The Green Line by E. C. Diskin Page A

her so long ago.
    She’d had a spicy tuna roll in her mouth and had started choking when he said it. She smiled, thinking of that ridiculous moment. They had been talking about work. Abby had just shared some gossip about that brown-noser, Neil, who unfortunately for her, had an awesome handicap in golf and partners were already lining up to play with him on the weekends, even as a first-year associate. She’d been waiting for David’s reaction to her tale. Instead he’d said, “Marry me.”
    Luckily, he had understood the apparent absurdity of the moment and they both laughed. But he was serious. The dinner had been to celebrate their one-year anniversary and David had made a reservation at Le Colonial. Of course, Abby had called with a work crisis and suggested that they hook up at his place later and walk up to Kamehachi’s on Wells.
    “Let’s just live together,” Abby had suggested.
    “Don’t we do that now?”
    “But not really. We can make it official.”
    David had smiled. “Okay, I’ll live with you. But you’re going to have to marry me at some point, you know.”
    “Of course.” Abby did love him. She didn’t want to lose him.
    That was five years ago.
    With a deep breath, she braced the arms of the chair and sat up straight. She couldn’t stay in the lobby forever. She put her shoes back on and looked around for a restroom to do a vanity check.
    A man standing by the bar caught her eye. He was tall, blond—very Matthew McConaughey—a little unshaven, jeans, black turtleneck, camel suede coat. Yum. He was leaning against the bar, looking out into the crowd and smoking a cigarette. Once he saw her, his gaze remained fixed. It felt good to be looked at that way.
    She acknowledged the silent compliment with a smile in his direction.
    He grinned and waved.
    She waved back.
    He patted the barstool next to him.
    The three drinks she’d already downed gave her a little courage. Maybe you can come be my date, Mr. Marlboro Man, she thought. She was still giggling to herself as she approached.
    “Do you have another?” Abby asked as she hopped up onto the barstool next to the stranger. He was smoking a Marlboro Light, her old brand. This was meant to be.
    “Sure. Need a light too?”
    “Yes, please.” It had been six years, but suddenly it seemed like a great idea. She turned to the bartender and ordered another champagne. The man insisted on buying her drink and she thanked him.
    “I’m Trip.”
    “Trip? Is that a nickname?” she asked.
    “It’s what friends call me.”
    “Is it short for something?”
    “Kind of.” He smiled.
    “So? Are you going to tell me?”
    “Maybe at some point.”
    It was annoying, but then again, he was really cute. She put the cigarette to her mouth and let him light it.
    “And you are?”
    “Abigail.”
    “You’re stunning, Abigail. Are you here alone?”
    This was just what she needed. “I’m at a wedding reception. There.” She pointed toward the ballroom door.
    “So, why are you out here?”
    “Oh, just trying to escape the crowd for a moment.”
    “I see.” He examined her from head to toe.
    His intensity was unnerving. She looked around the bar and felt his eyes on her.
    “And what brings you here this evening?” she asked.
    He took a drag from the cigarette and looked around. “Business.”
    “Oh, are you in from out of town?”
    “Sort of.”
    She waited for more information but he offered only a smirk.
    “You sound like you’re from…Memphis, perhaps?” he asked.
    “Georgia, but I thought I’d lost the accent.”
    “There’s just a hint.” He looked into her eyes. “A beautiful southern belle. How did I get so lucky?”
    She shrugged, “Thank you,” and focused on her cigarette. It didn’t taste good, but she couldn’t look at him.
    After a final drag, he put his cigarette out. “Hey, maybe you’d like to get out of here?”
    Abby was startled. It was a bit much. “Oh, thanks for the offer, but I can’t go. It’s a