married, she realized her views had changed. She could only hope Seth felt the same way.

Jack Griffin slapped cologne on his freshly shaved cheeks and blinked at the sting. He caught his reflection in the spotted and foggy mirror and wiggled his eyebrows a couple of times.

“Tonight,” he said aloud, reminding himself that this could very well be the evening he lured Olivia Lockhart into his bed. Their relationship had been progressing nicely— very nicely. But they were both mature adults, and with those years had come a certain… patience. A kind of caution. They weren’t twenty-year-olds at the mercy of their hormones. Still, he was a man in every sense of the word, and he’d like nothing better than to take their relationship to a physical level. Beyond kissing and cuddling… He was ready to make the leap and hoped she agreed.

The divorced family court judge wasn’t like other women he’d known. Olivia had class and culture, and he was a no-account drunk who remained sober one day at a time.

Grace Sherman had told him about Olivia’s upcoming birthday and he was grateful. This was exactly the occasion he’d been looking for, a chance to show her exactly how much he cared. Jack had searched long and hard for the perfect birthday gift. His quest had been to find something that would let her know the message of his heart. Something that suited a woman who was both sophisticated and unpretentious. The diamond tennis bracelet was it.

Choosing a clean shirt, he reached for the gray velvet box and examined the bracelet. It was stunning, if he said so himself. He’d never bought anything as beautiful as this, not even for his ex-wife. The jeweler had sold him on the quality, and had then shaved off an extra ten per cent when Jack showed more than idle interest. Nothing wrong with being practical, he figured. The extra cash would go toward a fancy dinner at The Captain’s Galley. He enjoyed imagining Olivia’s reaction when she opened the box. Twice now he’d wrapped it, and then because he wanted to be assured it was as lovely as he remembered, he’d unwrapped it just to take another peek.

Whistling, Jack finished dressing. Tonight , he said again, his blood already heating at the thought of Olivia lying in his arms.

A sound came from the direction of his living room and he stuck his head outside the bedroom door. “Anyone here?”

No response.

Jack frowned, then checked his reflection one last time.

“Dad?”

Jack froze. Eric was here? Now?

“Eric?” Jack stepped out of the bedroom to find his twenty-six-year-old son standing in the middle of his living room, a suitcase in his hand.

“You were on your way out?” Eric asked.

“I’m not expected for a while,” Jack assured him. The boy looked dreadful, his complexion pale with pain. His shoulders were hunched and his misery was evident in every line of his body. “What’s wrong?”

Eric shrugged.

Experience had taught him that only a woman was capable of bringing a man to this point. “Did you and Shelly have a fight?”

Eric’s returning snort was devoid of humor. “You could say that.”

Glancing at the suitcase in his son’s hand, he assumed this was more than the usual disagreement. “She kicked you out?”

Eric nodded.

His son slumped onto the sofa and gazed pleadingly up at Jack. “Do you have time to talk, Dad?”

Jack’s relationship with his son was tenuous at best. For almost his entire life, Eric had lived with his mother. Even after Jack became sober, Eric had rejected every effort he’d made to establish a relationship. This year, this past spring, was the first time Eric had agreed to see Jack. Afraid he might inadvertently say or do something to distress his son, Jack had invited Olivia along for the initial meeting. They’d all had dinner on the Seattle waterfront. Buoyed by the success of that outing, Jack and Eric had gotten together every month or so since.