As Yael exited the meeting, sunlight chased away the dark, and she checked the time on her cell. Five o'clock. Between going to Malkah Enterprises, strolling through Central Park, and attending the meeting, she'd lost an entire afternoon. She stood on the corner and battled over whether she was going to dart across town to meet Wendy and her boyfriend for dinner as originally planned. It'd be nice to spend an evening laughing and catching up, so she strode towards a waiting cab. A fire truck sped by, the shrill sirens halting her progress, and the firefighter popped back into her thoughts.

All these years, he had stayed with her. Even when she hit rock bottom, it was his voice telling her it would be okay, just as he had during that nightmarish hour. She never thanked him, never had a chance to. Not many people understood the trauma she had gone through. He would. Did he experience the same recurring night terrors? Shaking hands when a plane passed too closely overhead? The therapists assigned to her in rehab had barely scratched the surface of what she dealt with on a daily basis. She stood apart from other people with a wall of dust and falling buildings closing her off—post-traumatic stress syndrome—four words that didn't come close to describing her lasting mental scars.

Stop dwelling on that, Yael chided herself. She slid into the yellow sedan and told the driver, "Spice, in the Village, please."

Gnawing guilt almost had her telling him Miriam's address instead. Tomorrow, she vowed. Tonight she wanted to be with her friend, the only one who'd been there for her through everything. Although she'd done it a million times before, she needed to thank Wendy face to face, especially here, in New York, not fragile and broken following another rehab stint.

After paying the driver, Yael strode in and spotted Wendy at the bar, cozying up to a gorgeous Italian man. He had a strong jaw, the kind that begged to be kissed, but her friend was too busy laughing as she played with his hair.

A split-second hesitation tripped her up. They looked so happy, untainted, and as Yael caught a glimpse of herself in the glass, the gauntness that still accented the lines of her face filled her with self-doubt. True, Wendy had seen her worse, but Yael wished her wrists weren't as frail as a bird's or that her collarbone had filled in a little more. Her friend turned her head, her already blissful expression brightening as they made eye contact, and Yael's stomach rolled with nerves. She hadn't realized how huge a moment this was, reuniting with the person who had never failed with her stubborn desire to bring Yael back from the edge. Drawing in a steadying breath, Yael lifted her hand and waved.

"Babe!" Wendy strutted over, her exotic beauty demanding the attention of those she passed, and hugged Yael. When Wendy pulled away, tears glistened on her lashes. "How are you?"

"Fine." Yael caught her friend's pointed look. "Okay, maybe not so fine, but we can talk about it later."

"I'm sorry your homecoming has to be under such shitty circumstances, but I won't lie. I'm happy to have you and don't plan on letting you go for a while. Not without a fight." Wendy studied her. "You look good, really good." She embraced her tightly again. "Come meet my man."

Wendy led Yael to where her boyfriend sat and snaked an arm around his waist as he rose to his feet. "This is Alex. Alex, this is my oldest and dearest friend, Yael."

He offered his hand and smiled, a charming dimple appearing in his left cheek. "Nice to finally meet you. Wen talks about you nonstop."

"That's a scary thought," she joked. "I'd say don't believe a word, but it's all true."

"I hear you're an amazing baker. I haven't gotten a chance to sample any of the stuff you send to this girl." He squeezed Wendy. "She eats it all."

"Can't help myself." Wendy grinned wickedly. "And it's organic, so I pretend it's okay to inhale three cupcakes in one sitting. Those overnight packages are the highlight of my week. I never knew you had it in you, babe."

"Me either. Cookies and cupcakes have been essential in regaining my weight." She broke eye contact, shifting nervously. Why had she mentioned her weight? Now it was all they'd see. Clearing her throat, she rushed on, "When I try new recipes, there is never anyone else to test them on."

Alex laid a hand on his chest. "I'm more than willing to be your guinea pig."

"I'll keep that in mind," Yael told him, soothed by his charming smile and forcing herself to relax.

"He eats like a horse," Wendy said.

"I have to if I want to keep up with you."

"Oh please, you run ten miles every morning. I'm still working on three."

"But you look so cute doing it."

Yael grinned as she listened to their flirting, feeling like an intruder. And a little jealous, if she was honest. The blush on Wendy's cheeks was the most beautiful and real thing she'd seen in a long time.

"We didn't expect it to be this busy so we have to sit in the bar instead of the restaurant side." Wendy signaled to the maître d who showed them to a high-top table. "Sorry. It's either hit or miss with this place. You know how it is in the city; hot one week, gone the next."

"This is great." Yael sat on a stool and scanned the room, taking in the dark wood and muted lights. "Very New York."

