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him.
    He tried again. “That wasn’t really my question. How do you feel about it?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” she asked.
    â€œIs that something you’d like at some point in your life?”
    â€œA man who seduces his quiet but fierce-hearted governess while harboring a crazy wife in the attic? Nah. That’s more Penny’s thing than mine.”
    He sighed and pinched his forehead between his thumb and forefinger. “No, not that. I was referring to an engagement. A committed relationship. Is that something you want?”
    â€œI hadn’t thought about it.” She busied herself straightening her spoon, positioning it exactly in the middle of her napkin.
    You’re such a liar , he thought. One way or another, you’ve thought about it. You just don’t want to tell me, because it would reveal too much about yourself.
    Usually, when she chose to dodge personal questions, he didn’t push her further. Today, though, he would.
    For all these weeks, he’d respected her wishes and bided his time. Texted her. Met her for coffee after work. Forwarded funny e-mails. Grabbed occasional dinners with her and Angie after May Day Celebration Committee meetings.
    They’d become friends, and he treasured the connection with her. The moments he spent in her cheerful, intelligent company lit up the lonely corners of his day. He fell asleep thinking about the stories she told him. He woke up hoping to see a new message from her on his phone or computer. He had no intention of severing their friendship, such as it was. No, his plans ran the exact opposite way.
    Yes, he was a man on a mission today. Several missions, actually.
    Mission One: Get Helen to open up. Finally. After two months of trying.
    Mission Two: Get Helen to discuss our ill-fated foray into bed, and convince her to listen as I explain what happened.
    Mission Three: Get Helen to agree to a romantic dinner.
    He already had the next few missions mapped out in his head, but he didn’t want to jinx himself. One thing at a time.
    Back to the first mission. “Then think about it,” he said. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”
    She directed a desperate glance at the clock on the wall. “I’m glad you have the time. I’m not sure I do, though. My lunch break ends soon.”
    Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his legs at the ankle. “When we got here ten minutes ago, you said you had thirty minutes to spend with me. That you didn’t have to get back until two.”
    She opened her mouth to respond, but he continued before she got out a word.
    â€œIn fact, you even mentioned how happy you were that you’d accomplished all your assigned tasks for the afternoon,” he said. “All of them. Every . . . single . . . one.”
    Her mouth closed again, and she pressed those soft lips into a sullen line.
    He drank the last sip of his coffee in a leisurely swallow. “So, again, take your time, Helen. I can wait.”
    Drumming her fingers on the table, she glared at him. He smiled back at her.
    With a final huff of annoyance, she gave in. “Yes,” she said. “If I fell in love with someone, I’d want commitment and marriage.”
    Her answer didn’t surprise him, but he found it heartening anyway. For two months now, he’d been asking questions. He’d been trying to pry past her defenses to see who she really was. What she really wanted. What she feared. And this was the first time he’d gotten any sort of answer.
    â€œMe too,” he said. “With the right woman, I’d want a committed relationship. No question about it.”
    Her brow furrowed. “You don’t exactly have the reputation of a man who wants commitment. You’ve dated a lot of women. I mean, a lot . Not that I keep track,” she rushed to add. “But Niceville is a pretty small town. Word gets around. And so do you, from what I hear. Are