pushing it through the automatic doors, “what's your middle name?"
"Why?” she asked absently, digging out her list. Beauty products first.
"So if I ever get mad at you I can use your whole name. So you know I'm serious."
She laughed. “Guess."
"Rumplestiltskin."
"Uh, no.” She knelt in front of the shampoo display, comparing prices.
"Always get the most obvious out of the way, that's what I always say. How much shampoo are you going to buy?” he asked as she dropped several bottles into the cart.
She gave him a look. He was trying not to laugh.
"Keep guessing,” she said in a flat voice.
"Anne? Lynn? Robert? Louise? Richard?"
"Those are guy names!"
"Anne? Really?"
"No, Richard and Robert, as if you didn't know.” She grabbed a bottle off the shelf and opened the cap to smell it. It was too flowery for her taste and she put it back.
"I know. I'm just being as annoying as possible so you'll get tired and blurt out the answer. I'm crap at guessing games."
"Lorraine. And you?"
He paused as if he hadn't considered the quid pro quo portion of the conversation. “I don't have one. Why don't you give me one?"
She laughed, then tried to ignore him while she checked to see if each shampoo had a conditioner mate. “I'm horrible at names."
"Really? I'd hate to be one of your characters, then."
She looked up, surprised, and he made one of her books materialize from out of nowhere.
"Same woman?” he asked, holding the cover up to her.
She nodded, and he held the book out near her, as if comparing the back cover photo to the reality.
"You photograph well, but the reality is still amazingly lovely,” he said.
She smiled at him but inside she was blushing.
"I'll have to read it,” he said.
"No, I don't think so."
"What kind of writer turns away potential royalties? Your agent would not be pleased."
"Well, it's just...” Libby stopped, trying to figure out what to say. It was hard, since she really didn't know what her objection to him reading her book was. “You're a guy."
"I am sure that many men, tons of men, in fact, read these. I bet we make up, what? Fifty? Seventy-five percent of your market."
"Oh, I'm sure.” She looked at him as if he were mad.
"Anyway, if I buy it, I can get you to autograph it. I'll be able to show it to whatever future progeny I have. ‘Yes, this is the signature of the woman who saved my life.’”
She pulled the cart toward her. “If you insist,” she muttered. She had other things to worry about, she decided. Things to buy. Royalty checks to make vanish.
"Excellent!” he said, and when she looked up, he was gone.
He caught up with her again next to the TV dinners. He looked at the growing stack of boxes in her cart, then back at her. She waited for a comment, but it didn't seem to bother him.
"There's a whole bunch of soup cans under those boxes,” she said defensively. He ignored her and held out her book and a pen.
"I nicked it from the display.” Her eyes widened. “I'll take it back,” he assured her. “But I want you to sign this before you forget."
"Are you always like this?” she asked.
"No,” he said honestly. “You seem to bring it out in me."
She took the book and pen and looked both directions before taking the cap off. It was a gel pen filled with metallic purple ink. She paused for a long moment, then wrote, “To Alex Kincaid, please stay off the tracks. Your lifesaver, Libby."
He grinned widely when he saw the inscription. She handed back the pen.
"Please return this before we get into trouble."
"Yes, ma'am. I'll be sure to wipe off your fingerprints first,” he said and disappeared again.
He caught up with her at the checkout line. He looked at the line, looked at her cart, looked at the lines around them.
"We're going to be awhile,” she said.
"Good. I have you all to myself, no distractions."
She smiled, and tried to think of something interesting to say.
"Why Alex?” she asked.
He gave her an odd look. “What do you
"Why?” she asked absently, digging out her list. Beauty products first.
"So if I ever get mad at you I can use your whole name. So you know I'm serious."
She laughed. “Guess."
"Rumplestiltskin."
"Uh, no.” She knelt in front of the shampoo display, comparing prices.
"Always get the most obvious out of the way, that's what I always say. How much shampoo are you going to buy?” he asked as she dropped several bottles into the cart.
She gave him a look. He was trying not to laugh.
"Keep guessing,” she said in a flat voice.
"Anne? Lynn? Robert? Louise? Richard?"
"Those are guy names!"
"Anne? Really?"
"No, Richard and Robert, as if you didn't know.” She grabbed a bottle off the shelf and opened the cap to smell it. It was too flowery for her taste and she put it back.
"I know. I'm just being as annoying as possible so you'll get tired and blurt out the answer. I'm crap at guessing games."
"Lorraine. And you?"
He paused as if he hadn't considered the quid pro quo portion of the conversation. “I don't have one. Why don't you give me one?"
She laughed, then tried to ignore him while she checked to see if each shampoo had a conditioner mate. “I'm horrible at names."
"Really? I'd hate to be one of your characters, then."
She looked up, surprised, and he made one of her books materialize from out of nowhere.
"Same woman?” he asked, holding the cover up to her.
She nodded, and he held the book out near her, as if comparing the back cover photo to the reality.
"You photograph well, but the reality is still amazingly lovely,” he said.
She smiled at him but inside she was blushing.
"I'll have to read it,” he said.
"No, I don't think so."
"What kind of writer turns away potential royalties? Your agent would not be pleased."
"Well, it's just...” Libby stopped, trying to figure out what to say. It was hard, since she really didn't know what her objection to him reading her book was. “You're a guy."
"I am sure that many men, tons of men, in fact, read these. I bet we make up, what? Fifty? Seventy-five percent of your market."
"Oh, I'm sure.” She looked at him as if he were mad.
"Anyway, if I buy it, I can get you to autograph it. I'll be able to show it to whatever future progeny I have. ‘Yes, this is the signature of the woman who saved my life.’”
She pulled the cart toward her. “If you insist,” she muttered. She had other things to worry about, she decided. Things to buy. Royalty checks to make vanish.
"Excellent!” he said, and when she looked up, he was gone.
He caught up with her again next to the TV dinners. He looked at the growing stack of boxes in her cart, then back at her. She waited for a comment, but it didn't seem to bother him.
"There's a whole bunch of soup cans under those boxes,” she said defensively. He ignored her and held out her book and a pen.
"I nicked it from the display.” Her eyes widened. “I'll take it back,” he assured her. “But I want you to sign this before you forget."
"Are you always like this?” she asked.
"No,” he said honestly. “You seem to bring it out in me."
She took the book and pen and looked both directions before taking the cap off. It was a gel pen filled with metallic purple ink. She paused for a long moment, then wrote, “To Alex Kincaid, please stay off the tracks. Your lifesaver, Libby."
He grinned widely when he saw the inscription. She handed back the pen.
"Please return this before we get into trouble."
"Yes, ma'am. I'll be sure to wipe off your fingerprints first,” he said and disappeared again.
He caught up with her at the checkout line. He looked at the line, looked at her cart, looked at the lines around them.
"We're going to be awhile,” she said.
"Good. I have you all to myself, no distractions."
She smiled, and tried to think of something interesting to say.
"Why Alex?” she asked.
He gave her an odd look. “What do you
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