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which must have had at least four thousand fat grams, which for some reason did not make her turkey look any less boring next to it. “My husband, the Killer Bee,” she said, thinking resentful thoughts about corned beef.
    Linc went on, oblivious to her. “Ohio is a big football state.”
    “Does that make me the queen bee?”
    “As a matter of fact, my scholarship was to Ohio State.”
    “Which would make you a drone.”
    “It wasn’t a great scholarship.”
    “It would explain why you’ve got such boring taste.”
    “But it didn’t really matter, because I had a full ride on an academic scholarship.”
    Daisy got a faraway look on her face. “We could live in a little cottage called The Hive.”
    Linc stopped. “Are you listening to me?”
    Daisy batted her eyes at him. “Of course, my darling. You were a football hero and got a full ride to Ohio State. You dated the homecoming queen, you were president of your senior class, you were voted most likely to succeed, and your teachers adored you. And you lost your virginity as a sophomore after the first football game.”
    Linc blinked. “How did you know?”
    Daisy looked smug. “You’ve got yuppie written all over you, sweetie. The only thing I’d never have guessed was that you were a Killer Bee.” She bit into her sandwich, happy to have nailed him.
    Linc put down his reuben and smiled at her. “You were in Art Club. You were in Drama Club. You were in National Honor Society. You wore glasses and weird clothes. You wrote poetry, you got straight A’s in English, and you dated guys who were very serious about
    Life. You didn’t lose your virginity until college, and then it was a great disappointment. You’ve spent your entire life hoping that a former football star from Sidney, Ohio, would ask you to marry him and move to Prescott, Ohio, so you could have lots of kids and become a Republican.“
    Daisy swallowed and grinned at him. “You were doing pretty good until you got to the former football star from Sidney, Ohio.”
    “Well, for the weekend, pretend the rest is true too.”
    Daisy tried to understand him. He must have had a repressed childhood, the kind she would have had if she’d had to live with her father for more than summers. He probably had one of those pushy mothers. “Does your mother like me?”
    “My mother doesn’t like anybody, including me.”
    Daisy put her sandwich down, suddenly not hungry. “That’s awful.”
    Linc shrugged. “She’s not an emotional woman. She doesn’t dislike me. I’m fine. She leaves me alone. I’ve seen guys whose mothers call every weekend to see if they’re married yet.”
    “That’s my mother.” Daisy picked up her sandwich again.
    “And your dad calls you ‘cupcake.’ ” Linc took another bite of his reuben.
    Fat chance
. “My father doesn’t call me anything,” Daisy said. “What’s your father like?”
    Linc chewed and swallowed. “Dead.”
    The lousy memories of her father disappeared under an onslaught of sympathy, and she let her sandwich drop onto her plate. “Oh. Oh, Linc, I’m sorry.”
    He shook his head. “He died when I was thirteen. He got to see me make a touchdown in my first junior high game, though.”
    “Oh, good.” Daisy thought of Linc alone at all his other games. The story built in her mind—the valiant young athlete looking at the empty place in the stands after every touchdown, searching for the father who wasn’t there, who wasn’t ever going to be there—and her eyes welled with tears.
    “Stop it.” Linc handed her a napkin. “That was twenty-five years ago. I barely remember what he looked like. Tell me about your father.”
    Daisy blotted her tears and pulled herself together. “There’s not much to tell. He left.”
    You had to ask, didn’t you
? Linc told himself. “That must have hurt.”
    Daisy shrugged and swallowed. “He left when I was one. I’m over it now.”
    Linc tried to think of something sympathetic to say.