Moonlight Man by Judy Griffith Gill

engine was warmed up and running properly, and then said, “Okay, you lead out, I’ll follow.”
    All the way home, she knew that those were his headlights visible in her mirror. It felt odd, being shepherded like that—odd, but sort of nice, as if she had a guardian angel on the road with her. It was not, she told herself, a feeling she wanted to get used to. She could look after herself very well indeed.
    It was difficult, though, to be self-reliant, when no sooner had she pulled into her drive than he pulled into his, stepped over the low boxwood hedge that separated their driveways, and brushed her hands aside to undo the brackets that held her skis in place. He carried them and her small suitcase to the back door for her. They both heard the phone ring inside, and she gave him a wave and a mouthed “thanks,” as she unlocked the door and shoved it open.
    It was Lorne Cantrell, her banker friend, on the phone. “Have dinner with me tonight, Sharon,” he said.
    She was surprised to hear from him. “I … I didn’t expect you back from Disneyland so soon. What about your children? Are you sure you want me there?”
    “I didn’t mean here,” he said. “I’ve made reservations at the Roost.” That, she thought, was just a tad presumptuous on his part, unless he had someone else he could call if she refused, or he was willing to dine out alone. “I couldn’t get hold of you all day, so I went ahead anyway, just in case you were back in time. You know what it’s like there; impossible to get a table at the last minute. I’ve even booked a sitter for you,” he added, further startling her.
    “That was … thoughtful, but I don’t need one. My kids are up at Mount Washington with friends. But are you certain you want to leave yours tonight? You don’t get to spend a lot of time with them, Lorne.”
    “They aren’t here. Marilee caused me a lot of trouble down in California, so I brought them back and dropped them off with their mother before coming home. A sick child needs a mother, don’t you agree?”
    Sick? That had cause him trouble? “I, well, yes. Certainly.” But she didn’t think it was fair to the other two to have their allotted time with their father curtailed simply because eleven-year-old Marilee was ill.
    “So dine with me. Okay? I’ll pick you up about seven forty-five.”
    She was about to refuse, to plead weariness from two days of hard skiing, but then she remembered with whom she had spent far too much of that time.
    “Fine. Thanks, I’ll be ready.”
    When a knock came at the door, she thought Lorne had arrived an hour early. She was nowhere near ready, having just come out of the shower.
    It was Marc, though. A smile creased his face as his eyes swept over her clinging yellow robe and the dripping hair peeking out from under a pink and white striped towel.
    “Hi,” he said. “I wondered if maybe we could find someplace nice and go out for dinner together.” The look in his eyes and the flutter in her stomach made her doubly glad she was able to say, “Oh, I’m sorry, Marc. I can’t. That was my friend Lorne Cantrell on the phone. I’ve already agreed to have dinner with him.”
    “I … see.” She watched his Adam’s apple bounce up and down, and then he shrugged. “All right, then. Another time?”
    “Thank you. Maybe.”
    “Well, good night, Sharon. Enjoy your dinner.”
    “Thanks. I imagine I will. The food at the Roost is normally very good. We go there a lot, Lorne and I. We have reservations there for the New Year’s Eve dinner-dance too,” she felt compelled to add. Marc Duval and the things he did to her had to be held at bay. One way or another, she was bound to make sure of that, even if it meant throwing Lorne in his face and pretending that her relationship with the banker was more important to her than it really was. It was the only safe way.
    Before she had been at the table long enough to finish one drink, Sharon realized Lorne Cantrell was a