Page 82 of Finding Amanda

Reluctantly, he strode past her to his door, unlocked it, and pushed it open. Brushing against him as she passed—a move orchestrated to look accidental—she breezed into his apartment. He followed, flipped on first the living room's overhead light, then the kitchen's. She turned and stood in the center of the small space, stunning in the glare of the harsh lights, a precious jewel in the midst of his garage-sale junk.

He hated himself for the comparison. Amanda had stood in that very spot, and he'd never thought of her that way. Though his wife was stunning, she didn't wear all of her beauty on her skin the way Annalise did.

"You said you wanted something to drink?" He stepped into the kitchen and opened the small refrigerator door. He knew exactly what was in there. The move gave him something to look at other than her. "I have apple juice, orange juice, milk, and water."

"I was thinking of something stronger. A glass of wine, perhaps?"

He looked at her over the top of the refrigerator door. "No wine. Sorry."

"Beer?"

He stifled a grunt. "Nope. Nothing alcoholic."

Her eyebrows rose in perfect arches. "You're kidding. That's okay. I think I have a bottle?—"

"No. We're not going to sit here and drink together. Do you want anything or not?"

Her façade faltered. She frowned and shrugged. "Water, I guess."

He grabbed two bottles out of the fridge and slammed the door closed with his foot. Indicating the small round table in his kitchen, he unscrewed the top of one bottle of water and handed it to her before opening his own.

He sat first, and Annalise slid into the chair beside his. Beneath the table, their long legs touched at the knees. He shifted his chair to put space between them.

She took a sip of the water and set it on the table. She drummed the side of the plastic bottle, the bright red fingernails tapping in the silence.

"Are you going to tell me why you're here?"

Shoulders slumped, Annalise sighed and offered him a nervous smile.

In an instant, he was transported back to high school. She was the tall beautiful new foreigner in school, he the short, dorky freshman. When their history teacher assigned them to work together on a project, Mark was both elated and terrified.

Over the next few weeks, he learned a lot about Annie. She didn't know a soul in America and after six months at school, didn't have a single friend. The girls decided she was a threat from the very first, barely acknowledging her, and the boys were too in awe to talk to her. Mark got to know her—and like her. By Christmas their sophomore year, Mark finally surpassed her in height and worked up the nerve to ask her out. By the end of the year, they were in love.

Supermodel Annalise, though obviously attractive, had nothing on the girl sitting next to him right now. Insecure and shy, this was his Annie, the girl who'd stolen his heart at fifteen.

Mark swallowed and sat back, aware of where his thoughts were taking him.Careful.

Annalise shifted forward in the chair. "I was visiting myparents a few months ago, and I ran into your mother at Market Basket.”

Mark squeezed his empty water bottle, which crinkled in the silence. Of course his mother had something to do with this.

She lifted her hair and twisted it to one side, a nervous gesture he recognized. He disregarded a twinge of pity. He hadn't invited her. He didn't owe her anything but the truth.

"Anyway," she continued, "she wanted my cell phone number, said she was thinking of visiting New York." Annalise half-smiled. "She never did, and I don't live there anymore, so I thought I'd never hear from her. That was okay. It wasn't her I wanted to hear from anyway." Her gaze flicked to his, dropped to the table again. "She called last week and told me you're getting a divorce."

Mark stiffened. "I'm not getting a divorce."

"Oh. Well, your mother said she'd talked to your wife, and?—"

"I'm not getting a divorce."

She pushed the water bottle out of the way, rested her elbow on the table, and dropped her chin into her palm. "You sound pretty confident for a guy living in an apartment, alone."

"This is temporary. We're getting back together. Soon. That's where I was tonight—with my wife, at my house."

"And yet," she scanned the room, "here you are."

Mark sat back and crossed his arms.

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