Simon has been weirdly quiet since we left the restaurant. I've tried to nudge him into conversation a few times, but unlike normal, none of my smartass comments are landing. He's distant and distracted.

He brings me a beer at his house and falls into the couch beside me. "Denise seems nice."

I laugh. "Nice and completely wrong for Aaron."

"Funny—Aaron said the same thing to me the other day when we went for coffee."

"So," I say, frowning. "Why is he with her?"

Simon's brows pull together and he shifts in his seat. "Best guess? The sex is good." He shrugs.

"God men are shallow." I slouch deeper into the couch, happy Simon is finally talking to me. I was starting to worry something was really wrong. He only gets quiet like this when something is weighing heavy on his mind. "Though I guess not all relationships are a love connection."

"Or even a good match." Simon stares at the bottle cap in his hand, pensive. "I need to talk to you about something, and I'm worried about how you're going to take it."

I frown and set my drink on the coffee table in front of us. Rex has curled around my feet, probably wondering why I didn't bring Pixie, but Sandy took her for the evening. "Okay." I swivel to face him. "Is it—is it about now or before?"

"Sort of both?" He winces and doesn't meet my gaze.

I stare up at the ceiling and try to slow my racing heart. As long as he doesn't confess to having cheated on me after all, I can probably take anything he throws at me in stride. The last three or four days have been so good it's hard to believe anything he says can ruin how I'm starting to feel. "All right." I take a deep breath and search his face. "What is it?"

"It's about GameSetMatch," he says, flipping a beer cap over his knuckles.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I press the dismiss button without looking at it. "Is this about the money?"

"Sort of." He glances at me. "The email I got from them, the one with your name in it—"

My phone buzzes again, and I let out a frustrated sigh. "I just—I should check this in case it's a vet emergency. Sorry."

Simon gives a quick nod and takes a long drink of his beer while I check my display. Ciro has called twice now, back-to-back. "I'll just call Ciro back really quick in case it's important. I won't be long." When I stand up, Simon's shoulders slump, and I almost sit back down beside him, let him continue. But then my phone lights up with a text message from Ciro asking me to call him.

I slip into Simon's bedroom, a mix of frustration and curiosity warring in me. I can't even guess at what Simon was going to say or why Ciro would be calling me repeatedly on a Monday night.

"Hey Ciro," I say when he answers. "What's up?"

"Bruno is sick, and I'm trying to figure out whether I should be freaking out. Are you busy? I hope I'm not bothering you."

"No, no." I lie. "It's fine. Give me his symptoms, and I can let you know whether we should meet at the clinic." He's never abused having my number before, and since Bruno is one of the dogs we've pegged for the therapy dog program, we need to keep track of any issues he might have. Once we've gone through his behavior, and I've given Ciro a few options to try, I ask him to email me what Bruno has been eating. Sounds like a possible allergy.

I click into my email to make sure I have Ciro's list, and another message loads. The sender isn't someone I know, but the subject catches my eye. Veterinary Exchange.

My breath releases in a whoosh. Holy shit.

I haven't thought about the program since I applied when I had one glass of wine too many. Before I can stop myself, I open the email and scan the proposed details. Northern Scotland. A farm with a practice attached. The man's planned exchange fell through, so he's looking for someone who can swap in the next month or two. I read the email a second time and sink onto the edge of Simon's bed, momentarily forgetting Ciro's message and Simon's confession.

One to two months. That's fast. Faster than I expected. Could I get all my practice details sorted out in thirty days? Notify clients, talk to Mike, let Ciro know about my new plan? As a single woman, there's no personal reason I can't pick up and go. Except...except...My thoughts drift to the last two weeks with Simon. Even when I knew he wasn't being completely honest, I couldn't control my lingering feelings. Our connection is a masterclass in chemistry. Almost like...almost like I'd want a soulmate to be.

Oh, God.

The thought should send me into a spiral of panic and unease. Since Simon's name popped up on the screen at GameSetMatch, I have been dead set against him being the right guy for me. Someone who shattered my heart shouldn't get a second chance. Should he? I sigh. But what have the last two weeks proven? We still fit together. We still have amazing sexual chemistry. When I'm in a bind, he's the guy I want standing next to me. What do I do?

I can go to Scotland.

I can stay here and see whether this thing with Simon sticks this time.

The email on my phone mocks me, and I almost wish it didn't exist. A week ago, I'd be replying right now, telling this man across the ocean to pack his bags because I'll make the timeline work.

Now, the thought of leaving—of leaving Simon—causes a thin sheen of sweat to break out under my armpits. Simon or Scotland. Both options are a risk. Which risk do I want more?

The doorbell rings, and I check the time. Who the hell is showing up at Simon's house at nine o'clock at night? Curious, I shove my anxiety down deep and head back out into the living room. Simon's broad back is shielding whoever is at the door, and his posture is tense.

Would someone be trying to sell something door to door this late? Do people still do that?

I pad toward the entrance and try to peer around Simon to catch a glimpse of what's got him so on edge, but whoever it is, they're short. Then I catch a voice—female. My heart kicks.

Oh, God. Is it an irate ex-girlfriend? I cringe. Did I ask Simon about any recent ex-girlfriends? Surely he wouldn't have been in a dating database if he was involved with someone, would he?

"Are you two back together?" The voice is accusing, angry. "You've been spending a lot of time with her."

Back together? How does this woman know we used to date? She knows who I am?

"That's not any of your business." His voice is tight. "You shouldn't be here."

"No, no. I should have come sooner, obviously. I thought—I thought once you got more women out of your system, you'd realize the truth. You'd know what I know."

"You shouldn't be here. Coming here again is a mistake. You need to leave."

I freeze in place, still not able to see who's at the door, but her words are clear from my spot on the other side of the couch. Listening to this is wrong, isn't it? Maybe I should go back in the bedroom. When she leaves, I'll ask Simon about her. I turn, ready to tiptoe out when she speaks again.

"We're soulmates. We're supposed to be together. I've tried to be patient, but I don't understand why you'd give her a second chance when you never even gave me one in the first place. You said you weren't ready for a relationship. So I'm—I've tried to—I've given you space."

Soulmates? My heart roars so loud, Simon's reply is distorted. Soulmates? What the hell is going on? Who is this woman? Almost against my will, I creep closer to the door.

"You can't mean that," the woman says, her voice pitched too high.

"I do," Simon says, his voice gentle. "It's the truth."

I missed something. What did I miss? I peer around his side, and a cold sweat breaks out on my palms. Her blue eyes are focused on Simon. Her long brown hair is twisted into a knot on her head. She's older than I expected, but I guess we've all aged, haven't we? 

"Jada?" I whisper, my tone filled with disbelief. Why in the world is she at Simon's door now? Has he lied to me? Or is she breaking the protection order?

Simon half-turns to me, all the color draining from his face.

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