The last thing I wanted to do was linger by the door, so I went to my office for a few minutes to update his chart. I ran my gaze over the neat handwriting that had filled out the new patient forms. He’d turned twenty-two a few months ago. That made the age gap between us twenty-six years. I sighed. The first man who’d interested me on more than a purely physical level—since I’d broken up with Ron Edgerly, took the advice of Leo Rossi, who was not only Ron’s friend, but my good friend as well, and moved to Mercerville fifteen years earlier—and not only was Dante a student, he was a patient. Leo would laugh himself silly over the situation in which I found myself.