put our plates down. Then he asked if he could get us anything else, but we both shook our heads, so he left.
“How did you become a lawyer?” I asked, trying to get off the subject of death.
“My father was one.” That didn’t work out like I intended. “So I decided that I would follow in his footsteps.” That seemed to bring a smile to his face.
I smiled back. “That’s nice.” I paused, eating a fry. “Do you like it?”
“Wow.” He rubbed his neck. “I never know how to answer that,” he admitted, smiling even brighter, his green eyes sparkling. “Some days are better than others. But most of the time,” he paused, “yeah, I do.”
“That’s the way it is with me too,” I said, winking at him, and he laughed. Then we started to eat, and after a minute or two I asked, “Are you married?”
He shook his head, laughing. “No.”
“What’s so funny?” I shied away from him. His sudden outburst scared me.
“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” he said, still laughing musically.
I gave him a thumbs-up with a smile. “It’s a good thing you remembered.”
“Yeah,” he said, his laughter and smile gone. “Good thing.”
I wanted to ask him what was wrong, but I was too focused on my growling stomach to care. We ate in silence for a long, thoughtful moment.
“How long have you worked for Samuel?” I wasn’t really interested in the answer, but the silence was a killer.
“About seven years,” he said through tight lips.
“Oh.” My voice was soft because he was obviously angry. “That’s a long time.”
After another short silence, he banged his fist on the table, and I jumped, almost choking on my food. “What’s wrong?” I asked, concerned.
“I can’t take it anymore,” he whispered, furiously running his fingers through his hair. “He did this on purpose. He always does this. He takes somethin’ that I love, and he ruins it.”
I was confused. “What’re you talking about?” Was he talking to himself or to me?
“You,” he said, a little louder than I had expected, and I moved away from him. “I’m talkin’ about you.”
I blinked. That was unexpected. “Me?”
“He didn’t even know you existed until I told him,” he scoffed. “And then—” He laughed without humor. “ Then he decided to marry you?” He banged his open palm on the table. “Goddamn him!”
I held up my hands. He was completely hysterical. “Whoa, you’ve got to calm down.” As soon as I said that, he took some breaths with his eyes closed. “Now,” I breathed, “what are you talking about?” When I asked, he opened his mouth and eyes. “And say it calmly.”
He checked himself before he spoke. “I’m the fan, not him,” he admitted with a sigh. “I’m the one who has everything you’ve ever written. I even have your picture on my desk.” Sure, that’s not creepy. “I know how it sounds, but I’m not a stalker. I promise. I just respect your work because you help people. I mean, come on.” He threw up his hands. “He didn’t even know who you were until a couple days ago.”
“What?” I was seething. I couldn’t believe my husband was such a backstabbing bastard. He’d lied to me. Again. And I was really hot under the collar.
“I was tryin’ to get up the nerve to meet you,” he said, and I believed that. Mike didn’t seem like the stalker type, so I let him explain. “So I called your editor and asked if you had an assignment. When he said yes, I wrote down all the places you’d visit. Then…um…Sam came by and asked me if I was goin’ out. I said I was, and that’s when he grabbed the paper from my hand and wouldn’t give it back to me until I told him everythin’. And when I did, he just laughed at me. He told me I was a fool for tryin’,” he paused, staring into my eyes, and I swear they pierced my very soul. “Finally,” he continued, “he said that since I was being a coward about the whole thing that he’d go as my
“How did you become a lawyer?” I asked, trying to get off the subject of death.
“My father was one.” That didn’t work out like I intended. “So I decided that I would follow in his footsteps.” That seemed to bring a smile to his face.
I smiled back. “That’s nice.” I paused, eating a fry. “Do you like it?”
“Wow.” He rubbed his neck. “I never know how to answer that,” he admitted, smiling even brighter, his green eyes sparkling. “Some days are better than others. But most of the time,” he paused, “yeah, I do.”
“That’s the way it is with me too,” I said, winking at him, and he laughed. Then we started to eat, and after a minute or two I asked, “Are you married?”
He shook his head, laughing. “No.”
“What’s so funny?” I shied away from him. His sudden outburst scared me.
“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” he said, still laughing musically.
I gave him a thumbs-up with a smile. “It’s a good thing you remembered.”
“Yeah,” he said, his laughter and smile gone. “Good thing.”
I wanted to ask him what was wrong, but I was too focused on my growling stomach to care. We ate in silence for a long, thoughtful moment.
“How long have you worked for Samuel?” I wasn’t really interested in the answer, but the silence was a killer.
“About seven years,” he said through tight lips.
“Oh.” My voice was soft because he was obviously angry. “That’s a long time.”
After another short silence, he banged his fist on the table, and I jumped, almost choking on my food. “What’s wrong?” I asked, concerned.
“I can’t take it anymore,” he whispered, furiously running his fingers through his hair. “He did this on purpose. He always does this. He takes somethin’ that I love, and he ruins it.”
I was confused. “What’re you talking about?” Was he talking to himself or to me?
“You,” he said, a little louder than I had expected, and I moved away from him. “I’m talkin’ about you.”
I blinked. That was unexpected. “Me?”
“He didn’t even know you existed until I told him,” he scoffed. “And then—” He laughed without humor. “ Then he decided to marry you?” He banged his open palm on the table. “Goddamn him!”
I held up my hands. He was completely hysterical. “Whoa, you’ve got to calm down.” As soon as I said that, he took some breaths with his eyes closed. “Now,” I breathed, “what are you talking about?” When I asked, he opened his mouth and eyes. “And say it calmly.”
He checked himself before he spoke. “I’m the fan, not him,” he admitted with a sigh. “I’m the one who has everything you’ve ever written. I even have your picture on my desk.” Sure, that’s not creepy. “I know how it sounds, but I’m not a stalker. I promise. I just respect your work because you help people. I mean, come on.” He threw up his hands. “He didn’t even know who you were until a couple days ago.”
“What?” I was seething. I couldn’t believe my husband was such a backstabbing bastard. He’d lied to me. Again. And I was really hot under the collar.
“I was tryin’ to get up the nerve to meet you,” he said, and I believed that. Mike didn’t seem like the stalker type, so I let him explain. “So I called your editor and asked if you had an assignment. When he said yes, I wrote down all the places you’d visit. Then…um…Sam came by and asked me if I was goin’ out. I said I was, and that’s when he grabbed the paper from my hand and wouldn’t give it back to me until I told him everythin’. And when I did, he just laughed at me. He told me I was a fool for tryin’,” he paused, staring into my eyes, and I swear they pierced my very soul. “Finally,” he continued, “he said that since I was being a coward about the whole thing that he’d go as my
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