Hey guys, I'm a bit excited about finally posting this story. It's probably the most difficult fic I have ever written. The idea for this one is about three years old. There was a fanfic challenge about changing some detail... I'm not going to divulge which detail exactly, just yet, because that would certainly kill most suspense I hope I have created. Anyway, I kept agonizing about the right angle and the right narrator and basically ran into a major writer's block each time I thought I had found a way to make this tale work. And quite a few times I thought about posting this idea in the "Challenge" folder. But it kept nagging me and a couple of months ago I finally found the right angle. So here you go...
I don't think that any part of this fic really warrants a WHAM warning, but my invaluable beta Terry Leatherwood would probably recommend some tissues. I don't know about that - but my advice would be to stay away if you're just searching for some unaldultered fluff. I promise to put my toys back into the box, though.
I have to thank my two beta-readers Terry Leatherwood and Blindpassenger for their hard work on this fic. Especially Terry did a tremendous job! When I read the whole thing after including his corrections, I wasn't sure it was still the same story. It was just so much better.
I have used some quotes from various episodes of the show. I copied them from the episode transcripts and sometimes they differ from what the actors really said. But since I watched most of the show in my native language, I don't know all the whole original episodes by heart.
I don't own any of these characters and I'm not writing for profit. To Love and To Lose
Part 1: I'm sitting at my desk, staring into space. This is a rare occasion, but truth be told, I’m stuck. Try as I might, the article I'm working on just doesn’t seem right. I've been typing and editing for the past three hours or so. I've leaned back and reread the whole thing, I’ve changed the angle several times, I’ve stopped and written something else. Nothing seems to help. The article on my computer screen is still too long and too complicated. I’d probably lose the majority of my readers before I have even managed to get my point across. I lean back again and heave a sigh. Wistfully, I look at the picture that sits on my desk, right next to the computer screen.
It’s a portrait of Clark and me, taken right after he won his first Kerth Award. We’re both smiling. Oh, how I wish he could be here now. He’d know how to change all those phrases so this whole article would make sense. I feel that familiar lump in my throat as I run my finger along the picture of my best friend, the man I love, but never told until it was too late. I miss him so much, that sometimes I think it's tearing me apart.
“Get a grip, girl,” I tell myself firmly. I withdraw my hand, before tears start to flow down my cheeks. I can't afford a nervous break-down right in the middle of the newsroom. It's been three years since I've last seen him. Three painful years. I should get over him. He's not coming back. He never will. My heart clenches at the thought.
Just to be on the safe side, I push back my chair and decide that a nice cup of newsroom coffee might help me solve my dilemmas, both the emotional and the verbal. I reach for the mug of stale coffee that is still left and pour it onto the plant on my desk. With a pang of guilt, I realize it looks rather sickly.
“Lois!“ Jimmy shouts from the ramp. He is so eager to reach me that he almost runs me down. "Lois! You won't believe who is coming to town!“ Several colleagues turn their heads to stare in our direction.
*So much for staying under the radar,* I think grumpily.
Jimmy bends down for a moment, trying to catch his breath. As he straightens again, he looks like the proverbial cat that got the canary. By now, most of the newsroom crew is raising their heads. They’re just as naturally curious as I am.
“Oh, come on, Jimmy, just spit it out,” I urge. I’m uncomfortable in the midst of everybody’s attention. "Is the President running an early election campaign?”
“No, even better, it's - “ The squeaking of the door to Perry's office, which Jimmy has been supposed to oil this morning, stops him mid-sentence. Everybody turns their head to see Perry come out ready to usher us all back to work.
“ - Clark Kent,” Jimmy hurries to say, before Perry has a chance to speak. His words effectively render our editor-in-chief speechless, a feat which is almost unheard of.
“Who?” I croak, dumbfounded. I gape at him, my heartbeat suddenly thundering in my ears. Did he really just say that, or has my aching mind played a cruel trick on me?
“Clark Kent,” Jimmy repeats. His face is beaming in a smile that almost resembles Clark's thousand watt smile.
“But – but – how...?” I stammer, my voice still hoarse.
