Page 66 of Finding Amanda

"Nope."

"I'm amazed at how many writers don't these days," he said. "That's definitely something that's changed since I started my career."

"I'm sure," she said. "Are you satisfied, Mr. Editor?"

"Sorry. Old habits."

She slipped the hard drive in the drawer and led the way back to the family room. She poured them each a fresh glass of wine, and they reclined on the sectional. Amanda took her usual seat in the corner. Alan settled against the arm facing the fireplace and flat screen. Mark's seat.

"Have you given any more thought to what I said the other night?"

She cocked her head to the side. "What do you?—?"

"You shouldn't publish that manuscript, Amanda."

Her heart sank. Did they really have to talk about this now? She took a sip of her wine. "I'm considering what you said."

"Good." He settled back into the seat and nodded toward the fireplace. "That's your family?"

She looked at the photographs on the mantel. Mark in his uniform. Mark and Amanda on their wedding day. Mark posing with the girls. The third picture had been her birthday present a few years earlier. Mark was sitting in a chair, Madi on his knee. Sophie was standing beside him, and his arm encircled her tiny back. They wore jeans, white shirts, and big, happy smiles.

"That's them."

"The older one is Sophie, right? And the blonde—that's Madi. She looks like you."

She studied the pictures of her daughters. "So I've been told."

"Your husband's sort of huge, isn't he?"

"I guess."

Alan rested his arm against the back of the sofa. "He stays fit. What does he do?"

"He's a general contractor."

"He looks slightly dangerous. I'm glad he's not here."

Was he kidding? She smiled and said nothing.

Alan reached for his glass and took a sip of the white wine. "I am gladI'mhere," he said finally. He turned in his seat to face her. "I hate to be so blunt, but I'm not sure how else to handle this. I'm very attracted to you, Amanda. I guess I'm trying to get a feel for what's going on."

She looked again at the pictures on the mantle. "Mark's a good man, a good father." Her heart thumped hard. "But we don't work very well, not anymore. I don't think we'll get back together."

"But you're not sure."

She swallowed and looked down. "I'm sure."

"Oh." He was quiet for a moment, and she looked up to see him staring up at the mantle again. "I'm sorry." He faced her. "I've been through it. It's really hard. And, you know, regardless of how I feel about you, now isn't the time for you to start something serious with anybody. But . . . well, when the time comes . . ." He let the unspoken offer trail off.

Warmth filled her cheeks. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Can I ask you a question? You don't have to answer it if you don't want to."

"What is it?"

"It's really none of my business. But, when you were a kid,why did you go to see that psychiatrist in the first place? You talk about everything else in your memoir, but . . ."

His voice trailed off.

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