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Beer.”
    Sophie wound her way through the crowd looking for William Harrington. She found him in the back, sitting in a booth. He looked anxious.
    “Mr. Harrington?”
    He jumped to his feet and thrust his hand out. “You’re Sophie Summerfield?” he asked. He sounded shocked and looked astonished.
    She couldn’t understand his reaction. “Yes, I am,” she answered. “You did say six-thirty.”
    “Yes, yes, I did.” He continued to stand, looking perplexed.
    “Shall we sit down and get started?” she suggested.
    She slid into the booth, waited until he’d taken his seat across from her, then reached for her digital tape recorder. “This is the first time I’ve used this, so please be patient,” she said. Normally, such a small, sleek recorder would have been horribly expensive, but this particular model had been discontinued, so she had been able to buy it at a huge discount. Since it was a company expense, she was sure Mr. Bitterman would reimburse her. She checked the charge before placing the recorder on the table between them.
    Harrington stared at her intently.
    “Is something wrong?” she asked.
    “I knew you were young,” he said. “I could tell from your voice over the phone, but I didn’t expect you to be so pretty.”
    When she didn’t respond, he asked, “Were you surprised when you saw me?”
    Did he expect her to return the compliment? “I saw your photos on your website,” she replied, “so no, I wasn’t surprised. I knew what you looked like. Why don’t we get started?”
    “Wouldn’t you like something to drink first?”
    He insisted she order, and so she asked for an iced tea. He ordered a sparkling water.
    “I make it a rule never to drink alcohol or caffeine the night before a race. You know how long a 5K is, don’t you? It’s over three miles. I can’t be sluggish, or it will affect my time, which is why I stick to water.”
    “Why don’t you tell me about your first race?”
    She didn’t ask another question or say another word for the next hour. Once he started talking, he didn’t stop. He was agonizingly boring, but whether she liked it or not, he was determined to go through all twenty-four races, from start to finish—and he had them all memorized.
    Had her recorder been the old-fashioned kind, she would have gone through at least two cassettes. A good reporter would cut him off and take control of the interview, she thought. Or at least might bother to listen to what he was saying. In her defense, she did try several times to interrupt him. And she also tried to pay attention, but his monotonous voice could put an insomniac to sleep. He was on his tenth race when she completely zoned out and started thinking about all the mundane errands she needed to do over the weekend.
    Once she had organized her schedule in her mind, she began to daydream about traveling through Europe again. She’d gone once before, after she’d graduated from the university, but she had missedsome of Western Europe. Next time she’d love to see Spain and Portugal. A nice river cruise might be a relaxing way to see the beauty of these countries. She could certainly use a quiet vacation. Or perhaps she could book a stay in the posh spa she had read about in
Vogue
that had just opened on St. Barts …
    Reality was quick to step in. At the moment she didn’t have enough money in her account to buy an airline ticket to anywhere, unless she decided she could go without food for a month or two.
    “I’ve made it a tradition to wear bright red socks.”
    Her attention bounced back to Harrington. “Yes, you mentioned that. Red socks, white shorts, and a red T-shirt.”
    “Did I mention my socks are a special kind? Each one has a tiny white band around the top. Only one store carries them, and I’ve bought over a hundred pairs. I don’t dare run out,” he added. Then with a shrug he said, “I guess I’m superstitious. Are you getting all this?”
    “Yes.” Sophie pointed to the