Perry finds his voice again. “It can't be! Clark is dead!” he reminds us with a pained expression. I know he misses him just as much as Jimmy and I do. Perry forces his way through the crowd that has materialized around my desk. I don’t know how I became the epicenter of this mood quake.
“His death was never confirmed.” Jimmy replies, unfazed. “And I assure you that he is very much alive. He’s published a book under the alias 'Charles King'.” Jimmy produces a novel from his bag. “Just take a look at the author's portrait. It's him.”
As if on cue, both Perry's and my hand reach out to grab the novel. Much to my dismay, the chief is quicker despite his age. He flips the book open and quickly finds a picture on the last page. Impatiently, I look around Perry's shoulder, trying to get a glimpse.
There is a black-and-white photograph of a man in his thirties or forties. His dark hair is long with a stubborn lock falling across his forehead. A pair of glasses cannot quite hide two beautiful dark eyes. A thick beard covers the other half of his face. Disappointment fills me. I know Jimmy was Clark’s friend, too. Maybe I didn’t realize how much he really misses him, how badly he wants to see him in this perfect stranger.
I open my mouth to tell him that he’s mistaken. But on the second look, something about this man strikes a chord.
Charles King. The name rings a bell. And all of a sudden I remember a certain bar. It was our first undercover assignment, back when I still refused to be anybody’s partner. I posed as a singer, while Clark pretended to be a bartender.
When he first came into the Metro Club, he looked like a seaman with an almost feral air about him that stood in stark contrast to the Clark I thought I had already all figured out. He’d been pretty sexy, though I would never have admitted to that in front of him. He used the name 'Charlie King' back then.
I have a closer look at the photo. Now I feel like I remember those dark eyes and that stubborn lock of hair. And I recognize those lips that are half hidden behind facial hair. My heart is pounding as I read the caption.
"Charles King lives in Kansas. He has worked as a war reporter during the Latislan-Podansk conflict and has been a freelancer for several international papers before his debut novel appeared on best-seller lists throughout the country."
Perry's lips move as he breathes something that to me sounds a lot like "Great shades of Elvis!“ So he has seen it, too. After another moment of staring at the book, he straightens himself and shakes his head.
“There might be a slight resemblance," Perry says. He waves his hand in dismissal and returns the book. The breath I've been holding rushes out, leaving me with a sense of betrayal. How could he say that?
"No reason to keep everybody from working,” Perry barks, “Now, this party is over. There is a newspaper to write.” His stern gaze drifts through the newsroom until everyone but Jimmy and me has hurried back to work.
I fold my arms in front of my chest, while Jimmy looks rather crestfallen.
"You can't fool me, Perry,” I say, just loud enough for Perry and Jimmy to hear. I'm sure the chief will not welcome another commotion “You're just as convinced as I am that this is Clark! Didn’t you read the caption? War-reporter, freelancer, Kansas… ”
Perry raises his brows. "This could just be a coincidence, Lois. Clark is not the only reporter who ever left Kansas.”
“I know you recognized him, too.” I disagree. Call me stubborn, but I just don’t understand why Perry is reacting this way.
“Don't get your hopes too high,” Perry warns me, always the voice of reason. Though I know he is just trying to protect me, right now I find him rather irritating. “I know you have been searching for him for years. I just don't want you to get hurt.” He looks genuinely concerned.
“I appreciate what you're trying to do." The flash of anger that went through me a moment ago subsides just as suddenly. “But if there is only the slightest chance that Charles King is Clark Kent, I've got to see him. There are so many things, I should have told Clark long ago,” I mutter. There is a huge lump in my throat. Before it turns into tears rolling down my cheeks, I look at Jimmy. “You said earlier Charles King is coming to Metropolis?”
Jimmy nods with a giddy smile on his lips. “He’s doing a lecture at a downtown bookshop on Friday evening.”
“That's three days from now. Then it’s settled! I'm going to cover this lecture for the Daily Planet,” I say decisively. “Any objections?” I hope that my stern look alone conveys that I'm not going to take ‘NO’ for an answer.
Perry sighs. “I hope you know you what you're doing. Just tell me when you're ready for taking up dog-shows, too, will you?” he mocks me. Normally, I would never consider covering a lecture for the Planet.
