“That’s swell, but I’m sure I’ll be fine before happy hour at the closest watering hole. I certainly don’t need therapy. I’m an exceptionally well-balanced individual.”

Oswald raised his eyebrows.

“I am so well-balanced,” I said. “How traumatized could I be, anyway? Was I devastated by rejection letters from agents, or did I get evicted from my subterranean hovel, which wouldn’t matter since I suspect that there are rats in the walls?”

“No, you didn’t get evicted,” Oswald said. “You own a loft.”

“What!”

“You bought it with a legal settlement you got.”

“That’s amazing! Have I published anything?”

“Yes, you ghostwrote a memoir that became a bestseller, and Mercedes told me that you’ve got a commission to write the follow-up book.”

“You’re kidding!” I laughed with delight. “What else has happened? I expanded my gardening business this far. Do I have more clients out here?”

Oswald hesitated and then said, “Yes, you gardened here. There’s something else, though. We dated for a while.”

When I recalled his earlier standoffishness I said, “I gather it didn’t end well.”

He looked as if he was being forced to confess to an abominable crime. “We didn’t just date, Milagro,” he said. “We were engaged and you lived here.”

I stared at the stranger, waiting for memories to come back to me. “I don’t think so.”

Oswald opened one of the desk drawers and rummaged beneath notepads and folders. He lifted out a framed photo and said, “Look.”

I took the frame from him and saw a picture of Oswald and me. His arm was around me and I was leaning in toward him. We were standing under a grape-covered pergola by a white stucco building. My left hand was on his chest and I was wearing a shiny ring. We were laughing.

A strange feeling rose in me and I shoved it back down.

Oswald said, “That’s the winery where we were going to have our wedding.”

“What happened to us?” I asked, as incurious as I would be if someone was telling me about a movie he’d seen.

Oswald pressed his lips together and then said quietly, “We just couldn’t manage to work things out. There’s another thing. You got a condition from me. It’s a rare family thing. It makes you crave red foods and that’s why your eyesight is good.”

“The buzz I feel when I touch someone’s skin? Did you give that to me?”

“Not me, but it’s an ancilliary trait. You’re stronger, too, and you have faster reactions. You heal easily from cuts and injuries, but you’re not a carrier of the condition.”

“So I’m like a superhero?” I said with excitement.

He laughed a little, a nice, warm laugh. “No, you’re not a superhero.”