Page 7 of For Now

God, I hated small talk. Especially with strangers. Especially with strangemen.

“Yes, thank you,” Isaid.

“So what brings you here? New job maybe?” heasked.

This is excruciating.On the plus side, running on a moving machine did give me an excuse to avoid eye contact. I kept my focus forward. “No, actually I just needed a change of scenery and my best friend liveshere.”

“Oh, that’s cool. I’m a professor at the University ofLouisville.”

“What do you profess?” Iasked.

He chuckled. “Well, I don’t suppose I profess anything. I teachhistory.”

Even though I wasn’t looking at him, I could hear the smile in his voice. “Why?” Iasked.

“Why do I teach history? Well, my father was a professor, too, and I liked his stories from his teachingdays.”

“No, I mean, why history?” Iasked.

“Oh! Well, truth be told, I’m terrible at math and I’m not nearly creative enough to teach writing. But I fell in love with history late in school. I enjoyed those stories, too. I liked the idea of getting lost in the past,” hesaid.

Who the hell wanted to revisit the past?I nodded my head and a few minutes went by without words. Maybe the torture wasover.

“So what do you do?” heasked.

“Iwrite.”

“Oh, wow, awesome. Anything I would have read?” heasked.

“I doubt it, but your wife may have heard of me,” I said. My male readership was low. I knew my female audience was ninety percent of my fan base as awhole.

“I don’t have a wife,” he said sort ofquietly.

“Oh.” The awkward silence crept in and I finished my run. I started slowing my machine down until it was finallyoff.

“Hey, listen, if you need someone to show you around, I’d be happy to. This place has some pretty neat places if you know where to look,” heoffered.

I turned and looked him in the eyes for the first time.Whoa.I found myself staring into deep brown eyes, the kind that were nearly black. They accented his dark brown, wavy hair perfectly. His mouth fit his voice well. His lips curled up slightly to form a crooked little smile but his teeth were straight and white. His voice was deep and raspy but calming, like someone had put honey in warm black tea. He was smiling at me while I took note that he only had one dimple in his right cheek. He was attractive and he probably knewit.

“Oh, thank you, but my friend has insisted on showing me around every day. There probably won’t be anything left to show me by the time she’s finished.” I forced a laugh to go with myexcuse.

“Oh, I think you’d be surprised.” He smiled. He stopped his machine and hopped off prettyquickly.

He stood in front of me. He was at least 6’3” which was at least ten inches taller thanme.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I’ll see you around, Delilah.” He turned and walkedaway.

“Bye,” I managed. I was slightly intimidated by his confidence. I didn’t like that at all. Here I stood, slightly confused, and definitely glad he’d walked away.Go home, Delilah. Go home and writesomething.

* * *

Imust’ve writtenfor at least five hours before I realized it. I sat down at my desk and my fingers moved over the keys faster than they had in a very long time. I didn’t have a specific goal, but I liked the raw material flowing and knew I needed to get it down before it got away from me. Come to think of it, the last time I’d written this furiously was when I put down the foundation for my very firstnovel.

Thinking back it made sense. I didn’t really have much else to do with my time. I started writing as a hobby to pass the time and to express what I was feeling in a healthy way. I didn’t really imagine it would turn out the way it did. I let three people read that first novel and they insisted I try to get it published. I looked into a few publishers but they wanted to change too much. So I self-published. The book took off in a way I never imagined it would. Soon I was swamped in request after request for interviews, offers from publishers, and all sorts of things way beyond my knowledge base. That’s when I hired Vera. She was an independent agent, with no ties to any publisher, and she respected my wanting to remain an Indie writer. She handled PR for me, interviews for magazines and shows, and was the bridge most days between me and my freelance editor. I was fortunate enough to find an editor I really liked and used her for each one of mybooks.

I got up to stretch my legs and walked around my sunroom office. The sun was starting to sink toward the horizon but it was still pretty light out. I walked to the living room to peek out the front window. I glanced to my left, and there he was. Samuel Young. I flicked the blinds back to place and stood back a little so he couldn’t see me. He was walking with a young boy. If I had to guess, he was maybe seven.His son?He said he didn’t have a wife but I suppose that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a child. Or maybe it was a nephew.Only one way to find out,Delilah.

Before I could stop myself, I was walking out onto my front porch as they approached the front of my house. Samuel glanced over at the movement and instantly smiled.Shit, what have Idone?

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