I chose to ignore that comment. Perry heads back for his office, skipping the Elvis anecdote he might have told on any other occasion. That leaves just me and Jimmy, who still holds the book in his hands.
He doesn’t even flinch as I take the novel. “I guess I've got some reading to do.”
“Mind if I join you on Friday?" Jimmy asks. “You might need a photographer.” The look on his face tells me that he wants to see Clark again almost as much as I do.
Before I can say anything, Perry chimes in. “Don't be ridiculous, Jimmy. The suits upstairs will already wonder why I sent my star reporter to cover a lecture. They'll question my sanity if I send in the whole cavalry. After all, the King we're talking about couldn't carry a tune in a bucket.” How he has managed to even hear Jimmy is anybody’s guess. “If it's even Clark, that is." He obviously considers the case closed. A moment later a thud resounds in the newsroom as he shuts the door behind him.
I flinch in sympathy as I see Jimmy's disappointment. “I'm sorry. But Perry is probably right.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Jimmy mutters half-heartedly. “Just tell Clark that we all miss him, will you?”
“Of course,” I promise. I watch Jimmy as he returns to whatever he has been working on before.
While I understand that Jimmy aches, too, I’m grateful that I can go alone. Seeing Clark again will stir up some emotions I've been trying to bury for years, now. And frankly, I don't want anyone to witness me falling apart, least of all Jimmy.
***
Three days later, I sit among the audience inside a book store that is rather small for Metropolis standards. I have spent the past days reading the book that I have now clasped on my lap.
It’s the story of a man who is stranded in a faraway land and finds out that he really is the rightful heir of a long abandoned throne. While the premise is not exactly new, the strange customs, environment and political system give the whole thing a rather exotic touch. Everything is described so minutely that it could as well have been a travel book. Thrown into the mix is a love story that let my heart ache for the hero. The book is written so vividly that I easily forget it is just fiction. I could hardly stop reading, partly because in my mind the narrator sounded so much like Clark that it took my breath away.
Even after finishing the book, I kept skimming through the pages just to "hear" - for the lack of a better word - his gentle voice again. Now that I'm sitting here, I still can’t quite believe I’m going to see Clark again. My gut does a nervous somersault.
Quite against my usual habit, I’ve chosen a seat in one of the back rows. I need the distance. I don't know what I’m more afraid of: that Charles King is going to be a perfect stranger or that he is indeed Clark Kent. I’ve been agonizing for hours about what I'm going to say to him. Actually, I still don't know.
The book store is already crowded, but now and again people come inside, hoping to find a vacant chair. The shop owner is standing at the front door, welcoming the many visitors, but also checking their tickets for the evening. The chair and table on the little stage in front are empty, except for a copy of Charles King's book 'To Love And To Lose' standing upright there for everyone to see.
The man, who had been standing at the entrance, closes the door and walks toward the stage. He is maybe about fifty years old, but still looks kind of boyish with wild red locks and freckles all over his face.
It takes a moment before the commotion in the shop dies down and everyone has taken a seat.
The owner waits until everyone is silent. A huge smile on his face makes him look even younger. “Thank you all for coming this evening. It's not every day that I can present to you "Ladies and Gentleman, thank you all for coming tonight! I’m Steven Conelly, owner of this book shop,” the man says. “It's not every day that I can present to you an author who is not only an excellent writer but also an inspiring reader. He's the rising star of modern American literature, Mr. Charles King."
The audience claps as Charles King walks up to the stage. Tall and broad shouldered, he could have made quite an impression if it hadn't been for his haggard features and slumped shoulders. He leans onto a cane and drags his right leg after him in a heavy limp. As in the photo, thick frames, long black hair and a full grown beard hide most of his face.
Charles King smiles as he turns towards the audience. But it is certainly not Clark's thousand- watt smile, the one that I loved so much about my partner.
As I stare at the man on stage, I try to figure out if this man is Clark. He certainly has the same color of hair, almost the same stature and also wears glasses. But at least half a dozen men in this shop fit that description. A huge lump of disappointment settles in my stomach. I feel the sudden urge to just get up and storm out of this store. Jimmy was wrong. This man is not my former partner and best friend. I just wanted him to be.
