Death by French Roast

by Alex Erickson

  But it was too late to change now. Paul parked his car and got out, looking splendid in a suit and tie.

  “Hi,” I said, hardly able to take my eyes from him as he strode up to me.

  “Hi, yourself.”

  Crickets chirruped. A dog barked. I recognized that bark and glanced to the side. Lance and Jules were standing outside, Maestro leashed and going about his business. Even from where I stood, I could see Jules’s approving wink.

  “Are you ready to go?” Paul asked. “Vicki called a little while ago and gave me the address. It’ll take us a little while to get there.” The triple date was still on, despite the excitement of the last couple of weeks.

  “I’m ready,” I said, pausing long enough to lock the front door. No purse for me tonight. Everything was lost to my car fire, but none of that mattered. A driver’s license could be replaced, as could credit cards and keys.

  Looking at Paul now, I knew I still had what was important.

  And in the end, that was all that mattered.