I grabbed the phone, seeing the number was not known but local, and since there were a lot of things happening and the call could have to do with any of these, I took the call as I rushed to the door.

“Hello?”

“Amy?”

Not Mickey.

Boston.

Shit.

It had been three days since our date.

Player move.

Boring.

“Boston,” I said, unlocking the door and opening it to a man standing there in paint spattered, white coveralls. I lifted a one minute finger to him then rolled my whole hand, stepping back and inviting him inside. He came in and I kept talking, “I’m so sorry, but I’m in the middle of something and have someone waiting.”

“That’s too bad, but do you have time to tell me you’re free tomorrow evening?” he asked.

I was.

“I’m sorry, I’m not,” I lied.

“I’m out of town on Friday and I’ll be gone a few weeks.”

Brilliant news.

My “Oh,” was noncommittal.

“I’ll call you while I’m away.”

Not brilliant news.

“I have some things happening, a number of them, I’m going to be very busy,” I shared, and that was the truth.

“We’ll find a time, Amy.”

God, I really, really wished I hadn’t told him to call me Amy.

I also wished he’d catch a hint.

“Right,” I said distractedly. “I really have to go.”

“We’ll speak later.”

“Okay.”

“Good-bye, Amy.”

“’Bye, Boston,” I mumbled then hung up and looked at the painter who I hoped would give me a decent quote for painting my massive, multi-million dollar house.

And I smiled.

* * * * *

After our date, I was on my front step making out with a handsome blond named Bradley.

He wasn’t boring. He was actually quite nice, very attentive, well-to-do enough to take me to a lovely place for dinner, including ordering a very nice bottle of wine, without hitting me over the head with all of this.

Thus I’d wanted him to kiss me.

He didn’t taste minty.

He tasted like chocolate (his dessert) and warmth and this coupled with his cologne that was not overwhelming but was woodsy, I liked.

He also didn’t go for a brief kiss.

He started it slow but when I liked it and showed that, he’d gone for more.

There were tongues and I was wrapped around him, enjoying myself thoroughly.

I was this until the dark against my closed eyelids was pierced with muted light and I lost some focus.

Bradley got it back.

But it disappeared completely when a faraway noise that could not be mistaken tore me right out of the moment in a way I tore my lips from Bradley’s.

I looked over his shoulder to see Mickey’s garage door going up, his black Ford Expedition gliding into the drive.

“Amelia?” Bradley called and I looked to him.