The applause dies down as Charles King timidly smiles again. “Thank you very much for the warm welcome,” he says. The sound of his voice has me rooted to the spot.
I stop breathing as memories transfer me right back to a place in time when Clark and I still were the best of friends. Tears well up in my eyes.
<There is no such word as 'chumpy.'>
<Of course there is. Somebody's a chump. Therefore, he's chumpy.>
<Try again.>
<Are you challenging me?>
<You bet your sweet chumpy I am.>Suddenly I remember all those days and nights we spent on a stake-out, the couple of days we visited his family. How I wish that it had not only been for a story.
Give it a whirl?>
<You're kidding?>
<No, I'm not kidding. I'd to like to dance. If you promise never to breathe one word about this to anybody at the Planet.>
<Promise.>It was such a thrill to take my place in the line, knowing that the gorgeous man on the other side was my partner.
<You actually know how to do this?>
<Last year I had a girlfriend convince me it was a great way to meet guys.>
<Was it?>
<Define 'guys.'>It had been the first time in what had felt like forever that I had truly enjoyed myself in the company of a man. Why had I not realized it that day?
Why is it that all the kisses and embraces we shared were either a ruse or result of a life threatening situation?
He was such a great man, and I guess on a subconscious level I knew that. I knew I could turn to him when my life was threatened, when I was sad or frustrated. He never even once said ‘Told you so.’ He was still supportive even while I made the big mistakes that were bound to hurt him. Like almost saying ‘Yes’ to Luthor’s proposal, like having an affair with Superman…
In the end, it had just been too much, even for Clark. And the day I finally realized that the man I loved had always been Clark, I found his place abandoned. He had left me a note and that was that.
It had taken me months to find as much as his byline again. He had become a war reporter, writing about the Latislan–Podanks conflict, a war that around this time had been turning bloodier day by day. Not long after that, his name had appeared on a list of missing reporters around the globe that “Reporters Without Borders” had published.
Clark - if it is really him - sits down and opens the book.
***
“Milord!” The voice sounded distant, but urgent. “Milord!”
Something or rather someone was tugging at his sheets, slowly dragging him back to a world of pain. Lord Elwood moaned as he slowly came to. His vision swam as he opened his eyes. He recognized the voice of his loyal advisor Gareth sometime before he managed to get a clear view of his features.
“Oh, good, you’re finally with me,” Gareth muttered. “We need to hurry, Milord. The palace is not safe anymore.”
“What do you say?” Lord Elwood asked, confused.
Now that he was awake, the pain in his arm and back had returned with such a vengeance that he wondered how he had been able to sleep in the first place. The pain kept him dazed, but still the tiny bundle Gareth carried in his arms did not escape his notice. Lord Elwood’s mouth went dry.
“Is this -?” he began, but Gareth, who had followed his Lord’s line of sight, interrupted him.
“Yes, this is your daughter,” he hurriedly confirmed. “But there is no time to explain, Milord. Please try to get up! We must leave the palace immediately. Your life and that of the little princess depend on it.” Holding the baby in one arm, Gareth used his other hand to assist Lord Elwood as best he could, removing the sheets further to expose his battered body.
“What is going on here? Where is Lady Judith?” Lord Elwood asked. He was quite reluctant to let himself be dragged out of bed without further explanation. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what this is all about.”
Gareth heaved a sigh. “I’m deeply sorry, Milord. Lady Judith is gone. The midwife and doctor did everything they could, but they were unable to save her.”
Lord Elwood blanched. “Judith is dead?” he whispered, pained.
Gareth nodded, sadly. “I’m afraid so.”
He paused for a moment. This gave Lord Elwood some time to let Gareth’s words sink in and to compose himself. A heavy silence settled between them.
Lady Judith had been the heart and soul of their marriage, their whole kingdom. With her gone, all their fights, the whole war had been for nothing. The people would not look up to Lord Elwood, would not respect him the way they had Lady Judith.
A commotion on the far side of the palace shook both Gareth and Lord Elwood from their stupor. The baby began to wail in fear as Gareth flinched in shock.
