“Who is it?” I ask, playing along with his game. He tilts his head, lowering one eyebrow and cocking the other at me.
“Just someone I know.” Something tells me he leaves it vague on purpose.
“Do I know her?” I ask.
“You might. She lives in town.”
“Are you going to tell me who she is?” I ask shyly.
“No, probably not.” He takes a sip of his coffee and looks away. Maybe it’s not me.
I look down at my own tea cup, and my own reflection peers back at me. “I think you need a third woman to meddle in your love life.”
“I don’t think I do,” Dean rattles, shifting in his seat, crossing his legs.
“Let me ask you a question.” I mimic his position, leaning against the wall, legs crossed.
“Anything, darling.” He gives me a sly smile. My body shivers at the worddarlingbut I pull it together.
“How did you know who I was?” I ask. “The first day we met. You knew my name without me even telling you.”
“Everyone who knows Andy, knows who you are.” Dean scratches the side of his face.
“Yeah. But how doyouknow who I am? Andy? The media?”
“Do you really want to know?” Dean asks me.
“What? Was it Craig?” I ask, shaking my metaphorical fist at that damned pharmacist. It seems exactly like the type of thing he’d do.
“Craig only told me a bit.” Dean turns back in his seat, facing me. “It was the album cover. The first song on the album is named after you. Anyone would be a fool not to see the connection.”
“But it doesn’t have my face.”
“Then, I guess, the music.”
“What do you mean, the music?” I don’t understand what he’s saying, and it’s making my stomach bubble with anxiety.
“I knew you lived in town. The articles said that much. But those songs could only be about one person. I knew you before I even saw you. It had to be you,” Dean tells me, and I blush straight through to my shoes. I quickly deflect.
“So, youarean Andy McKinney megafan?”
“I’m a Madeline McKinney megafan.”
“Shut up,” I smile as Tracy comes back around to refill our coffee and tea, and with our plates of carbohydrates. I eat my bagel in less than five bites, while Dean takes his time on his toast. He’s wearing his red sweater that makes his cheeks look extra rosy, his stubble unshaven. His glasses are exceptionally good at hiding the pale freckles across his nose.
Dean finishes his toast and pulls out a 20-dollar bill. He places it on the table, takes one last swig of coffee and stands up.
“Come on, let’s go,” He offers me a hand that I gingerly take. Are we really going to walk out of here holding hands? I’m silently questioning it, but I don’t let go of his hand. He waves goodbye to Tracy and holds the door for me.
“What have you done with the real Dean?” I ask. This isn’t the man I’ve come to know. “Why are you being so sweet?”
“You won’t say that in a few minutes. We’re going on a short walk.”
“It’s freezing and snowing,” I say. “And you want to go on a walk?” He’s leading me on a short path near the road into a wooded area.
“I’m taking you somewhere special. It’s not far.”
“Where are you taking me?”
