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Now that Nicole was gone, Angela was going to sell the house. It was too big for her, and the payments had strapped her for all of the five years since her husband had died. It was because of the house payments that Nicole worked. She could not afford to finish her degree without working.I asked Angela if I could be the one who sorted through Nicole's things, packing her clothes away to give to Goodwill, saving that which meant something to either of us, and boxing up the rest. Angela had agreed, warily, worried that it would be too much for me.She was right. It was too much. Each object I picked up brought a memory to mind. The pink top that she had worn on our first date. The red lace brassiere she wore the night she opened her blouse and placed my hands on her breasts the first time. Even the tennis shoes she wore to drub me each time we set foot on the tennis court. They all had a memory to show me.I emptied her dresser one drawer at a time, mechanically, reliving a memory with. I reached the gate, half-hoping I'd see nothing and the car would be gone. The other half was hoping for...what?Probably hoping for exactly what I saw.The car was parked on the street and the driver was getting out.It was a black BMW. I wondered if private investigators made enough money to drive cars like that.I doubted it.And private investigators certainly didn't walk right towards you with their eyes boring into you, like this guy was.He was dressed really nice, like the winner of the Mr. Gay Corporate America contest. The whole deal, pressed white shirt, power tie, dark slacks.And the face, broad and tanned, with bright blue eyes and golden hair.In a word: stunning.And he was heading right for me.My stomach dropped out and I turned to walk back to my car.Okay, so he wasn't a private investigator.He was just the hottest guy I'd seen in years.Maybe he was a bounty hunter or hit man or something.You don't really believe that, I said to myself.Why not? I asked back.Because if you did.
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