(If you’re curious about the first scene, you can click here or buy The Man Who Crossed Whimsy Avenue here or wherever fine books are sold.)
The little coffee shop did not have much atmosphere, but they made the muffins fresh every 24 hours and the coffee was as good as any back on Earth.
“Settled in, then?” he asked, resisting the temptation to get lost in her eyes.
“Yes. I love what you’ve done with the place,” she said with a flip of her hair that made her look 20 years younger.
“You’d be amazed how much you can do with only an eight-figure budget,” he smiled. “Of course, most of the money goes toward staying alive.”
She looked down at her cup and then back into his eyes. Oh, those eyes …
“Do we need to talk about anything?” she asked.
“Not if you don’t want to,” he said. “I’m so glad to see you.”
“Me, too,” she said softly. “I’m sorry about what I said. I was so upset that you accepted this job. I was just focused on myself; I didn’t consider how much this opportunity meant to you.”
“I don’t blame you,” he said. “You must have felt like I was abandoning you. And I really kind of was. I couldn’t ask you to come with me.”
A shadow passed over her face.
“You could have asked.”
“Come on,” he said gently. “Would you have said yes?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. Three quarters of the way to the moon? Make a life together here?”
“With you,” she said, “maybe.”
His eyes widened. “No. No, I couldn’t ask you.”
“But I could volunteer.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I guess I was waiting for you to ask,” she said.
A few moments passed in silence.
“So — here I am,” she said.
“Yes. Here you are,” he said. “Isn’t the muffin to die for?”
They talked for hours.
