She Was Sitting In My Front-Row Seat Holding My Novel — Smiling Like She Had Stolen My Life

fingers brushed the black letters of my name.

“Is it?”

Then she looked back at Graham with a little laugh.

“Graham said you wouldn’t mind.”

Graham’s jaw tightened.

He wore the tuxedo I had helped choose at Bergdorf’s, midnight wool with satin lapels.

On his wrist gleamed the watch I had bought him for our anniversary, the one engraved with Always.

He looked continue reading …