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Mother felt sure she’d make a perfect prosecutor. Daddy, maybe just to be contrary, believed she’d make a better defense attorney. She hadn’t made up her mind which way she wanted her career to proceed. She had to pass the bar exam first, but she cringed at the thought of either course.  
    What is wrong with me? Am I going to waste all these years of school and good marks?  
    Jen slammed her hand on the steering wheel again, then winced at the pain before rubbing her hand on her thigh. She took an exit from the highway to a large gas station and restaurant. She’d eaten nothing that morning and her hands shook from the caffeine.
    A Tim Hortons Coffee Shop beside the gas station drew her. She pulled into an empty spot and went inside. She needed coffee and donuts and couldn’t help herself, even knowing she’d feel the familiar racing inside as the caffeine took over.
    Jen hadn’t been in university long before she’d discovered the benefits of stimulating substances along with the rest of her classmates. Law school had brutal competition between students—probably went along with the profession. Jen soon learned to take advantage of anything that gave her a leg up, including caffeine and sugar. Thankfully she didn’t need much as her natural high energy usually kept her going. Lately, an antipathy had crept over her. She woke each morning with dread, as though she’d taken a wrong turn down the road of life and now she was lost. Terror that it was already too late to turn back would replace the dread.
    The line inched forward and Jen fidgeted with impatience. Her stomach growled and her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. Someone bumped her from behind and a male voice begged her pardon. She turned and looked into a pair of gorgeous dark brown eyes. They crinkled at the corners when he smiled.
    “It’s okay,” she mumbled and turned back around. She could no longer see him, but his image stayed in her mind.  
    She finally reached the front and placed her order. A darkly tanned hand reached around her with a ten dollar bill and handed it to the cashier just as she rummaged in her bag for her wallet. She turned to protest, but he grinned at her, his white teeth against his tanned face stealing her breath. She forced her eyes away, mumbled her thanks, grabbed her order and fled to her car.
    She waited out front, telling herself she was just taking a break from driving and not watching for him to exit the restaurant. She sipped her coffee, her gaze locked on the door. Before long, he stepped outside, a large coffee and a bag in his hands. She allowed herself to look him over leisurely now that she wasn’t being confronted with the force of his gaze.
    He stood at least six foot two with long, lanky limbs. He was saved from scrawniness by his broad shoulders. She imagined kissing him, surprised at herself. She normally went for the Ivy League, blonde and blue-eyed types with lots of money. This man looked like he worked outside with his hands for a living. She suddenly understood the popularity of the tall, dark, and handsome type. The man who’d paid for her coffee certainly fit that description.
    Jen yanked her gaze away when he spotted her. She looked up when he tapped on her window. She started her car and pushed the button to roll the window down half way.
    “You forgot this.”
    He reached through the window with a small square card.  
    Mystified, Jen took it. Before she could see what it was, she glimpsed his white teeth as he grinned and, with a wave, walked toward his vehicle. He drove a large pickup that was male without being flashy.
    Jen watched him navigate out of the parking lot, not even trying to disguise her interest. The gorgeous stranger waved again and drove off. She looked down at what he’d given her.  
    A business card. Dimitri Petrakis.
    Greek. No wonder he’s so dark.
    The card gave his profession as a general contractor.
    Construction.
    And it had his phone number. Jen realized what