Publisher's Synopsis
Blowing out a breath, I run my hand over my face and marvel over the almost immediate regret I feel for not only scaring her, but for letting her walk away. It's probably the right thing, letting her go. I'm going on 42 and she doesn't look a day over 20.
Sitting back down, I try to drink my coffee again, but my mind can no longer process taste or color. Looking back in the direction she went, my mind is made up. "I have to know." I say out loud, drawing the eye from the woman sitting at the table next to me, but I ignore her. I throw a ten on the table, grab my bag, and follow her.
