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smile.
    Andy wouldn’t call his apartment ‘cute’ , more so basic, small, clean, and plain. The entrance led into the living room which had a dinette area and an open kitchen defined by a counter.
    Andy could see Emma in his living room as he pulled items from the fridge.
    “Dr . … Drink?” he asked.
    “Um, yes, please, anything you have will work.” Emma stared at the tall, wall-length bookshelf. “This is amazing, you must like books.”
    Andy handed her a beer. “Yes.”
    Her fingers trailed across the spines. “None of these are fiction. They’re all ….” She stopped. “Wait a second.” She pulled a hard back, coffee -table-style book from the shelf. “Bog World, by Andrew Jenkins?” She spun to Andy. “Is that you?”
    Andy nodded. He didn’t think for a second that Emma would look at the names of the books he had.
    “You wrote a book?”
    Andy held up his hand.
    “Five?” Emma gasped. “Are they all about … what the hell is a Bog person?” She flipped through the book. “Oh my God. They’re like mummies.”
    Andy pursed his lips and swallowed and, like singing, he recited the words he had spoken to himself out loud. “They are a form of mummy. Naturally mummified. They are found mainly in Ireland and have quite the story. Most died violent deaths, unlike the Ice Age mummies.” He reached for another book and handed it to her.
    Emma didn’t take it. She just stared. “I’m sorry … you .. you didn’t stutter.”
    “Not … w…. when I ….s …s…talk about things I n …know.”
    “Holy cow.” Emma flipped open the book. “You’re an anthropologist? What the heck? Why are you being the town handyman and stable guy when you have a degree in Anthropology and … you write books?”
    “I d … d… did for years. Museum. Went … went abroad. It’s too d … d… difficult.”
    “I’m pissed at you, Andy.” She looked at the shelf and pulled down another book. “All these years and I asked you what you went to school for and you said digging and studying dead people.”
    Andy actually told her more than that, but he never used the word anthropology, because it was too difficult to say. “Sorry.”
    “Here I thought you went to school to be a mortician and grave digger and didn’t have it in you to embalm … Jesus.” She shook her head. “You need to tell people this. You deserve much more credit than people give you.”
    “N … nah. I … like when p …p …people think I’m d -dumb. I lis … listen to th … th … them and n … n… know they are the ones who are dumb.”
    “Did you sell a million copies?”
    Andy laughed; he wanted to tell her he was lucky he sold a hundred and barely made his small advance back on the Bog People book. “No.”
    She spun quickly to him. “I want to buy one. Where can I get one?” Emma asked excitedly.
    Andy held up his finger and walked to a closet. He reached to the stop shelf and pulled down a box, carrying it to her and dropping it at her feet.
    “Oh, wow,” Emm a said. “Look how many. I’ll buy them all, thank you.”
    “W … What? No.” Andy laughed. “No.”
    “Please. This will be my Christmas present to everyone. I was gonna go to Wal-Mart and have a portrait taken in a bad sweater and give it out, but this is much better and cooler.”
    Andy shook his head.
    “Think about it?”
    “I …th … th … think about it.”
    “Cool.” She quickly kissed him on the cheek and took a book from the box. “This is so awesome. I am so proud of you, Andy. I am. You write books and sing like you should be on a talent TV show. Plus, on top of all this, you’re this really great guy.” She embraced the book like it was a treasure. “The worst mistake you made was showing me this.”
    “I … d- didn’t show. You … you .. . found it.”
    “I did. I did.” Emma nodded with a smile. “And I’m telling everyone.”
    Andy exhaled with a shake of his head, and then looked back when the timer went off on the