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mustard.
                  “Don’t be,” he said. “I like to watch a woman eat.”
                  That made her smile. “Most men prefer their women to eat salads and rabbit food, if they eat at all.”
                  “Not me,” Mark said, taking a hearty bite from his own sandwich. “It just makes me hungry to watch a woman pretend to get pleasure from some little pile of lettuce and carrots.”
                  Jo laughed, an image of her sister and her gorgeous friends popping into her head with Mark’s words.
                  They enjoyed their sandwiches in silence for a few minutes, both too busy satiating their hunger to concentrate on conversation. It should have been awkward, but somehow Jo felt more relaxed with this man she barely knew than with the roomful of relatives she had just left. She snuck glances at him from time to time, taking in everything she could: the deep dimple on his cheek, the soft laugh lines scoring the edge of his eyes, the hint of a dark beard on his jaw, his sharp chin, the chestnut-colored hair that was only a little longer than the regulation military crew cut. She found herself wondering what he looked like in his uniform. She could imagine the pride in his eyes, the pride in his stance.
                  “How long have you worked at BerCo?” he asked after a while.
                  Jo sat back, thinking. “About five years, I think.”
                  “Do you like it?”
                  “The work is interesting and the pay is competitive, but the personnel are a little wanting.”
                  Mark nodded. “I’ve noticed.”
                  “Do you like it?”
                  He shrugged. “It pays the bills.” He studied her for a second. “And it has a few perks.”
                  Jo glanced down at her sandwich, hiding the sudden blush on her cheeks.
                  “Plus, it was the only thing I could find in this recession,” Mark said, gesturing behind him toward the street beyond the deli’s windows. “Kids can be expensive.”
                  “Do you have custody?”
                  He nodded. “Primary custody. Their mom has visitation rights. They’re actually with her now.”
                  “That must be tough.”
                  “Sometimes.” A wistful look came into Mark’s eyes. “But they’re great kids.”
                  “Tell me about them.”
                  Mark smiled. “You don’t want that. I could talk all night about my kids.”
                  “So talk,” Jo said.
                  He shook his head. “I’d rather know about you.”
                  Jo shook her head, gathering her trash just to have something to do. “There’s nothing to tell, really.”
                  Mark reached over and touched her hand lightly, stilling it. “I’m sure there is plenty. And I really want to know.”
                  Jo bit her lip as she looked up at him, unable to resist the interest in his eyes, the kindness. “What do you want to know?”
                  He shrugged. “Where did you go to school? Who are your friends? What do you do over long weekends?”
                  Jo shook her head. “Again, very boring stuff.”
                  “Oh, come on. Surely you went to school somewhere.”
                  Jo laughed. “Of course. I went to a little school in Houston. You’ve probably never even heard of it.”
                  “So you went away for school?”
                  “Yes. I wanted to go to California or New York, but Houston was as far as my budget was willing to let me go.” Jo picked up her napkin and began to shred it in her lap