Dear Maggie. Brenda Novak

dating would work. How could she and Darla meet men via the Internet who lived close enough for dating purposes? What if she found a man who seemed interesting and he lived in Florida, for Pete’s sake? A pen pal wouldn’t exactly fill the gap in her life.

      Still, she liked the idea of socializing from behind the safety of her computer screen while Zach played at her feet. No baby-sitter needed. No fuss. No awkward moments. No fears or worries if she stayed in control of the situation. Visiting chat rooms might help pass the long, lonely evenings before she went to work. And it certainly wouldn’t hurt that she could subsidize the fun with some frozen yogurt from her own freezer.

      “What do you think?” Darla asked, coming into her cubicle before Maggie had a chance to make a firm decision.

      “What about the risks? We could end up attracting weirdos. Cyber nuts,” she said, determined to consider every angle.

      Darla frowned. “That might be true. I’ve heard some scary stories. We’ll just have to be careful.”

      “How will we know when it’s safe to reveal our name and number?”

      “We’ll get to know the guy first.”

      “And how will we determine when we ‘know’ him?”

      “We’ll just have to play it by ear, I guess.”

      Maggie rested her head in one hand and regarded Darla skeptically. “You’re going to get me in trouble, aren’t you? I can tell already.”

      Darla smiled, sorted through Maggie’s side drawer and helped herself to a piece of gum from the pack she kept there. “I think it’s time to mix things up around here. I think it’s time for a little trouble,” she said and headed back to her own desk.

      “What are friends for?” Maggie muttered, but Darla couldn’t hear her. She was gone for a moment before popping back in to hand her a new sticky note.

      “Here. This is where we’ll go. Log on tonight at eight. I’ll meet you there.”

      Maggie read Darla’s loopy handwriting directing her to a chat room called Twenties Love. “You might be only twenty-six, but I just turned thirty,” she protested. “I have no business in Twenties Love.”

      Darla shrugged. “Okay. Older men are fine by me. We’ll go to Thirties Love, then.”

      “I don’t know.” Maggie rubbed her pencil between her hands until the friction warmed her palms. “I’m still leaning toward the dating service. Their questionnaire asks what I’m looking for in appearance.” She grinned. “I was planning on checking the box ‘moderately attractive’ so the guy wouldn’t hold my red hair against me.”

      “Your hair isn’t red. It’s auburn, and it’s beautiful.”

      “No one likes red hair.”

      “Men are crazy about red hair.”

      “Tim was paranoid our baby would have red hair.”

      “Tim was always trying to hurt you.”

      Her ex had definitely succeeded there. But he’d toughened her a lot, too, and Tim was old news, anyway.

      Maggie pulled the dating service’s questionnaire out of her desk. “Well, I was also planning to check the box that said I was moving in six months, you know, as sort of a safety precaution.”

      Darla propped her hands on her hips. “So, what you’re saying is, you’ve already decided to lie on almost every question.”

      “Not every question. They don’t ask about my weight.”

      “Like you’d need to lie about your weight.” She shook her head. “Okay, what would you put under ‘athletic interest’? Very active, active, occasionally active or does not matter?”

      “Very active, of course.”

      “You call grocery shopping once a week very active?”

      “No, but everyone knows an active woman is more appealing than an inactive one.”

      “You see, Maggie? Doesn’t that tell you anything?”

      “Yeah, that I’m not stupid enough to put ‘inactive.’”

      “No. That other people are probably doing the same thing you are, giving answers they think the opposite sex wants to hear, instead of the truth.”

      Maggie chewed her lip. Darla had a point. What if men were putting “advanced degree” when, in reality, the only thing they’d ever graduated from was juvenile hall to the state pen?

      Grabbing the note with the chat room information on it, Maggie scratched out Twenties Love and wrote a big 3-0, then tacked it up on her wall so she wouldn’t forget. “Okay. We go with the Web. It’s no less safe, and it’s free, right?”

      “Right.” Darla tossed her hair over her shoulder. “See you in virtual reality.”

      HOW WOULD HE KNOW when she logged on?

      Nick sat in front of his laptop computer, his dog’s muzzle on his leg, reading the comments of people already in the chat room and hoping he’d be able to recognize Maggie’s “voice” when he heard it. He’d logged on around seven-thirty, wanting to be there when she arrived, figuring that the timing of her appearance would somehow tip him off if nothing in her screen name or comments did. But it was after eight now, and he doubted she was anyone he’d met so far.

      Was he in the wrong place? He glanced down at the note he’d snatched from Maggie’s cubicle. He had the right server.

      Twenties Love had been covered by a numerical Thirty, but after scanning all the chat rooms, he decided it could only mean Thirties Love. So where were they?

      They could have changed their minds about coming, but that didn’t seem likely. He’d heard Darla talking about the chat room in the parking lot after work—and so had anyone else within a block radius. Darla kept nothing secret. He smiled at the many comments the tall blonde had made about him, both good and bad, not realizing he was listening to every word. He wondered if she’d be embarrassed if she knew, then decided she wouldn’t bother with anything as inhibiting as embarrassment.

      Maggie, on the other hand, would be mortified to learn he’d heard so much of their conversations. He knew he made her nervous, that she didn’t want anything to do with him. Her flat refusal to go out with him had told him that. But he couldn’t protect her and his cover as one of the Trib’s photographers unless he drew a little closer. So, with any luck, he was about to become her best friend—

      Hey, Mntnbiker, you just lurking or what? You the shy type?

      Dancegirl was talking to him. She’d been flirting with several of the men. She’d said she was from Washington, but Nick had no idea if she meant Washington state or Washington DC. At that point, he’d known she wasn’t Maggie and started skimming.

      Just quiet, he wrote.

      Dancegirl: Well, join the fun. Tell us, if you had to liken yourself to an animal, which one would you pick?

      Two new names appeared on his screen, one right after the other, and Nick smiled. Zachman and Catlover could only be Maggie and Darla. Maggie had a son named Zach. His pictures covered her whole office. And no one was crazier about cats than Darla. He relaxed, knowing he’d found them, and answered Dancegirl.

      Mntnbiker: I’d be a Rottweiler.

      Dancegirl: A dog? Why?

      Because it’s the first thing that came to my mind.

      Mntnbiker: They’re smart and loyal and fierce in a fight.

      He scratched behind his dog’s ears. Rambo opened his droopy eyes to acknowledge the touch, looking anything but fierce, then