He frowned. “It’s nowhere near as exciting as yours. I was born and raised in the Sugar House area. My parents were quiet, conservative Mormons. I went to church until I was sixteen, until . . .” He stopped and a shadow fell over his face. “Until things changed.”

“What happened?”

“Just things,” he said. “My dark ages. It took me a few years, but I pulled myself out. From then on it was all school and work. I finished college and took the LSAT. I got accepted to Stanford Law School on a scholarship, graduated at the top of my class, then came back to Utah to practice law.”

“You started working at the firm you’re at now?”

He hesitated before answering. “No, I worked at the prosecutor’s office. I kept beating them in court, so they made me an offer.”

“That must be nice,” I said.

“What must be nice?”

“To be wanted like that.”

He suddenly went quiet. Then he said, “I’m sorry. That whole conversation got pretty heavy. I just wanted to get to know you better.”

“Well, you know it all now.”

“Do I?”

I didn’t answer. After a moment of silence he picked up the check. “Let’s get you home.”

It was cold in the restaurant’s parking lot, and our breath froze in front of us. The cars were all covered with a thin veneer of freshly fallen snow. He started his car, turned on the heater and window defroster, then got out and scraped the windows. When he got back in, his hands were wet and red with the cold. He rubbed them together.

“Let me see them,” I said.

He looked at me curiously, then held them out. I cupped them in my hands and breathed on them.

He smiled. “Thank you.”

We didn’t say much on the way home. I suppose I felt talked out. But the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. When we pulled up in front of my apartment he said, “Thanks again for going with me.”

“It was fun,” I replied. “I’m sorry I talked so much.”

“I enjoyed learning about you.”

“Well, I kind of threw up on you. I guess it’s been a while since I’ve had anyone ask me about myself.”

“I’m glad it was me,” he said.

I smiled at him, then said, “Me too. Have a good weekend.”

“You too. I’ll see you Monday.”

I got out of the car and walked up the snow-covered sidewalk to my apartment stairs, leaving footprints as I went. Nicholas waited until I reached the door. I turned back and waved. He waved back then drove away.

Not surprisingly, my apartment smelled like roses. I went into my bedroom and undressed, turned out the light, then lay back on my bed.

“Who are you, Nicholas?” I said into the darkness. “And what are you doing with me?”

Chapter Eight

CHAPTER

Eight