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terraced deck, ornate fountain, and lushly landscaped lawn anchored by an infinity pool that it takes me several minutes to realize that someone else is in the room. A studious-looking man in his early seventies, dressed in a dapper blue seersucker suit, is sitting behind a desk almost completely obscured by stacks of paper. He’s stooped over a book, but whether he’s sleeping or reading isn’t immediately clear.
    â€œDad,” Beckett says. “This is Emmaline. She’s the one who’s going to be helping you with your book.”
    A pair of blue eyes, bright behind a pair of old-fashioned spectacles, peer at me. I can’t help but notice that Beckett, with his tall, muscularly lean build, tanned skin, expressive brown eyes, and slightly curly dark hair, doesn’t look much like his father.
    â€œYou didn’t say she was a looker, son,” the old man says.
    â€œDidn’t I?” Beckett replies dryly.
    â€œWell, come in then. Have a seat.” The senior Dr. Black gets up from behind the desk and comes around to move several piles of paper and stacks of books from an old-fashioned upholstered loveseat to make a place for me to sit. It looks far too small for the two of us to both fit on, but as soon as I sit down on one end of the small seat Beckett sinks down next to me, filling the space with his masculinity, his arm so close to mine that I can feel the heat from his body. I wonder a bit desperately how I’m going to focus with him sitting so close to me. He, of course, seems completely unbothered by our close proximity, stretching his long legs out in front of him and leaning back as if he’s completely at ease, which he probably is. Damn the man!
    Mind over matter, I remind myself firmly. Focus, Emma . I pull a notebook and pen out of my bag.
    â€œI’m looking forward to working with you, sir,” I say. “Beckett, I mean Dr. Black, told me a little bit about your cancer research and mentioned you spent some time in the Amazon.”
    â€œYes, indeed,” the old man says heartily. “My life has been quite an adventure. I have a legacy I want to leave, and that’s where you come in. I was thinking if you can come over several days a week I’ll just tell you the whole story, from the beginning, and then you can put it down on paper.”
    I nod. “That’s fine. Do you want to do any of the writing yourself?”
    â€œNo, no, no,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Both Beckett and Agnes say no one can read my writing, and I’m hopeless with computers unless I’m doing research. You’re the expert, so I’ll let you do it.”
    â€œAlright then,” I agree with a smile. “Done.”
    He tells me a little bit about his agent, whom I will be working with and keeping up to date on our progress. By the time we have agreed on a tentative weekly work schedule it’s almost six o’clock.
    â€œYou should join us for dinner,” he says. “I’m sure Agnes has made enough for an army and would love the opportunity to play hostess. And I could get to know the delightful Miss Hart better.”
    â€œNo thanks, Dad,” Beckett says, pulling himself up from the small loveseat and extending his hand to help me up. “You’ll have Emmaline all to yourself next week. I have plans for her tonight.”
    Once we’ve said goodbye and are in the car, I say teasingly, “You have plans for me tonight?”
    â€œI do,” he replies, completely serious. “I want to get to know you. I thought we’d start with dinner. ”
    My breath catches with the realization that starting with dinner implies something more after dinner. Oh god, am I ready for this?
    â€œDo you need to be home at a certain time?”
    I think about giving myself an out and telling him a time I have to be home, but this is the opportunity I’ve been looking for to follow my heart