I let myself out and was walking toward my truck when I heard someone behind me, a man, calling “Excuse me. Excuse me.” I ignored it and picked up my pace, since you just never know. Panhandlers, crazy people, garden-variety harassment. But I wasn’t fast enough, and he caught up to me as I was trying to find my keys.

“Hi,” Boone said, because of course it was him. He was out of breath from chasing me. “Sorry, I forgot your name.”

“Carla.”

“Right.” He bent over to rest his hands on his knees. “It’s these hills,” he said. “Not used to them.”

I was still waiting to decide how I felt about him. As before, he was wearing slightly out-of-place clothes, this time khakis and a plaid cotton shirt under a navy blue sweater. The look of a preppy tourist, since I guess that’s what he was. He caught his breath, straightened up, and tried on a smile. “Could I buy you some lunch?”

I assumed he meant that we should have lunch together. “Why?”

“You got caught in the crossfire between my mother and me. I feel bad about that.”

“Weren’t you on your way to Ed and Doug’s?”

“It’s nothing urgent. Please. Let me explain some things.”

It was the promise of explanation rather than Boone himself that got me to say yes. I pointed us toward a sandwich shop. I didn’t want him spending real money on me.

When we sat down with our food, I said, “I don’t have a lot of time, okay?” Although I did.

“Fine, no problem.” He was juggling his sandwich, a fistful of paper napkins, and a bottle of limonata. I was still getting used to the look of him, to Viridian’s face translated into his.

I guess I was comparing him to Aaron, as I did with all men. I was going to have to stop doing that, if only because sex was one of those things I was trying not to dwell on. Aaron was in better shape, but that would have been true of nearly anyone. Anyway, Boone was old, and he wore boring clothes. He’d told me I was pretty, but only because I hadn’t been able to answer back. One more man who thought he could get away with something.

He looked up and caught me staring. Quickly, I said, “Are you a writer, too?”

“God no.” The New York in his voice made him sound especially scornful.

He didn’t say what he did or was instead. We ate in silence for a time. Then he said, “How do you know my mother? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“I take care of the landscaping at the house.”

“And how did you wind up working on Compass Points?”

“One thing led to another.” The shop was loud. I was glad. It helped to have some distracting background noise between us.