One

It had been a long morning at the office, and the incomplete files he’d left on his desk promised to make it an even longer afternoon. Mitchell Andrews was happy for the much-needed break that brought him and his business partner, Christopher Jackson, to their favorite eatery.

The air in Bob’s Steak & Chop House was thick with the combined smells of soups, steaks, and potatoes. As he unconsciously closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, Mitchell was almost certain that he caught a whiff of the fried calamari that the couple at the table nearest them shared as an appetizer. Or maybe it was all just a figment of his imagination conjured by the rumble in his stomach. He’d missed breakfast this morning, something his grandmother would have scolded him for if she were still alive. Hearing footsteps approaching and assuming it was their waitress finally delivering their ordered meals, Mitchell opened his eyes.

“Virtue!” Gasping, Mitchell stood suddenly from his chair, causing it to hit the uncarpeted floor with such force that the resounding thud made him the center of attention.

She was a slightly older but more beautiful copy of the woman he had fallen in love with years before. It was a decade ago that Mitchell had first seen eyes like hers, hair like hers, and teeth like hers. On that mid-August day of their initial meeting, she had unknowingly teased him with her eyelashes, and she owned a smile that qualified her orthodontist for a medal of excellence. It was a direct contrast to the look of horror she now directed toward the man whose outburst had startled her. Apparently having come in to enjoy a quiet afternoon of dining alone, she took several steps backward and pulled her purse close to her body as if fearful that in a restaurant full of dining patrons, Mitchell would dare to rob her.

“Mitch, man, what’s wrong with you?” Chris stood and grabbed Mitchell’s arm before turning to the woman who was still paralyzed with fear. “I’m sorry, ma’am.” It was all Chris could say in his friend’s defense. “I’m sorry.”

Whatever plans the woman had for lunch were immediately changed. With Mitchell unable to take his eyes away in spite of Chris’s tugging, she backed away and rushed to exit the front door. The bizarre mayhem had ended, but the eyes from neighboring tables repeatedly glanced in the men’s direction long after Mitchell managed to lower himself back into the chair that Chris had brought to an upright position.

“Man, what was that?” Chris whispered, trying to mask his embarrassment behind sips of water. “You got the whole restaurant thinking you’re on crack or something.”

Taking a quick look around, Mitchell realized that his partner was only mildly overstating the facts. Every table that he saw seemed to have at least one occupant who looked in his direction as though he needed an exorcist. Closing his eyes, Mitchell took slow, deep breaths like he was taught to do during his tenure at the Betty Ford Center in California. His days of alcoholism had ended nearly three years ago, but his heart hadn’t raced at this pace since his first week there when he had found himself in actual tears, begging and literally fighting for a taste of vodka.

“Let’s go,” Mitchell said, his voice steady but pleading. The stares that were coming from all directions were burning into his skin.

“We haven’t even gotten our meals yet, man. Didn’t you just say a few minutes ago that you were starving? What’s wrong with you?” Chris had gotten no answer to that question the first time he had asked.

It would be a three-mile trek back to the office, and Dallas’s unusually low November temperatures would make it seem twice as long, but he’d take his chances. Standing, Mitchell grabbed his wool coat from the empty chair beside him and stood to slip his arms in the sleeves.

“What are you doing?” Utter confusion could be seen on Chris’s face as he spoke. “Where are you going?”

“Back to the office.” Mitchell held out his hand to stop Chris from rising from his seat. “The walk will be good for me. I need to clear my head. See you later.”