“They will soon be here, Milord,” Gareth said fearfully. “We must leave now, or both you and your daughter will be killed. Since Judith had a little girl, your line of heritage is considered terminated. There is no legal way for you to produce a rightful heir now. As soon as word went out that you were badly injured, several noblemen began claiming that they were the next in line. Now the war that we so painstakingly stopped is raging all over again. Only this time there is nothing you can do to bring peace back to us. I’m so sorry, Marcus.” Gareth added. For once, Gareth dropped the formalities and addressed his Lord using his first name.
“So it’s either leave or die?” Lord Elwood muttered. His gaze came to rest on the tiny hands of his daughter that were balled into fists and shaking with her crying. It was enough to finally get him into motion. With a grunt of pain, he got out of his bed. “Who would have thought that it would end like this, Gareth, my friend?”
“It doesn’t have to be the end, Marcus,” Gareth replied as he laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You and the little one can start a new life. I will help you return home safely, and tell the world that the baby was stillborn and that you died in the final battle. None of us will ever bother you again.”
Lord Elwood smiled sadly. “I thought that I had made myself a home here, found a good friend, love even. I can’t believe that Judith is really gone.” He swallowed hard. “It should have been me instead of her.”
More noise filled the palace as the intruders moved in. Gareth laid the baby in Lord Elwood’s arms. “We need to get going now. There is no time to dwell on the past if you want to have a future,” he said. Gareth dragged Lord Elwood with him. “You were the best leader our kingdom could have wished for, if only the people had been ready to appreciate your wisdom.”***
Charles King, or maybe Clark Kent, closes his book and looks up into the faces of the people who have spent the past forty minutes listening in awe. One after the other begins to clap, until the whole audience applauds enthusiastically. Slowly the man gets up from his chair and reaches for his cane before he walks a couple of uneven steps up to the front to take a bow. Steven, the owner of the book shop, joins him on the small stage, applauding as well.
“Thank you, Ladies and Gentlemen,” he says as the applause fades. “Charles King will now sign your copies of his novel and answer your questions.” Steven announces proudly. “He has two hours, so please don’t hog his time.” He pats Charles-Clark on the back, who seems quite uncomfortable with so much attention. “Thank you so much for coming, Mr. King. I have quite enjoyed this evening so far. Hearing you read that passage made me feel as if I was there with the characters. It’s not every day that we can welcome talented authors like you, not even here in Metropolis.”
“Thank you for having me,” Charles-Clark says as his smile broadens. “I’m honored that there are so many people who want to hear my story. This still is kind of new to me. When I wrote this book, I did not imagine it would have such an impact. Thank you.”
With a grateful nod towards the audience, Charles-Clark limps back to his chair and takes a seat. Several people have already gotten up firmly holding their copies and stepping in line to have Clark sign it. Soon Charles-Clark is busy chatting with people who probably tell him just how much they liked his book.
For a while, Charles-Clark keeps signing books and chatting amicably with his readers. I watch him from the distance. I can’t bring myself to get up and join in the line. A part of me desperately wants to talk to him, to see if there is something left of our friendship, if maybe I might even get a second chance. But if there were, have I earned it? Haven’t I already blown all my chances with Clark?
He declared his love for me and I told him off, said that I loved him like a brother and went right ahead to breaking his heart.
<And Luthor, do you love him?>
<I don't know. I do have feelings for him. I haven't said yes, yet. And I won't, until I've talked it over with someone else.>
<Who?>
<I think you know. If you see him, will you tell him I'm looking for him?>Actually, I still don’t quite understand why Clark even passed on the message. However, that same night Superman came to my apartment and I gave him my little speech.
<Well, there've been a lot of changes going on in my life and I'm trying to make the right, decisions, but I can't until I know how you feel. Superman, is there any hope for us? You and me? I'm so completely in love with you that I can't do anything else without knowing… >The kiss that followed still takes my breath away, even if there is nothing left of it but a memory. It had been a moment of pure bliss. His hands on my body had been my every dream come true, or so I had thought. Making love to Superman had been exhilarating. Hovering above the bed, held by his strong arms, knowing that I was the one who got to kiss every inch of his body… This was such a great turn on that I just forgot about the few men before him.
For weeks I’d walked on cloud nine, and I’d actually been so naïve to think that the dream would never end.
