“I have always liked animals. There were stray dogs in Iraq. It was pathetic, the condition they were in. We fed them, tried to help. But some had rabies and had to be put down.”

“That’s terrible.” I meant it. Tears came to my eyes. I hate hearing about sick or hurt or unloved animals.

“It is. It was. So after my service I traveled then became a vet in Portland, then I came up to the island on a bike trip with my brothers”—he smiled at me—“and it was beautiful. I had a vet practice in Portland, but I was tired of the noise and the traffic and all the people, and I wanted to live closer to nature. Then I met someone in a bookstore called Evie’s Books, Cake, and Tea, and thought she might want to be friends.”

Whew! I felt myself blush. Lord, I am way too old to blush, but there it was. I remembered the day Marco and his brothers trooped in as if it happened this afternoon. They were all in their bike pants and shirts, tall and rangy and masculine, and right from the start I was attracted to Marco. He had smiled and I was done in. He walked toward me and I wanted to get naked in my own bookstore. He towered over me and I wanted to hug him.

We stood and stared at each other, smiling like fools, his brothers snickering in a friendly way behind him. I finally muttered a “Hello. May I help you find a happy?” Which was ridiculous. And I coughed and said, “May I help you find a book?”

“Yes, thank you. You can help me find a happy and a book.”

Marco was as handsome as a sexy devil, and he was pure man. Pure male.

He asked about nonfiction books I liked, and I stumbled all over myself and showed him my favorites. He bought five books, which was funny, as his brothers quietly laughed, because he was biking and didn’t have much room for the books, but he took them anyhow.

He came in twice more for books on his trip, buying five more books each time. I offered to mail them to his home in Portland. He said yes, and I mailed them off. He e-mailed me a thank-you later, and I responded. It was friendly banter back and forth, a couple of phone calls, but I started to draw back, not answer his e-mails.

I was surprised—no, shocked—when he decided to move to the island and let me know he was coming. I got him in touch with a competent realtor, suggested places he might like to live. He said to me, “I’m looking forward to seeing you . . . and how about dinner when I get there?”

And I had to tell him that I wasn’t dating at that time. That was true. I don’t date. But the reason I couldn’t date him specifically was completely different from why I don’t date in general. Completely different and completely tragic.