Free Where I Found My Heart by C.E. Hansen Page B

seatbelt across his lap, locking it into place. Then pushed a button above his head. “We’re ready Ralph.”
    The car slowly pulled out, and we were on our way.
    “So. What is it you do Mark?” I said as I looked around at the interior of the limousine.
    “I own a Real Estate Management business.”
    “Oh. Well, that would explain why your boss wasn’t angry when you stopped for coffee every morning, spending an hour waiting for a stranger to walk in.”
    He laughed at my comment, and inwardly I prayed I would make it through this night.
     

Chapter 17
     
    To tell you the truth, I was more afraid of having to tell him about my past then I was of thwarting his advances, but he made the ride into the City entertaining with stories of his adventures in the kitchen. Turns out we have that in common. A shared love of cooking, although mine has somewhat faded in the past year.
    The car stopped in front of the Union Square Café and I’d just about released my seatbelt when the door was pulled open by a smiling Ralph.
    Mark stepped out first then assisted me. He held my hand and gently squeezed it. I have to admit I was surprised at my reaction. I got a warm tingly kind of sensation, although I could easily blame it on the Champagne, and definitely did.
    Dinner was wonderful, both the food and the wine delicious. And Mark was a great talker. He has this way about him—a free going kind of relaxed feeling—that made you feel at ease. I contributed a small amount to the evening by recounting stories from when I was young, my life before Dylan. It seemed safer somehow to keep it to the times before I met Dylan. I wasn’t ready to talk about that part of my life yet. I still had way too much pain.
    When they brought out the dessert and coffee I giggled. I’m pretty sure I was a bit inebriated.
    “What?”
    “Just thinking about you and the Coffee Shack.”
    “Hey. Don’t knock a plan that works. And it worked didn’t it?”
    “Yes. I guess it did.”
    There was an awkward silence and I rushed to fill it.
    “Where did you get your love of cooking?”
    “My wife Jennifer. She always pulled me into the kitchen to help her and I picked it up quick.” He smiled, but it was a somewhat sad smile. “She said I was a natural. I think it was more to keep me in there with her, but I ended up loving it.”
    “You’re not still…she and you.”
    “No. No, Jennifer died a little over a year and a half ago.”
    “Oh, I’m so sorry.” I was more than sorry. I was flooded with memories I wanted kept away. I stammered, “It’s not my business. I’m so sorry.” I suddenly felt sick.
    “I don’t mind talking about it.” He looked down at his plate for a moment, “Although there was a time when it was too difficult to talk about.” He looked up at me, and it was almost like he was checking to see how I was handling the news he’s divulged, “When she first died I hated the world and everything and everyone in it. Took me some time before I could stand to be near people again.”
    “I’m sorry to bring up such a painful memory… I’m sor…it…it’s obvious that you loved her…very much.” I don’t know why I said that. I couldn’t be sure that’s the way he felt, but the way he said her name and the sadness that clouded his beautiful blue eyes told me he loved her a great deal, and for a moment I hurt for him.
    “I did. She was a wonderful person in every way. She was a phenomenal human being, a warm and wonderful woman, she was perfect…well perfect for me that is.” He laughed awkwardly. “But I finally realized keeping myself away from others, was only making what was already horrible, worse. I knew she wanted me to go on with my life, and I promised her I would do that. It was the last thing I told her, that, and I loved her.”
    I was on the verge of crying my eyes out here, every muscle in my body tensed, and I think Mark sensed that. He asked for the check and we both walked solemnly to the