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  a sheet of the fine paper. I let it slide through my fingers. I

  put it to my face and smeled it, that inexplicably delightful

  scent of fresh paper.

  Miriam had been right about my need for this paper, how

  if I bought it I'd find something important to write on it.

  She'd been right, too, about the pen. The writing

  instrument, I reminded myself with a smile. I wasn't a

  surgeon or even an artist, but that pen was perfect for this.

  Its weight shifted just right in my fingers as I put it to the

  paper. The ink scroled every stroke without blots or skids

  or spots left blank. Now I only had to find the perfect

  words to write.

  I knew I should do what my high school English teacher

  had caled a "sloppy copy." None of the letters that had

  passed through me first had contained scratch-outs or

  misspelings. They hadn't exactly been poetry, but they had

  been neat and clean. My pen hovered over the paper as I

  thought of what I needed and wanted to say.

  I was working too hard on it, overthinking. The sense of

  I was working too hard on it, overthinking. The sense of

  responsibility had pushed back even my arousal. I'd

  actualy bitten down on my lower lip hard enough to sting

  as I thought.

  I put down the pen and pushed back in my chair. I got up

  and poured myself a glass of orange juice that I sipped as I

  leaned against my counter and stared at the paper and pen

  on the table.

  One thing I knew that Eric's previous unseen mistress had

  never seemed to grasp. He had a sense of humor about al

  this. It might also satisfy him sexualy, and he might crave

  the hand of command as much as I briefly had, but in the

  end, he was no leather-masked pussy boy slavering to lick

  a woman's boots. He was not a cliché, and I couldn't

  make this one. I wouldn't. It was already more than that,

  to me, and had been from the first moment I'd taken the

  words meant for him as my own.

  Juice finished, I paced. The first note had been easy,

  written on a whim. The second hadn't been much harder.

  Now, though, now…I wanted so much for it to be perfect

  I was paralyzing myself. In the end, I thought of his sense

  of humor and the list he'd written. I took my pen, and I put

  it to the paper.

  it to the paper.

  Have tacos for dinner.

  "Paige!"

  I'm not the blushing sort, but heat flooded me when I

  turned and saw Eric waving at me from the elevator. I

  paused at the Manor's big glass front doors to hold one

  open for him, and he folowed me out into the spring-

  breezy morning. "Hi, Eric."

  "Going for a jog?" He wore black track pants and a tight

  black T-shirt that showed off his biceps.

  I looked down at my sneakers and workout clothes, then

  up at him with a grin. "You'd think so, wouldn't you?"

  "I guessed wrong?" He put a hand over his heart and

  staggered a step. "Don't tel me you're going to the

  Embassy Bal."

  "Nope. But I don't jog. I can manage a fast walk, though,

  if you're up for it."

  "Fast walk it is," he said agreeably.

  "I don't want to hold you back." I faked adjusting the tie at my waist to give my hands something to do while I

  watched his reaction.

  He didn't give me much of one, just a shrug and an easy

  smile that lit his dark eyes. "Nah. I used to run a lot, but it's hard on the knees. A fast walk can give you a good

  workout too without being so tough on the joints. I see a

  lot of injuries from people pushing too hard. I don't want

  that to be me."

  We crossed Front Street to the sidewalk just beyond. The

  Susquehanna River was running high with the last of the

  winter's melt and a few days of rain. It sweled, greenish

  brown, high up the concrete steps that had been set into

  the bank. Halfway across on City Island, I saw the bright

  red-and-white stripes of the bathhouse awnings at the

  public swimming beach. I'd dip a foot in that water.

  Maybe. But there was no way I'd ever swim in it.

  "Left or right?" Eric said as he stretched one long leg, then the other.

  Left would take us toward downtown and eventualy, the

  highway, but we could walk down along the river if we

  wanted instead of up here. Right would take us past

  residential neighborhoods and the line of mansions that had

  once been private homes but now mostly housed offices.

  Oh, and the Governor's Mansion, which for some reason

  never failed to fascinate me. I guess it was because such

  an important building seemed out of place right out there in

  the open, where anyone could stand in front of the fence

  and look in. I felt the same way about the White House the

  one time I'd been to D.C.

  "Right." I nodded that way and watched him stretch. I

  made an effort at doing the same, but since I never

  stretched before any workout, it was half-assed.

  Eric eyed me with a grin but made no comment. "Ready?"

  "Sure."

  There had been a heyday of walking when I was around

  eight or nine. We'd been living in a cluster of trailers, too

  few to realy be caled a park, with my mother's then

  boyfriend, Bob. My mom had been laid off from her job in

  the packing department at the Hershey factory, and for the

  first time I could ever remember she'd formed a group of

  girlfriends who did the sorts of things moms did on

  television. Lunches where they dished over their men, and

  television. Lunches where they dished over their men, and

  trips to the mal where they walked and shopped but

  hardly ever bought anything. Though my mom had never

  carried an extra pound and wouldn't until after she had

  Arty, they'd formed a group to walk around the

  neighborhood to help get in shape. It was more an excuse

  to get away from us ever-present kids as they gossiped,

  but I'd often watched them from the concrete front porch

  as they passed by on their rounds and wondered what

  made them laugh so loud.

  There was no laughing as Eric and I walked. I'd set the

  initial pace, but his legs were much longer and we ended

  up walking faster than I usualy did. Pride kept me from

  asking him to slow, and I didn't have breath left for chatter.

  We passed office buildings and finaly, Green Street,

  where Harrisburg went from city to neighborhood most

  drasticaly. We passed bikes and other joggers, most

  heading the opposite direction. I was glad for the pace that

  made talk impossible. Eric didn't seem the chatty type,

  anyway. Arms swinging, he didn't walk so much as lope

  along the sidewalk.

  Somehow I didn't care about the sweat ringing my armpits

  or dripping down my cheeks. I hadn't bothered with much

  or dripping down my cheeks. I hadn't bothered with much

  makeup either, and no woman looks her best in

  sweatpants. With any other man I'd have been cataloging

  my flaws and wishing I'd at least swiped my lips with gloss,

  but with Eric it simp