Page 19 of Finding Amanda

The waitress set their plates of spaghetti on the table. That was fast. No made-to-order here. Amanda swirled her spaghetti in the sauce and took a bite. Too much oregano, light on the garlic, and it tasted burnt.

Alan finished a bite and set his fork down. "You like it?"

"Yes, it's very good." Okay,very goodwas an exaggeration, but she could stomach it, and she didn't want to hurt his feelings. Sometimes being a cook had its disadvantages. She grabbed a roll from the basket between them, buttered it, and popped a bite-sized piece into her mouth, where it melted in warm, salty goodness. The roll more than made up for the spaghetti.

He set his fork down. "So, cooking lessons?"

She wiped her fingers on her napkin. "At first it was just neighbors and friends, but then people started to hear about me, and I branched out. I'd do a theme—how to cook French food or something—and find a group who wanted to take the class. They'd pay a fee, and I'd fix a three- or four-course dinner and teach while I cooked."

"What a great idea."

"It worked for me. And then I started the blog. I got to where I had to turn groups down because I was so busy, and I earned a lot more than I ever did working at restaurants. Plus, I got to be home."

"But what about the cookbook?"

"Right. I was teaching a class one night when a student told me I ought to write a cookbook. I'd built up a pretty big following on my blog. I had a lot of good recipes. I thought, what the heck? And when I was finished, I sent the book to the woman who'd suggested it. She liked it. Lucky for me, that woman was Roxanne Richardson."

He laughed. "No kidding. Is she your agent?"

"She is."

Alan nodded slowly and took a sip of his drink. He set the glass down and opened his mouth. Then he closed it again. His lips were full and pink and turned down at the corners. "I get the feeling, after talking to your husband today, that he wouldn't approve of us having dinner together."

Her stomach twisted at the thought of Mark. “Definitely not, but . . ." She set her fork on the edge of the dinner plate. There was no reason not to tell Alan the truth. It wasn't like he was interested in her romantically or anything. Probably just curious. "We're separated."

His eyes softened and sparkled in the candlelight with hints of green and amber. He was an ordinary looking man, but his eyes were slightly mesmerizing. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thank you." She was sorry, too. Sorry her dreams had been shattered so thoroughly. Sorry to see her marriage crumbling like over-cooked cake. "It was my decision."

They worked on their dinners for a few minutes. She asked about his career, and he told her of his lifelong dream to work in publishing. As he spoke, he no longer seemed the slight, paunchy man she'd flagged down in the hotel's lobby. His face was roundish, unimpressive, until he flashed his smile and showed his dimples.

When their plates were removed, he shifted the subject back to her. "I'm sorry, but I sort of overheard your conversation with Mark. Did I hear you say something about a memoir?"

She would have to get used to talking about her memoir if she was going to publish. But sharing it now, with Alan—that didn't feel safe. "You don't want to hear about that."

"Is Mercury going to publish it?"

“Tim doesn't like memoirs. I'm looking around."

"Maybe it's something I'd be interested in."

She swirled the last swallow of red wine in her glass to give her fingers something to do. "I thought you said you were working on fiction."

"Fiction and narrative nonfiction. I love memoirs."

Amanda finished the last sip of her wine, buying time. She hadn't been thinking of Alan as an editor, she'd been thinking of him as a man.

He settled back in his chair. "If it makes you uncomfortable . . ."

She set her glass down and tried to smile. "I feel funny pitching my book to you after everything that happened today."

He nodded slowly. "Yeah, we're beyond pitching. But I'd like to hear about it."

Was she stupid enough to make the same mistake twice? After she'd told Mark the truth about her past, everything had changed between them. Things would never be the same with Mark, no matter how many times he claimed he still loved her. She could see the rejection in his eyes. Why would she put herself through that again?

On the other hand, she was at the conference to pitch her memoir. Alan wasn't Mark. Not telling him about it would be pretty stupid, considering he was an editor. And if she got it published, the story would be out there for everyone to read.

And maybe it was smarter to start this . . . friendship or whatever was happening with Alan . . . with the truth. But did she dare?

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