Free The Lives Between Us by Theresa Rizzo Page B

journalist?”
    Skye finished chewing her French fry and lifted the plate to him. “Less than a year. I’ve been your classic underachieving adult wandering the world in search of herself. But I think I’ve found my passion.”
    Mark took a couple of fries and popped them in his mouth. “What’d you do before becoming a journalist?”
    “After college, I moved to Colorado to ski and tend bar. I was a dog groomer until I got bit by a Yorkie.” She ticked past jobs off on her fingers. “A paper boy, grocery teller, waitress, clerk at Hudson’s before it became Macy’s... Oh, and I worked in a florist shop, before I became a flight attendant.”
    “And you traveled all over the world helping people identify the nearest exits and fasten their seatbelts.”
    Skye smiled. “For a while.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Truth be told, I’m not really much of a people person.”
    Mark raised his eyebrows. Skye hardly seemed the shy type, and she had strong communication skills. “Why not?”
    She shrugged. “I just don’t like them on the whole. I mean, people are always complaining about something. Very few people are happy with their lives, and I hate the games people play. You know, for one lame reason or another they don’t say what they mean.” She took a big bite of her sandwich. Chewing quickly, Skye swallowed and took a drink of wine. “It’s too much work deciphering all the lies and double talk.”
    Mark knew exactly what she meant. Skye would tell him straight up if she was upset or hurt—or if she’d met someone else. He wouldn’t have to worry about catching her in bed with another guy.
    Mark stabbed a tomato wedge and lettuce and chewed. “Pretty odd choice of jobs, bartender and flight attendant—and now advice columnist, for a person who doesn’t enjoy human interaction.”
    “The last wasn’t my choice. I got a journalism degree, not psychology. I’d rather spend time researching, interviewing, and writing articles that might actually uncover some important truth or enlighten people, rather than being a public therapist.” She picked up a fry. “But first I have to get my foot in the door.”
    “And how’s that going?”
    “The truth, or would you like me to concoct some glamorous lie?”
    Ed had told him some of the truth, so Mark wondered how creative she could be. “Lie. Definitely the lie.”
    Skye swirled a crisp golden fry in the little tub of ranch dressing. “Hm. My first assignment, many, many years ago, I was sent to cover Princess Di’s funeral—a tragic event.” Her expressive face crinkled in a deep frown. “I always thought that she must have lived a very odd life, being adored by millions of strangers. So many people felt they had a right to violate her privacy because she married the heir to the British throne—another reason to dislike people.” She shook a fry at him. “And then, naturally, there was the time I was sent to New York to cover the World Trade Center terrorist attack.”
    “Naturally.” Even though these events had probably happened before she’d hit high school, her choice of topic was revealing. She could tell an entertaining story. Mark took a bite of the sandwich he’d neglected.
    “I took the unique angle of researching its effect on the average New Yorker. Just the average Joe. The street vendors miles away. The ferryboat operators. The medical personnel across the five boroughs waiting in emergency rooms with refrigerators overflowing with units of blood for hordes of patients that never materialized. How did that feel? What was that like?”
    Passionate topics with strong human-interest components for a person who didn’t like people. “Seems you’ve had some fascinating issues to cover. You must have acquired quite the following.”
    “Yeah, my pen name is Tom Brokaw.” A playful smile tugged at Skye’s lips and her eyes twinkled. “Men go farther in every field.”
    “So I hear.” He pursed his lips.