Nice guy, though. I enjoyed talking with him very much.”
“So, what is the book about? You’re very cagey about it.”
He clucked at the horse, which had no impact at all. Barney had only two speeds. Walking and standing. “I’m not trying to be cagey, honestly. It’s just that right now, I have about a hundred pages that don’t really go together. I can’t quite figure out where to start, or what happens in the middle.” He chuckled and shook his head. “And I’m not sure how it ends. I’m beginning to suspect that writing a book is a lot harder than it seems.”
His leg was pressed against mine, and the jostling of the buggy caused our shoulders to tap. I wove my arm around his and snuggled a little closer. You know, because it was chilly.
“I’m sure you’re right about that,” I said, resisting the urge to rest my head on his shoulder. “I always thought that writing a book would be pretty hard. Especially fiction.”
His face turned toward me. “You don’t like fiction?”
“Oh, I love fiction. I’m just not sure I could make stuff up like that. I’m a science teacher, remember? I like facts and figures and stuff that’s tangible. I could probably muddle my way through writing a nonfiction paper about something, but my imagination just doesn’t work that way.”
It’s true that I wasn’t good at fiction and my imagination was lame, but over the past few weeks, my fantasy life had blossomed. For every time I reminded myself that Leo Walker was just passing through, I spent equal time on all the what-ifs and picturing long, elaborate montages in my head. What if he stuck around? What if tonight was the start of something really fabulous? What if he fell in love with me?
Oh, but what if I fell in love with him? There was so much uncertainty, and I didn’t like uncertainty. I liked predictability. But I also liked Leo. It was time to jump. Leo Walker was an opportunity I didn’t want to miss. He might not turn out to be my kind of forever, but he was most certainly my kind of right now.
We arrived at the hotel, and Chester the English doorman took hold of Old Barney’s bridle as we climbed down. My feet hit the ground, and I wondered if I should’ve waited for Leo to come around on my side and help me. Too late now. Missed my chance.
Leo stepped up to the uniformed doorman. “Um, can you do whatever it is you do with horses while we have dinner?” he asked.
Chester was 130 pounds of stiff upper lip and wore white riding pants with a red jacket bedecked with gold fringes. “Very good, sir. If you’d be so good as to have the hostess notify me upon the completion of your meal, I shall have the carriage ready for your return home.”
Leo straightened in reaction to the prim and proper Brit. “Jolly good,” he said, and his head gave a little shake as if he wasn’t at all sure why he’d said that. I laughed and took his hand as we walked up the red-carpeted steps to the front door. The lobby of the Imperial Hotel was huge, full of gilt-framed oil paintings of hounds chasing foxes, boldly floral upholstered furniture, plush, pine-green carpeting, and gleaming chandeliers. There was nothing subtle about any of it. The décor was intended to look, well . . . imperial.
The Pier Lounge was a bit more subdued, with a decidedly nautical theme. Pictures of sailboats, lighthouses, anchors, and signal flags adorned robin’s-egg-blue walls, and brass fixtures gleamed from doors, windows, and the multiple beer taps at the mahogany bar. Tonight, the place was all but empty, no doubt because it was seven o’clock on a Tuesday evening just a few days before Thanksgiving. Still, the hostess led us to a corner booth with tall backs and navy-blue velvet upholstery. I was glad for the cozy ambiance. A crystal votive candle adorned our table, and the walls surrounding us were nearly all window, giving us a magnificent view over the bay. Darkness was fast approaching, giving everything a soft glow and making the lights of the marina seem particularly festive.
Leo ordered a Red Label scotch on the rocks. I ordered an old-fashioned. Small, but powerful. That’s what I needed.
When the drinks arrived, Leo raised his glass to clink against mine.
“To?” he asked.
“Um . . .” I didn’t know what to toast to. To our