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full of indignant bluster, but he was unrepentant, claiming the piece was too light for publication. He’d decided to run with an archived restaurant review instead.
    “What did you expect from a school fundraiser?” I said. “A political scandal? Race riots?”
    “Don’t be such a crybaby,” he shot back. “We all get stories spiked. Take it like a man.”
    He was right, of course, and normally I wouldn’t have cared about having a fluff piece killed. But I’d promised Lucy Piper she’d get her picture in the paper, and now she’d assume I was a lowly cadet whose stories didn’t even make it to print.
    Returning to my desk, I re-opened Lucy’s photo on my computer. Her ironic, apple-pie smile had barely left my screen since I’d uploaded the JPEG. Every time I looked away and then back again, I experienced a fresh adrenaline rush – a sensation so intense and thrilling that I was tempted to call it love, even though I realized the idea was absurd. We’d only spoken for five minutes. But reason and logic went out the window when I gazed at Lucy’s image. It wasn’t just an emotional response: I was physically affected by her, whether on screen or etched in my mind’s eye. Just the thought of her dark blue eyes was enough to quicken my pulse and speed my blood.
    I’d even taken to recounting her lines from our brief conversation, closing my eyes to conjure up her teasing accent. I was sure they were going to pop up on Jerry Springer…..Who’s going to try my chili now?.... or my absolute favorite… .I think Johnny suits you much better. I must’ve replayed that one a hundred times.
    “Wow, who is she? ” came a voice from over my shoulder, yanking me back into the present.
    Izzy was a fellow reporter and my best friend in the newsroom. At twenty-seven, he already had two kids, a house in the suburbs, and a wife who subscribed to Martha Stewart Living . Despite being a responsible family man, Izzy still looked like a student – wiry frame, unkempt black hair, and whirls of zits on his cheeks that he could never quite shake. He was also obsessed with my love life, convinced I was having a lot more fun than I was letting on.
    “She’s no one you know,” I replied, snatching my mouse to close the image.
    “No shit, Sherlock. If I knew a woman like that she’d have to take out a restraining order.”
    I swiveled in my chair to face him. “She’s something else, isn’t she?”
    Izzy’s head jerked back, like he’d been flicked on the nose. “Woah, what’s up with the gooey eyes?”
    I grinned stupidly, unable to resurrect my guard.
    Izzy looked horrified. “Pistol Pete, my freewheeling single buddy, I know that look. Don’t tell me you’re about to abandon the charmed life of a bachelor. You know how I look forward to your Monday morning stories.”
    “Oh yeah? When was the last time you heard one of those?”
    Izzy thought for a moment. “That’s beside the point. The point is – you shouldn’t be putting all your eggs in one basket. Trust me, it can only lead to a lifetime of misery.”
    “You’re hardly miserable,” I laughed.
    “Okay, maybe not miserable . I wouldn’t go that far, out of respect for my wife, who’s probably listening right now. But hear me when I say – don’t be in a rush to settle down. Not until you’ve spent at least ten years playing the field.”
    “Don’t worry, I’m not planning a wedding just yet.”
    Izzy shook his head with an old man’s weariness. “I know that look,” he repeated. “Hell is right around the corner.”
    I spent the next twenty-four hours contemplating my next move. The original plan had been to wait a few days before contacting her, at which time I’d ostensibly ask for her opinion of the article. Now, with the humiliation of having my story pulled, the road ahead was unclear. I didn’t want to come across as an overeager beaver, but I no longer had the luxury of playing it cool. Lucy probably had the same bewitching