Page 35 of Finding Amanda

"I know it's really personal, probably hard to share. Guys like him . . . he deserves . . . I can't think of a bad enough punishment."

His words reached inside her, soothed her most frightened places. She cleared her throat of the emotion trying to bubble out. "I was there, too. I was to blame?—"

"No! You were a kid, a kid who needed counseling. It wasn't your fault."

It wasn't your fault. "You really think so?" She choked on the words.

"Of course I do, Amanda." His voice deepened, softened. "Anyone would."

No, not anyone. Not Mark.

She swallowed the emotions. "Listen, I wanted to?—"

"Any chance you?—?"

They spoke at the same time, stopped, and laughed. "You go first," she said.

"Okay. I don't have much time, but I wanted to see if you might be free Friday night for dinner."

"This Friday?"

"Yes. I have a client I've needed to meet with face-to-face for a couple of weeks, and I've been kind of avoiding it. But now I have an excellent reason to visit Boston. I figured you can't get away after being gone all weekend, but I could drive down, see where you live, if that's okay."

"That'd be great," she said, calculating fast. "I have to take my girls to a birthday party Friday night from five to seven. Maybe you could come while they're gone."

"Not ready for me to meet them?"

She looked through the glass door at her husband. "Not yet. I know we're just friends, but?—"

"Of course I understand. It's a sticky situation. So what time should I get there?"

"I can be home by ten past five."

"Okay, is there someplace nearby I can take you for dinner?"

"I'll make something."

"Are you sure? I don't want you to go to any trouble for me."

"Don't be silly. I love to cook."

He chuckled. "I'm honored to have the famous M.L. Johnson cooking me dinner."

"Uh-oh, the pressure's on."

"Not at all. Listen, I just arrived at my meeting. I'll call you Friday to confirm,okay?"

"Sounds great." She started to say goodbye when she remembered what she'd wanted to say. "Wait! I forgot to tell you thank you."

"For . . . ?"

"For the beautiful flowers, of course. I love them."

She heard him exhale. "Gee, Amanda, I'd like to take credit for them, but I didn't send you flowers."

Mark watchedAmanda in the reflection of the glass as she dug in her purse for the phone, answered the call, and moved away.

She was smiling, blushing, and eyeing him nervously.

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