Wanderlust by Thea Dawson Page A

back in college, was shorter now, but still long, falling past her shoulders in chestnut waves. She wore a fitted black knit dress that showed off her slender figure and long legs. In concession to the cold, she wore ribbed tights and a pair of fur-lined boots. It was a quirky but flattering look, polished off with an unusual necklace made with layers of colorful ceramic beads. It lay above the scoop neckline of her dress and accented her creamy skin.
    “Cool necklace,” I said.
    “Thanks,” she said, touching it self-consciously as she scooted onto one of the high chairs at the little table. “I got it in Kenya.”
    “Awesome. I had a look at your blog. Sounds like you’ve traveled everywhere.”
    She nodded and her eyes lit up. “Not quite everywhere, but a hundred different countries as of last August,” she said with a grin. “It’s been pretty awesome.”
    We ordered a couple of drinks. It was easy to ask her about her travels and her job. She had plenty of fascinating stories. My own moves from the east coast to the west coast to the Midwest seemed pretty mundane in comparison.
    “Ever have any problems?” I asked. “Pretty girl, all alone in a strange country—seems like you’d be a target.”
    She shook her head. “Minor stuff. I’ve had my pocket picked once or twice, gotten ripped off plenty of times, but nothing really scary. Not crime-wise, anyway. Things like riding in a rickety van along cliffs in China, that’s scary.” She laughed. “Most places, honestly, I’m probably safer there than I would be getting across town in Chicago.”
    “Do you get lonely?”
    She shook her head. “No, you meet a lot of people on the road. I meet lots of other travelers, and sometimes I travel with them for a while. And I meet lots of local people, too. So many parts of the world, people are really friendly. They can tell I’m a foreigner, and they want to get to know me or practice their English so they’ll show me around or invite me to their house for dinner.” She caught the look on my face. “Why are you smiling like that?” she asked.
    I laughed. “In college, remember, you freaked out that time your roommate left your door unlocked—at lunchtime, no less—and now you’re all, ‘Oh, I’ve been pick pocketed once or twice, I go over to strange people’s houses for dinner, no big deal.’”
    She blushed and shrugged a little sheepishly. “It really isn’t a big deal. There’ve been a few times, I guess, when my guardian angel’s had to work overtime, but mostly it’s been really positive.”
    I was surprised—and relieved—that she didn’t find a way to work her engagement into the conversation. Most engaged girls I knew never missed a chance to say something ridiculous like, “Oh, you just saw that movie? So did my wedding planner. In fact, speaking of my wedding planner …”
    Meghan had been like that. I’d found it both cute and embarrassing, and it made it all the more surprising when she’d dumped me out of the blue. In retrospect, I think maybe she wanted to get married more than she wanted to get married to me . I tried to put thoughts of her out of my mind, but reflexively, I glanced at Monica’s left hand.
    The ring gleamed on her finger like an elephant in the room. I didn’t really want to ask about her fiancé, but I knew sooner or later I’d have to say something to be polite. I finally forced myself.
    “So tell me about this guy!” I said, gesturing at her left hand. “Is he a traveler, too?”
    She started to blush, and looked nervous. I was torn between thinking how adorable she still was and fighting off a surge of jealousy at how she must feel about this guy.
    “Ah, let’s see … His name’s Stephen. Um, he’s tall and very good looking and nice …” She paused, looking down at her hands and blushing even more. “We met in Hong Kong. He’s a financial consultant, and he was working there for a couple of years. We met at a party. It turned out