“So, Clark, does your family still live here in town?”
“Oh no, now it’s my turn to ask the questions.” He grinned, slapping another coat of strawberry jelly on his toast. He licked each finger; jellying toast by candlelight was a messy business. “So where are you from, exactly? I’ve been trying to place your accent all week.”
Damn. Had it really only been a week? “My accent?”
“Yes, it’s very specific. Not just generic back east, although I’m fairly certain it’s in that general area.”
“It’s in that general area, yes.” I nodded, enjoying where this was going. Philadelphia natives did have a very specific accent, although most couldn’t place it.
“It’s not New York.”
“State or city?” I asked.
“It’s neither. And it’s not Boston. It’s not New Jersey, although I admit my knowledge of that accent is limited by my addiction to The Sopranos,” he said with a half grin.
“You’re close. Philadelphia. Specifically, a little town just outside the city.”
“Philadelphia. So tell me, what do you do back there in Philadelphia?”
“Well, until recently I owned my own software company.”
He dropped his toast. “You owned your own—what?”
“Yep. I’m a software engineer by trade, got lucky with a program after college and went out on my own.”
“So what did you specialize in?”
“In a nutshell? I write programs that do data mining. You know, look for needles in a cyber haystack? Just sold a new program a few months ago.”
“You said until recently. Are you not doing it anymore?” he asked, looking fascinated.
“No, after all of this kind of fell into my lap I decided to sell my little company to a bigger company. They’d been making offers for years, and to be honest, my heart just wasn’t really in it anymore. So when they offered again, I sold it. Well, I’m in the beginning stages of selling it.”
“Who are you selling it to?”
“Franklin Logistics and Software.”
This time he choked on his toast. “You just sold your company to Franklin L&S?”
I passed him his water. “Well, going through the process, but yep.”
“Wait— Vivian Franklin. Franklin L&S. Any relation?”
“Sure, it’s my dad’s company.” I grinned.
Clark sat there for a moment, digesting. “Can I ask something?” he said.
“Sure.”
“Why did you sell it? I mean, sounds like things were going great for you back there. Why come here?”
I thought for a moment. “I think because I hadn’t had an adventure in a long time, and I was ready for one. And this was exactly what I needed at exactly the right time,” I said, dipping up a fingerful of jelly and licking it off. “Do you believe in fate, Clark?”
“Fate?” he asked abstractedly, watching my mouth closely.
“Yeah, fate. Do you think that there’s a preordained path you’re supposed to be on?”
“Never given it much thought, really. I’m pretty methodical. Not prone to whims,” he said.
“No. I never would have guessed.”
“You’re teasing me, Vivian.” He chuckled.
“Maybe just a little.” We sat for a moment together, quiet and still in the candlelight. “So,” I finally said, “I guess I should get the dishes started.”
“I’ll help you,” he said, getting up to clear.
“Don’t be silly. You cooked; I’ll do the dishes.” I took his plate before he could grab it and brought them both over to the sink.
“You wash, I’ll dry?” he asked, tying his apron back on.
“That’s a deal.” I turned on the water. As we cleaned up, we chatted some more.
“So did you always know you wanted to go into computers?” he asked, drying the plate I’d just handed him.
“No, in fact I hadn’t planned on going into it at all. Most of my family’s in computers so I wanted to try something new, you know? Out of the box?”
“You? Out of the box? I never would have guessed,” he said, swiping a soapy fingertip down the ink on my arm.
“Don’t poke fun, Clark. That’s my design there,” I warned, flicking a bubble at him from the sink.
“You’re a tattoo artist too?”
“No, but I minored in art in college, and spent some time really trying to make a go of it before the computer bug bit me. This tattoo is one I designed myself.” I twisted so he could see it better, the candlelight not being very strong.
He examined the ink, turning my arm to see how it wrapped around. “You drew this?”
“Mm-hmm.” I drew in a breath at the feel of his hands on my skin. Backstreet Boy or not, he had good hands.
“You’re very talented.”
“Once, maybe. I haven’t used that part of my brain in a long time, though.”
“Why not?”