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warm patch of asphalt. “Come on,” she whispered. Her heart beat so hard she wondered if it would break through her chest and race her to the front door. Once she was inside, her steps clicked out a nervous rhythm. She checked in, found a chair across the room from the prison door, and waited.
    At two minutes after five, Rip walked through the door holding a brown paper bag. It took him a few seconds to find her, but when he did, he lit up like a bar sign at sundown. “Wendy!”
    Here we go.
She stood and smoothed the wrinkles out of her dress slacks. Her knees felt weak at the sight of him.
What have I gotten myself into?
She found her smile. “Rip!” She mouthed his name. With a roomful of tired-looking visitors watching, this wasn’t the place for dramatic reunions. But she didn’t care. She had missed him more than she knew.
    Rip looked at the guard who had accompanied him to the waiting room. The guard nodded. Rip was free; he could do as he pleased. Without another moment’s hesitation, Rip took long strides toward Wendy. His grin took up his whole face. He wore a tight white T-shirt and jeans, his blond hair trimmed neatly to his head. He had filled out, probably from hours spent in the prison weight room.
    She held her arms out toward him, and her heart fluttered as he came near. Something was different about Rip—his eyes, maybe. Whatever it was, Wendy felt herself drawn to him, taken by him. “You look great.”
    “Hey.” He took gentle hold of her shoulders, drank her in like a man too long in the desert. Then he planted a long kiss smack on her lips. When he pulled back, he searched her eyes. “That’s my line.” His eyes drifted down the length of her and back up again. “You look like a million bucks, baby.” He kissed her again. “I mean it.”
    Wendy could feel the eyes on them. She cleared her throat and took a step to the side. She could hardly wait to be alone with him. “Let’s go, okay?”
    Rip looked around the room at the dozen people watching them. “That’s right!” he shouted, his tone full of laughter. “Eat your heart out. I’m going home!”
    Wendy hung her head, her cheeks hot. Okay, so maybe he hadn’t changed. Rip was always loud this way, the center of attention. He thought he was funny, and when his behavior made people pull away or caused someone to ask him to be quiet, Rip would flip them the bird or snarl at them. “No one tells me what to do,” he’d say. Then he’d go on being loud and obnoxious as ever.
    Sometimes Wendy didn’t mind when Rip acted up. He was just having fun, right? But once in a while Rip’s public behavior had caused a private fight between the two of them, the kind that led to blows. That’s why she wasn’t saying anything tonight. Rip could stand on the roof of the car and sing the national anthem off key and she’d go along with it. Anything so she wouldn’t make him mad. Not with the news she still had to tell him.
    Rip raised his paper bag to the roomful of visitors, put his arm around Wendy’s shoulders, and led her outside. The moment they were free of the building, he handed her the bag, took a few running steps, stopped, and raised both fists in the air. He let out the loudest whooping victory cry she’d ever heard. “I’m free!” A few more hoots, then he hurried to her and took her hands in his. The bag fell to the ground. “I’m a changed man, Wendy Porter. All my life’s been leading up to this one single minute.”
    His excitement was contagious. She felt herself getting lost in his eyes. “Really?” She uttered a soft laugh and eased closer to him. Okay, maybe she was wrong. Something about him was different, definitely different. She was suddenly breathless, and she chided herself for worrying about his behavior. This was Rip Porter, the man she’d fallen for in high school. She was as in love with him now as she’d been the first time she saw him. “What happened to you in there, Rip?”
    He spun her in