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10 “I can give you a ride back to the hotel, if you want,” Hayden offers as we leave the cool air and romantic lighting of Rum Room behind and trudge down the ramp into the sticky Georgia night. “And bring you here to get your car tomorrow, if you want.” I peel my thin jacket

9 When I get back to his table with my jacket and bag, Hayden’s put his computer away and moved his salad and water directly in front of himself. It’s not until I slide into my seat that I remember the dilemma. Our dilemma, Hayden’s and mine. We can’t sit in cramped spaces like this without a great

8 “Well, that’s…definitely the beginning,” I blurt into the silence. I figured she’d start with the year her grandfather imported snow to their Southern California home for Christmas, or talk about the caviar-eating Shetland pony she got for her third birthday. Or maybe skip all that and get right to the first time she heard Cosmo

7 “I still can’t really believe we’re doing this,” I say on Saturday morning. “Sitting in a living room, drinking mint tea?” Margaret teases, eyeing me through the steam lifting off the mug in her hands. “Alice, dear, I think you should aim higher.” She sits in the rattan chair across from the sofa where I’m

6 I swallow the lump of heat that’s risen to the back of my throat. Now that I know he’s fine, I’m embarrassed. Now that I see he clearly responded to my pounding by running straight from the shower to the front door, a towel wrapped around his waist and a scowl set deep into his

5 Despite being in his car with the door shut, headlights on, and engine purring, Hayden doesn’t speed away until I’m in my car with the door locked. Maybe he actively doesn’t want me to get murdered on a dark country road out by the marsh, or maybe it’s just coincidence, but I’m choosing to be

4 At seven twenty-nine, I shift the bottle of wine and bouquet I brought into one hand and ring Margaret’s doorbell with the other. Heavy footfalls answer on the far side, and then the hot-pink door swings open to reveal Jodi in a different but nearly identical flannel, T-shirt, and jeans. “You’re on time,” she announces.

3 I wake with a splitting headache. There’s no way I’m hungover—I might be a lightweight, but my five sips of liquor last night couldn’t have made quite this impression. No, this is a kind of headache I am all too familiar with: caffeine withdrawal. Before I collapsed into my freshly laundered hotel bedding last night,

2 I spend my first night at the Grande Lucia Resort eating Twizzlers and googling Hayden Anderson while convincing myself the world isn’t ending. First I read a dozen rave reviews of his book. Then I stumble across a Publishers Weekly article that estimates its first year’s US sales to be upwards of two million. Lastly, just to

1 THERE’S AN OLD saying about stories, and how there are always three versions of them: yours, mine, and the truth. The guy who first said it worked in the film business, but it holds true for journalism too. We’re not really supposed to take sides. We’re supposed to deal in facts. Facts add up