Page 105 of Ewan

Even so, I always keep an eye on the street.

Who knows where she saw him and if it was indeed him?

She saw his truck. There are thousands of trucks like his in Long Island.

“He rolled down the road.”

She gestures at the road.

“Okay.”

My voice drips with disbelief.

“It was him,” she says with conviction. “I thought he was coming here.”

No, she didn’t.

And I’m sure it wasn’t him. She’s fucking with my brain.

“What makes you think it was him?”

She leans in as if sharing a great secret, the aroma of coffee drifting off her.

“I saw him.”

I stare at her with a serious look on my face for a few seconds before chuckling.

She’s nuts.

“You didn’t see him. You hadn’t even seen him that night.”

She nods a few times in disagreement, her eyes smiling behind her glasses.

“Yes, I did see him. He’s a tall, muscular guy, and he has unbelievably beautiful eyes.”

While I appreciate her giving me a full description of his looks, I now wonder where she could have seen him.

She couldn’t get that much from spotting him that first night in front of my house.

He wasn’t in her direct line of sight.

But what do I know?

She’s clearly seen him somewhere.

“I’ve also seen him on TV,” she says, and my heart stops.

“What??”

She nods a couple of times.

“It was a show about money. Don’t ask me what it was. My memory is not as reliable as it used to be.”

I’m convinced she’s fucking with me.

There is no way in hell, Ewan, my Ewan, the guy who sported a semi when he saw me for the first time.

The one who said I was off-limits, making no sense, is now on TV, dispensing financial advice.

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