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A little meet-and-greet. I'll be at your place at seven. Sound good?"
    "Sure." Though I know I won't sleep tonight. "See you then. Thanks, Eric."
    "No problem, boss. Get some rest."
    The line goes dead.
    Am I doing the right thing? Can I pull it off? Can I escape my past? Can I define who I really am?
    I don't know. I think of Myra Cole in her bronze-colored dress the night before. Of her dangerous curves. A man could really let himself go with a woman like that. Somehow I just know she'd be able to take all of me. And ask for more. I wouldn't have to hold back with her. I wouldn't have to be careful.
    I sigh. What am I thinking? Myra Cole is gone. With a little luck, I won't hear from her again. With a little luck, she'll write a bland little profile on me, nothing new, and I'll move on with my life and my career.
    But that thought saddens me. For the first time in my life, I want misfortune to plague my steps, and bring Myra Cole back into my life.
     

Chapter 5
     
     
     
    It's going to take a little over three hours to drive to Honeycomb Falls, so I head out crazy early. A cab takes me to the car rental place, where I rent a bright yellow convertible VW Bug. It's too cold to lower the top driving west on the Mass Pike, but the weather forecast predicts a gorgeous golden day, and with how cute Honeycomb Falls looks, I'm determined to make the most of it.
    I stop several times at gas stations along the turnpike to refill on coffee, and I play my 'feel good' mix to keep my energy high and my mind alert. I've actually never been this far west before, and I'm mildly curious about what this side of the state looks like. Peering out the window, I see endless stretches of dreary woods. I bet they look gorgeous when they're dressed in all their leafy finery, but in winter the branches are black and bare. I finally hit the 91, and head north to Honeycomb Falls, entering the Pioneer Valley and humming and car-dancing along to my music.
    Forty minutes later I take the right exit, follow the narrow, winding country road west into the hills, and then finally spy the cute 'Welcome to Honeycomb Falls' sign. I turn off the road, navigate a winding street that passes several gorgeous houses hidden behind the trees, and then pull onto Bridge Street.
    It's super cute! The photographs didn't do it justice. I pull over. The sun's out, and while it's still chilly, I am going to definitely drive down the main drag with my top down. I wrap a scarf over my curls, tie it under my chin, adjust my Jackie Onassis sunglasses, and then slowly drive forward. I've never seen so many little stores I want to explore. An antique dealer. An art gallery. Another art gallery. A brick police station. I spot a little place called The Gypsy Cafe and pull into a convenient parking space. A little more coffee and a cinnamon bun won't go amiss.
    I get out and stretch. Oof . Driving for three hours isn't easy on the back. An elderly couple nod at me as they walk by, both dressed to the nines, and I can't help but grin back. Will I walk along like that one day, arm in arm with the love of my life, both of us gray and wrinkled and still madly in love? Oh, I hope so.
    Turning, I push open the Gypsy Cafe's door and step into a lovely little bakery/coffee shop. Piles of baked goods stand atop the glass counters before me and to the left, while tables are arranged by the windows. The rich smell of coffee is divine, and I can almost imagine the floating white tendrils of aroma like in those Pepé Le Pew cartoons, where the character sudden gets caught and floats along, following the smell to its source.
    I get in line and just let my eyes wander. This place has clearly been open for a long time. A large corkboard by the door is covered in colorful flyers. The chalkboards on the wall behind the counter are covered with colorful depictions of the menu. Framed photographs are everywhere, and to my surprise I see that a number of them feature burlesque dancers from decades gone