"It's a beautiful ring. . ."

Not the answer I expected. "But?"

Skylar sighed, and folded her right hand over her left, hiding the ring from view. "It's a long story."

"I've got no place to be."

"All right. I'll tell you. And maybe you can help me . . . with advice if you have any . . . from a man's perspective."

"Okay. Give it to me," I said objectively, as if I wasn't automatically going to say dump the guy.

"We've been engaged now for four months. Everything was fine through the holidays. But after all the bells and glitter went away, he started traveling for business more often, overseas a lot. He's gone more than he's around. We don't technically live together, but I live in the loft my father bought for both of us. Essentially, I live there alone. And it's awful! When he's around and can find the time, he gets what he wants and then leaves. But he always manages to call me at 10:00. The 'bed check,' I call it. It's just to make sure I don't have a life of my own. And I get the 'where were you?' if I'm not there. Yet he never feels the need to explain where he goes or who he's with.

"I'm not stupid or naïve. I understand what men are capable of doing on their own time when they have money to burn. I just hoped that would never happen to me. I have no solid proof of anything, of course. But there was this time I called his hotel room in the middle of the night. A woman answered the phone. I know there could have been a logical explanation. Something just doesn't feel right, though, no matter how good he is at coming up with excuses. And I can't exactly accuse him of anything, either. He was practically handpicked by my father. Sam's the son of one of his oldest and dearest friends.

"So what do you think? Am I crazy for putting up with this? Or just being paranoid?"

I leaned back against the bench while I considered my answer. And then I leaned forward, placing my elbows on my knees when I came up with it. "I think you should trust your instincts before it's too late. I'm sure your father would understand."

"You don't know my father," she said with ominous finality. Then she glanced at her wristwatch and sprang to her feet. "Well, Scott, I should get going."

I stood beside her. "Ten o'clock curfew?" I asked, knowing it was about 8:30 and she was a long way from Boston.

"Yeah, something like that."

She shivered and tied the belt of her raincoat a little tighter. Since I was the reason she was outside for so long, I took off my jacket and draped it over her shoulders. Then she looked up at me with—it was hard to tell exactly. Appreciation? Curiosity? Apprehension? Who knew? She may have been able to get inside of my head, but I could not get into hers. It regrettably wasn't one of my talents.

"You shouldn't," she said, dropping her eyes, but she did take a step closer to me. "It's too cold."

"I'll be fine. I have thick Canadian blood. Remember?"

She looked up again and gave me a nervous smile. And then I was rubbing her arms. It happened almost by accident, some intrinsic response of mine that occurred without my intention. When I realized what I was doing, my hands dropped.

She gave me the "don't stop" and "please kiss me" look. Or what I thought was that look. But, then again, maybe I saw in her eyes the reflection of my own need to connect with the perfect somebody.

I leaned over. She closed her eyes. I closed mine and then I kissed her. We kissed each other, more than a peck, but nothing wild. It began as a gentle exploration to see how well we fit together.

I knew at the onset that I wanted to take the kiss further. Like a victory march. My hands eased toward her face. I wanted to touch her and I needed the leverage to make it a kiss she would never forget. But it was all too much for her. She cringed and pulled away.

"I should go." She scrambled to get my jacket off her shoulders. After shoving it into my empty, apologetic hands, she darted into the darkness.

"Skylar, wait! I'm sorry!"

I felt terrible. And I was worried too. I hoped she'd find her way back all right. Human dangers were bad enough and she didn't know that there were worse things out there. If my past saw her with me, and noticed how much she already meant to me, she'd be . . . ugh. I didn't even want to think about it.

I collapsed back on the park bench and buried my head in my hands. And I really needed a cigarette. I dug out the box and found them all damp and broken.

I crumpled them in my fists and threw them into the night. Then I headed toward my shithole apartment without even a cigarette for company. It was my destiny, I accepted with an ache in my chest, that I must walk through the night alone. I had certainly earned it.