She laughed. “Not much dazzling in there,” she said. Not when compared to someone as smart as Gabe was.

“So what do you do with your time outside of accounting and babysitting Nikki?” he asked. “What’s your family like? Did you have pets growing up? Tell me everything.”

“Babysitting Nikki is a full-time job in itself,” she said with a laugh.

“How did you meet her?”

“I first met her when I was six. We spent an entire summer playing in the park. Then she moved away and I lost track of her. Imagine my surprise when she was assigned as my roommate freshman year of college.”

“So you two are the same age?” he asked. “You always seem so much older than her.”

“Gee, thanks. Call the retirement home, Melanie’s escaped again.”

“I didn’t mean old, I meant more mature. Like you have your life together. Know what you’re doing.”

“Does anyone really know what they’re doing? Some of us are just better than others at pretending we have a fail-proof plan. Did you plan to be a rock drummer?”

“Well, no, I didn’t plan it.”

“There you go.”

“Did you always plan to be an accountant?”

She laughed. “Nope. I wanted to be an entomologist, but my parents convinced me that collecting butterflies was not a reasonable vocation for a responsible individual.”

Thinking about butterflies made her think about Nikki, reminding Melanie that she still hadn’t called or texted. Melanie couldn’t help the worry that churned in her belly. Or maybe she was just hungry.

“See, now, that’s interesting,” he said. “I figured you’d be the type to squeal like a girl when confronted by an insect.”

“First off, I am a girl. You’d think the breasts would have clued you in.” She swept both hands at her fully displayed boobs as if she were a game show hostess showing fabulous prizes. “And second, I’m not fond of all insects. Just butterflies. I used to collect them as a child. Dead bugs all over my bedroom walls—pinned to little squares of cotton batting inside wooden shadow boxes, their wings pressed flat against the glass. Kind of morbid, don’t you think?”

“Not at all. If you hung cockroaches and dung beetles on your wall, I might be a tad concerned, but butterflies? I’m sure they were pretty. Maybe we’ll see some at the lake today. You can tell me their species.”

She hadn’t focused on butterflies for years. “If I remember them.”

“Tell me about your parents. From what little you’ve mentioned, they sound a bit stuffy.”

“Stuffy? That’s putting it mildly. They were so overprotective, I’m surprised they allowed me to breathe unpurified air.”

“Why were they so overprotective? Because you were so cute?” He tapped her nose.

She shook her head, not because she hadn’t been a cute kid, but because their reasons were a bit deeper than that.

“They were in their mid-40s when I was born. I had an older brother, but he drowned in a kiddie pool in the back yard years and years before I came into the world. He was only three, but his loss devastated my parents and they weren’t planning on having any more kids. Then surprise! Melanie decides to defy all forms of birth control and make her entrance. They were so afraid of losing me that they smothered me. I can’t be too angry with them about it. And at least I never had to wonder if I was loved. What about your family? You never talk about them.”

“Not much to say. Eternally married, well-rounded, fairly nonpsychotic parents. Three kids spaced exactly eighteen months apart. Two family dogs. Happy home. Very boring.”

“You have siblings?”

“Yeah, two sisters. Both older.”

“Are they also musically inclined?” she asked, trying to picture what his sisters would look like, who they were. And she wondered about his parents too. She wished she could meet them all. Maybe someday.

“Nope. I got all the percussion genes in the family.”

“Are your sisters married? Do they have kids? Are you an uncle?” She wondered what Gabe was like with kids. Weren’t men who were good with animals supposed to be good with kids? His dogs obviously adored him.

“Not yet. My mom is dying for grandkids,” he said. “I’m glad she has my sisters to pester about it. Being the youngest and her only son does have its perks.”

Under a running tap, Melanie rinsed the conditioner from her hair and turned to face him.

“Can we go fishing now?” she asked.

“Breakfast first,” he said.

She’d forgotten she was starving. “Okay, then fishing.”

“I thought you didn’t want to go fishing.”

“I couldn’t care less about fishing,” she admitted, “but we’ll have all day together to talk just like this, right?”

He smiled with thought-shattering perfection. “I suppose we will.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his lips. “Best plans ever. We don’t even have to make love for the rest of the day, and I’ll be perfectly content.”

Gabe lifted both hands to in an attempt to calm her obvious hysterics. “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” he said. “Let’s not get hasty here.”

Melanie climbed from the tub, and reached for a towel. “I’ll also be perfectly content with anything you want to try, Dr. Kink.”

The diner was quaint, the kind of place a person wouldn’t likely visit if they were just passing by. The locals held no such qualms regarding the outdated décor and sagging awning outside. Apparently they came for the food, not the ambiance. Melanie tried not to notice the dirty grout between the linoleum tiles or the spots on her fork.

“Well, if it isn’t Gabriel Banner,” their waitress said.

“Hey, Fiona,” Gabe said.

“What brings you to town, sugar?” Fiona nodded toward Melanie. “I’d guess it was the purty lady, but I ain’t never seen her before, so she cain’t be local.”

“We came all the way from New Orleans just for your mama’s biscuits and sausage gravy. You know I can’t stay away.”

She laughed and tapped the bill of Gabe’s ball cap with her order pad. Melanie might have been jealous of the woman’s obvious flirting, but she had to have been pushing eighty. Melanie couldn’t imagine how her mama was still capable of running the kitchen of a busy restaurant.

“I don’t know why I even bother to take your order. What would your lady friend like?” Fiona stood with her pen hovering over her tablet.

“What’s good?” Melanie asked, looking over the single page menu in its yellowed plastic sleeve.

“Uh, the sausage gravy and biscuits are good,” Gabe said. “I’ve never tried anything else.”

“He’s been coming here since he was knee-high to an armadillo,” Fiona said. “And he always gets the same thing. Always. Always.”

“I guess I’ll have what he’s having,” Melanie said. “I hope my stomach can handle all that grease.”

Gabe cringed, and Melanie wondered what she’d said to cause such a reaction in him.

He relaxed when Fiona just laughed. “Sugar, if you cain’t handle a little grease, you in the wrong restaurant.”

Fiona started to sashay away, but Gabe caught the hem of her apron.

“While you’re at it, could you put in an order for fried chicken with sides to go?” he asked.

“Headin’ to the lake?” she asked.

“That’s the plan.”

“I gotcha, sugar. You just keep smiling pretty for your lady friend.”

Melanie smiled. His lady friend. She hoped he thought of her as something a little more serious than a friend.

While they waited for their meal, Melanie asked Gabe about his favorite foods, the restaurants he liked to visit, and even whether he preferred sandwich crusts on or off. He answered her readily enough, but she felt more like she was interviewing him than having a conversation. He never volunteered information willingly. She wondered if he was that way with everyone.

The gravy and biscuits were to die for and she was glad he’d shared a bit of himself by bringing her here. But she was starting to worry that she was trying too hard. Did her endless trivial questions annoy him? Would he rather talk about string theory and existentialism? Or was he just the strong silent type?