Bylines & Deadlines. Kimberly Vinje

and then poured one for her. She took a drink, and he smiled as he watched her.

      “What,” she asked smiling back. She went to take another drink.

      “That’s what I love about you,” he said, and she choked on her wine. She coughed several times and couldn’t tell if her face was red from coughing or what he had said. “You’re not pretentious. Are you okay?”

      “Yeah,” she said as she took the napkin he handed to her. She dabbed at the tears in the corner of her eyes. “Just went down the wrong pipe,” she added. He smiled at her again and went back to making dinner. She ran through the remark again and again. Harmless - she decided. He said “that’s what I love about you” just like people say, “I’m going to kill you” or “I could just die.” Yep. That was it, she thought a little disappointed and a little relieved. She took another drink of wine - a bigger one. She started some small talk about where he learned to cook - he was making spaghetti sauce using tomatoes and fresh herbs and things she didn’t even recognize. He put a couple of black plates, knives, forks, spoons and red cloth napkins on the counter.

      “Want to set the table for me?” he asked.

      “Sure,” she said and stood. She started setting the glass table, and he refilled her wine glass.

      “Hey, don’t forget these,” he said and put a plate of Italian bread, a small dish with olive oil in it and matches on the counter. She thought a moment about why they needed matches. She turned around and saw candles on the table. No big deal. So he likes candles burning while he eats. Only the wicks were still white all the way to the tip. He picked up the matches and came out of the kitchen. “I’ll get these,” he said. He walked past her to the table and lit each candle. His aftershave hung in the air as he went past. Nice.

      She tried not to look confused and picked up the remaining items on the counter. “It will be ready in a minute,” he said and went back to the kitchen.

      The sleeves of Will’s white dress shirt were rolled up to the elbow. She’d never realized he only wore white dress shirts until now. Despite the dicing of tomatoes, herbs and all of the other ingredients she didn’t recognize, he didn’t have a drop of anything on this clothing. This is how Tara Butmacher would look if she was cooking, Kristine decided with a sly smile. The smile died when she realized what she looked like on the rare occasion she had tried to cook. She’d once had to wash her hair twice to get everything out of it. She was never going to be like Tara, Emily Wentworth-Montgomery or Will. She crossed her arms in front of her as she felt an inferiority complex trying to emerge.

      “Shake it off,” she told herself. “You’ll be here for what? A couple of days tops. Then you can go back to your normal life. The story will run, everyone will admire and adore you and the fact you get messy when you cook - or even the fact you can’t cook - will seem charming.” She felt better already and unfolded her arms. She even smiled with a feeling of self-satisfaction.

      Dinner was fabulous - better than anything Kristine had ever had in a restaurant. Of course, after paying her outrageous rent for the extremely modest apartment, there wasn’t much left of her paycheck for fancy dining - at least not the kind of restaurants Will was probably used to patronizing.

      Half way through dinner, Will opened another bottle of wine. The wine relaxed her, and they talked like two old friends about current events, world affairs and the city in which they worked. Neither of them brought up anything too personal.

      After dinner, they cleared the dishes and went to the living room with their glasses and the bottle of wine. Will sat on the big white sofa and Kristine sat on the ground next to him.

      “What are you doing down there?” he asked.

      “The wine. I want to be closer to the floor if I fall down,” she said, and they both laughed out loud.

      “Good idea,” he said and shifted from the sofa to the floor. She was feeling tipsy and brave.

      “You know, I never thought I’d get a job at your paper,” she said and took another sip.

      “I knew you’d get a job at my paper as soon as I saw you touring the newsroom,” he said and looked down at his wine glass. “You’re a beautiful addition to any room.” Luckily, she wasn’t drinking when he said that or wine would have shot across the room. Alarms sounded in her mind.

      “The only reason I got the job is because you liked the way I looked?” She felt her temper begin to scorch her face.

      “Oh no,” he looked down in embarrassment. “I wouldn’t have offered the interview and tour if I hadn’t been impressed with your written submissions. You approached stories from angles I don’t know that even I would have considered. I matched the name with your face before I knew who you were. You have this electricity about you…and…well… you’re beautiful.”

      “Thanks,” she said as the alarms faded and her face cooled. “I always thought you were hot,” she said before she could catch herself. “Did I just say that out loud?” He laughed.

      “Yes. You did,” he said and reached over to brush a piece of brown hair out of her eyelashes. “You have so much fire in you.”

      “Fire?” she replied laughing out loud. “I’m impulsive, bordering on stupid… Look where I am and the reason I’m here.”

      “You’re not stupid,” he said. “You’re passionate.”

      “That’s a pretty word for stupid or at least doing stupid things,” she said, and they both laughed again.

      “Like I said before, you have this electricity about you. You walk into a room and it becomes charged. Even if I don’t see you walk in, I notice the change. I don’t think I’ve ever felt the way I do when I’m in the same room with you,” he said. “I would try to be around you only when necessary, but when I went home at night… Well, it was a reminder that I’d never felt anything remotely close to that with Emily.” Alarms screamed again.

      “Wait a minute,” she said straightening and sobering. “Are you saying you left your wife because of me?”

      “It’s a little more complicated than that, but you were part of it. Even if I’m unable to have you, there was the promise of something more than what I had,” he said. “Kris, I know how driven you are. You’re also a lot younger than I am. No way would you give up working at the paper for an old man like me.” She sat there staring at him. Her mind stormed with wine rain, and the twister of questions started to funnel down out of the clouds again. He kept his eyes on her hair. Lighting struck illuminating a question.

      “How long have you been separated?” she asked quietly.

      “About a year and a half,” he said.

      “That’s only about a year after I started working there,” she thought out loud.

      “Yes,” he said now watching her. She avoided his stare.

      “But your wife and kids came to see you at your anniversary thingy, and that wasn’t that long ago,” she said.

      “I still see my girls,” he said. “I may not want to be Emily’s husband anymore, but I’ll always be the girls’ father.”

      “Wow,” she said as she leaned forward and put her wine glass on the coffee table in front of her. “I had no idea,” she said.

      “What I had with Emily wasn’t much of a life, Kris,” he said and pulled her back to the couch to face him. “I’m not putting pressure on you to be with me,” he added. “I just want more than I had.” She made herself look at him. Man, wine made him even more tempting. He was at least 20 years older than she was. He had two kids. He was her boss. There were so many strikes against him.

      “I don’t know what to do right now,” she said.

      “I understand. Want to tell me what you’re thinking,” he asked with a mixture of fear and hope in his voice.

      “I