She ordered lemon water from the waitress and settled into her seat, actively keeping her gaze from the bottles behind the bar, old friends competing for her favor. Most of her problems revolved around drugs, but alcohol had played a factor in her decline. When she partied, she used anything with the ability to numb her, from booze to painkillers. At the beginning of her recovery, she avoided bars. These days, they were a test.

"So, how's the New Yorker treating you, Wen?"

"Ugh, don't get me started."

"Oh, come on, Miss Hotshot Reporter."

"Annoying at the moment." Wendy rolled her big dark eyes. "My editor is riding my ass. Assigned me a story on this shady politician. The guy is a complete slime ball. I need to shower after talking to him, it's that bad. He winks every five seconds, probably believes he's some Casanova. Plus, he has already been involved in a couple sex scandals, and he isn't even thirty-five. He's making a bid for the Republican ticket in November which makes him big news."

"One of the many perks of your job, huh? And the book?"

"Slow." Wendy fiddled with her large hoop earring. "Apparently, writing a book about the architectural history of New York isn't as easy or as unique as one might think. Lots of competition."

Listening to Wendy's entertaining stories and the relaxing cadence of her voice made Yael feel more at home with each passing minute. She turned her attention to Alex.

"What about you, Alex, what do you do?" Despite his jeans and polo, everything about his clean-cut appearance screamed Wall Street or hedge fund hipster, something professional and fast-paced.

"I'm a firefighter, FDNY."

Yael jerked, momentarily light-headed, but she pulled it together. After spending part of the afternoon remembering the man who'd saved her life, his answer surprised her. She studied him closer, noting the thick muscles and calloused hands she missed earlier. Wendy hadn't mentioned his profession before, and Yael wondered why. Probably to protect her, she reasoned, ignoring the flare of annoyance.

"I owe my life to a fireman on 9/11."

"I didn't know that."

"You didn't tell him?" she asked her friend.

"Wendy told me the basics about what you went through," Alex supplied. "Nothing specific."

"It's your story to tell. I respect that."

Yael nodded absently. It made sense. September 11th wasn't the best subject for anyone to discuss at length, and she imagined it was even more sensitive to a firefighter.

"You were there?" she asked him.

"Yeah. I was very new, still green, but that shit doesn't fade. I see it sometimes, asleep and awake." She recognized some of the ghosts crossing his face as her own. "I'm lucky, I got to stay with my original house even though the city was short-staffed for a long time. The job changed after."

"A lot changed." She took a deep breath. If she went down that road, she might find herself in another cab headed to another meeting or elbow-deep in a bottle of vodka. "No depressing memories tonight. This is for catching up."

"Exactly." Wendy picked up her fresh drink as they were delivered. "Speaking of which, how'd it go at ME today?"

"Pretty good, until I met the guy who's been filling in for Miriam. He jumped all over me for neglecting her, saying I couldn't waltz back into her life and expect forgiveness." Her guilty conscience pricked again, recognizing the truth.

"This clown said that to your face?" Alex asked with raised eyebrows. The protectiveness in his tone had her fiddling with her napkin. The more she talked to Alex, the more she liked him, but she wasn't used to being around someone so charismatic.

"He's probably judging me based off the office gossip." She shrugged. "I have no doubt there's plenty. It isn't like I kept a low profile. The one positive I can take from our encounter is he seems protective of Miriam. I can appreciate that."

"Yeah, well, he should cut you some slack."

She smiled at Alex. "I'm sure he saw a stranger, groomed for his job since birth, suddenly back in the picture. I can't blame him for sneering at the thought of the nepotism of it all. Funny thing is, I don't want any part of it. I'm not that ambitious girl anymore."

"What about your super secret dream?" her friend asked, referring to the idea of opening an organic bakery.

"I still have it. The whole organic craze is really catching on and now is definitely the time to do it. I'm just not sure when or how. It's a big commitment and kind of on standby until I decide whether to open it here or back in L.A."

"Oh, here! Do it here!" Wendy begged.

"We'll see," Yael answered slyly, still unsure of the future.

Alex glanced over her shoulder. "Hey, it's the guys from my firehouse. Let me introduce you, Yael." He waved them over.

Yael turned as a loud group of men sauntered over to their table, an odd mix of young and old, seasoned and rookie. A couple checked her out with avid curiosity, and she hunched her shoulders, wishing for more layers to hide under. She wasn't here to flirt. Wasn't ready.

Then, from the rear, stepped a tall man with dirty blond hair. He was older, but even without a face covered in dust, she recognized him, and her world tilted on its axis.

Gee, I wonder who that is?