Page 18 of The Angel and the Agent

“True,” she agreed. “So, tell me, how have you grown and changed?”

“I used to have a bigger chip on my shoulder, like I had something to prove to the world. I don’t feel that way anymore. I’ve learned to let a lot of little things go, to not view every cross word or piece of advice or discipline as a threat to my manhood.”

“So you were a hothead,” she clarified.

“Yes, and thank you for using the past tense on that. I’ve been trying to do better on that front.”

“You’ve succeeded. I don’t view you that way at all.”

“How do you view me?” he asked, grinning.

She regarded him but didn’t answer. He poked her leg, albeit gently. “Still waiting.”

“Settle in, it’s going to be a long wait,” she said.

“Is there a particular reason you don’t want to answer the question?” he asked with a cocky, knowing smile.

“Would you answer, if I’d asked you how you view me?” she challenged.

“Yes,” he said.

“Go ahead then,” she said, leaning back onto her hands as she awaited his answer.

“You, Amelia Eldridge, are like one of our famous cherry blossoms in the spring. Bright, colorful, beautiful, attractive, good smelling, sweet. And the temptation is there to think that’s all there is, a pretty little flower. But then winter comes and the blossoms fade, and you see the true beauty of the tree, the way the branches spread and the trunk twists, and you realize the tree must have crazy deep roots to produce that kind of fruit, year after year after year.”

“Okay, I was expecting something flippant, and you almost made me cry. Thank you,” she said.

“It’s still your turn,” he prompted.

“I can’t,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m seeing someone, and it wouldn’t be fair to him.”

“Now I’m a little glad you won’t say because what I’m imagining is probably better than the reality,” he said.

“Believe me, it’s not,” she said. The atmosphere bottomed out between them and the usual tension that was at a simmer suddenly jumped to a rolling boil. They remained silent for a moment, waiting for things to return to normal.

“What do you and Piedmont do on dates?” he asked after a while.

“He has a lot of social engagements, work events, charity things, networking stuff. It’s a lot of dressing up, going to parties, dancing, eating tiny food.”

“That sounds right down your alley,” he said. “Getting fancy, dancing, eating.”

“At first it was fun. No, it was a blast. But I’m kind of reaching that point where I’ve rotated the same three dresses so many times I’m either going to have to spend a paycheck on a new dress or get a reputation as some kind of frugal clothes recycler. And the food isn’t as good as you might imagine. They make it ahead of time in mass quantities, so by the time I eat it, it’s lost all flavor and appeal. The dancing’s always fun, but Piedmont has to spend so much time talking to so many people we’re lucky to eke out one dance per event.” She paused. “Listen to me, complaining because the gourmet food is bland and my clothes aren’t posh enough. First world problems much, Amelia? Sorry, I wasn’t trying to complain. Itisfun. I guess I was making the point that not everything is as shiny as it appears, even fancy parties.”

“But you and Piedmont get along?” he prodded.

“Absolutely. He’s by far the best, most attentive guy I’ve ever gone out with, but not in a cloying way, you know? It’s like the perfect amount of attention and space. He’s kind, funny, thoughtful, smart, interesting. I find myself cynically searching for flaws because, so far, he seems like the perfect man. I feel lucky he’s turned his attention to me when he could have anyone in this city.”

“Wow, that was fun, thanks for the information. Be right back, going to go cut off my ears now,” he said.

She laughed. “You asked.”

“That’s because I’m a moron. Plus I was hoping you’d highlight all his flaws, tell me he’s boring and picks his teeth withmatchbooks, yells at waiters, makes small children cry. Instead he sounds like a less-pudgy Buddha.”

She laughed again, clutching her stomach. “Oh, Ethan. You’re so funny.”

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