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      She nodded. “Even though you should know I prefer country music myself.”

      “Sammy Gold. I know.”

      “Oh, my son has been talking, hasn’t he?”

      Gabe nodded. “Ambrose is getting antsy,” he said. “Come on, Sam, let’s collect that girl of yours, and you can guide me back to the hacienda.”

      “Sam, check on Rose for me when you get home, will you?” Carrie interjected, even as Gabe and Sam began to walk away.

      “Sure.”

      And then Gabe said, “Rose?” and Sam leaned closer, and began to tell him who she was as they moved on. Sam waved a hand at Sadie, never breaking his stream of words, and she smiled, said goodbye to Ambrose and headed to join them. Gabe got into his bus, Sadie and Sam got into the Sam’s treasured Expedition, and Carrie moved up to stand beside Ambrose.

      “Sorry about the delay,” she said. “But yes, I’d love to have dinner with you. I just had to work out some logistics first.”

      “That’s wonderful. I’m so glad,” Ambrose said. “I saw a lovely restaurant with a view of the falls the other day. God, what was the name?”

      “Fallsview,” she said with a smile.

      “Oh. Now how did I forget that?”

      She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll just let you know in advance that it’ll have to be an early night for me.”

      “Those logistics, hmm?” he asked.

      “I’m afraid they can only be shuffled so far.”

      “That’s fine. Honestly. I’ll be grateful for the company. But, um, since you have to leave early, why don’t we take separate vehicles to the restaurant and just meet there?”

      “That is an eminently practical suggestion,” Carrie said. “I like the way you think.”

      “Thank you,” he said, and then he stood there, silent for a moment, shifting from one foot to the other, until he finally said, “Well, I guess I’ll see you there, then?”

      “Perfect. I’ll see you there.”

      He took out his keys, looked at them, looked at her, looked at his car, then turned and walked away.

      Being awkward with women, she told herself, was not a character flaw. It was actually endearing in a way.

      And yet it wasn’t the upcoming dinner on her mind as Carrie drove through the tiny, quiet town toward the falls and the restaurant. It was Gabriel Cain. The quiet, unpretentious, apparently famous songwriter was not at all what he had first seemed. Not at all.

      And she wondered what other facets of his personality remained as yet unrevealed. She was dying to talk to him, to listen to him talk back.

      Not to mention use Google to see what came up.

      She wished to the gods that Ambrose Peck was as appealing to her as the songwriter. But sex appeal wasn’t everything. She knew that. And in every other way, Ambrose was exactly her type.

      Just like the last respectable, solid, intellectual she’d dated had seemed to be, she told herself, though she tried not to listen. She’d wasted a couple of months on that jackass.

      Oh, well. Live and learn.

      4

      Ambrose didn’t wait for her in the parking lot. She found that a little odd but shrugged it off as she got out of her car and looked around. The building was made of darkly stained, rough-hewn barn beams and glass, and not much else. It made for the best view in town. Not seeing Ambrose anywhere, she went on inside.

      She spotted him at a table near the back, perusing the menu. She noticed his hands and the ring he wore, a figure eight lying on its side—the sign for infinity, she thought. Interesting choice. Nodding her intention to the hostess, Carrie wound her way between tables to join him.

      He must have heard her footsteps, because he lowered the menu and rose to his feet. “Ah, there you are.”

      “I was only a minute or two behind you,” she said.

      “Oh, I know. I just thought I’d go ahead and get us a table. You did say you were short on time tonight.”

      Carrie pasted a smile over her momentary irritation and nodded. “That was…thoughtful. Thanks.” She pulled out her chair and sat down. Ambrose sat, as well, and picked up his menu again.

      “Do you have any idea what’s good here?” he asked.

      “Oh, everything’s pretty good. I like the broiled haddock a lot. Their tartar sauce is—”

      “That would be an option if I were in the mood for mercury poisoning.”

      “—homemade.” She blinked twice. Had he just criticized her for saying she liked haddock?

      “As a doctor, I would think you would be aware of the damage heavy metal contamination can do.”

      “Oh, I am. I think fish is fine in moderation.”

      “I prefer not to take that chance.” He never took his eyes off the menu. “How is the pasta?”

      “Good. Better if you let them grate some fresh lead over it.”

      “Excuse me?” He lowered the menu, looking over the top of it at her.

      “Lead. Heavy metal.” She shrugged. “It was a joke.”

      “Oh?” His brows rose. Then he smiled. “Oh! I see now. I’m afraid I don’t have a very highly developed sense of humor,” he confessed, shaking his head.

      “No!” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I never would have guessed.”

      He blinked at her. “Now you’re being sarcastic.”

      “See? You do so have a sense of humor,” she said with a smile.

      He shrugged. “Pasta, then,” he announced, and, setting the menu on the edge of the table, he looked around in search of the waitress. When he spotted one, wobbling toward another table bearing a huge tray full of food, he held his hand up in the air as if hailing a taxi.

      “She’s busy, Ambrose. Besides, I haven’t decided what I’m having yet.”

      “I took it you were having the haddock,” he said.

      “I said I liked it, not that I was having it tonight.”

      He frowned at her. “You sound upset. Have I done something to irritate you, Carrie?”

      She met his eyes, saw that they were concerned and softened her tone. “Impatience irritates me. I see a lot of it at the hospital.”

      “I see. I was only trying to speed things along. You said you were short on time, so—”

      “Why don’t you let me worry about managing my time, Ambrose? You can relax and enjoy the meal. Okay?”

      He tipped his head to one side, seemingly puzzled, but said, “Okay.”

      “Good.”

      By then a different waitress had come over to their table, and Carrie could tell by the look on her face that she’d seen Ambrose’s insistent signal.

      “Are you ready to order?”

      “No, as it turns out,” Ambrose said.

      The waitress lifted her brows, and Carrie said, “Yes, we are. I’ll have the haddock.” She closed her menu and handed it to the girl, certain she knew her from somewhere. She’d probably treated her at the hospital or seen her at a soccer game or some other school function.

      “How is the pasta sauce made?” Ambrose asked,

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