And he had a hell of a mess to go home to—a practice he needed to rebuild or move across the country and an ex-wife who continued to write him letters of apology for the gut punch she’d given his pride. No, he and Kara had nothing in common. And their differences were legion.
He took her hand and opened the door. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”
“I told you I’d be okay,” she said, lifting her chin in determination.
Michael gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I know you’ll be just fine. But I’ll feel better knowing you got inside the house all right.”
Then, as he led her onto the porch, he left his front door open wide.
Because he’d be right back.
Because the lamp from his living room would help light their path.
And because he needed a reminder that he had a home to return to.
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