She followed him through the house as he gave a guided tour. It was quite lovely - everything - the art and furniture - everything. She found herself wishing her mother's taste in interiors was as clean. His library was impressive - and the computer workstation, too.
"This is where you write?" she asked, touching the edge of a large antique maple desk.
"This is the place," he nodded, corner of mouth curved in a smile, a dimple - a nicely chiseled chin.
"Nice view," she said, looking out the window and across the valley, wondering what was happening at home.
"Melissa - may I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Why did you want to meet me?"
She studied his face - that way he stood with one hand in his pocket, head tilted just a bit to one side.
"Your stories. I wondered what kind of man you