But of course, it did. Sometimes being in love is just not enough. At any rate, it provides a poor basis for a stable relationship if hormone driven madness is all there is. At first being Superman’s secret girlfriend had given me quite a thrill. But in the long run I was not happy about all the secrecy. I wanted us to go out, to watch a movie in the cinema and cuddle, to have dinner in a restaurant. I wanted to be able to talk about my boyfriend, confide in my sister about the problems we had in our relationship. I wanted to do all those things that normal couples did.
In the end, I felt like I was having an affair with a married man – a man who was married to the world. I was not happy that way, and neither was Superman. Oh, of course I did no longer call him Superman then. He had told me his name, Kal. But even now, in my mind, he still is Superman, and maybe
that is the most telling thing about this whole episode.
Over time, Superman withdrew. He spent more and more time rescuing the world and less time with me. I couldn’t help the feeling that he kept something from me. Though I never suspected that he was seeing another woman, there was only a certainly level of emotional intimacy that he would allow. I don’t think I ever truly got to know him.
One lonely evening I watched this old movie “The Apartment”, with Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine. You know, the one where he lets his boss use his apartment for his extramarital affairs. That evening, I realized that the girl played by Shirley MacLaine was really me. While Superman never treated me as badly as Mr. Sheldrake did Fran, he also would never be really there for me like Clark could. That was when I realized that Clark loved me, though he had withdrawn his confession of love after we had managed to bring down Luthor. And I realized that I loved him.
But instead of really seeing him for the great man that he was, what had I done? I had been busy looking down on this ‘Hack from Nowheresville’. I had made fun of his mild manners and his tendency to see the good in everyone. I had been so afraid of kissing another frog that I hadn’t even taken the time to check if maybe he was a prince.
Lost in my train of thought, my body has decided to take action and step into the line. So when I emerge from the world of memories, I find myself standing behind a young woman who is the next one to let Charles-Clark King sign her copy.
“Your book is quite an amazing mix of tender love story and brutal war. It kept me on the edge of my seat the whole way through. I couldn’t stop reading,” The young woman walks up to him and lays her copy into his hands.
Charles-Clark smiles and replies, “Thank you.”
“Neither could my husband, and usually he only expresses contempt for any love story I ever read.” The woman goes on in a lower voice. She leans over and for a moment, I think that she is going to touch Charles-Clark’s hand. But if she had something like that in mind, she refrains from doing so. “Thanks to you, we finally have a book we can talk about. So could you please write something to both of us?”
“Sure,” Charles-Clark says easily. “What are your names?”
The woman grins. “You wouldn’t believe it… Judy and Marc. Isn’t that a funny coincidence?”
Charles-Clark laughs softly. “Yes, indeed,” he agrees. He picks up his pen and writes, ‘To Judy and Marc, may you always find something to enjoy together,’ He adds his signature and hands the book back to her. My heart stops at the sight of his hand-writing. I have seen that so many times.
“Thank you so much,” Judy says excitedly. “It was such a pleasure meeting you.”
“Yes, you too.” Charles-Clark sounds a little subdued, as if something is troubling him.
His eyes don’t quite meet Judy’s, and so he does not recognize me as I step forward. I’m the last in line, and in a moment it’s only him and me. My heart is hammering in my chest and for the blink of an eye I contemplate again to just run out of this store. I take a breath. Soon, soon, he will look up and then I’ll have reached the point of no return. Another shaky breath enters and leaves my body as I fight to find the right words. Will my voice even work?
I take in a last gulp of air, clinging to the hope that this is not going to be a complete catastrophe. “Clark? Is that really you?”
Startled, Charles-Clark looks up. Our gazes lock and his eyes widen as he recognizes me.
“Lois,” he croaks.
“Clark!” I breathe in relief. I feel a smile spread across my face, as I blink the tears away that are threatening to roll down my cheeks. “Famous author, huh?” I ask nervously. “I thought I recognized the writing.” I take in the glasses and beard, then stopping at his cane leaning against the table. “Where have you been all this time? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Clark says softly. He dodges my first question. “And you? Still working for the Planet, huh? I read some of your articles. You’re still the best.”
“Thank you” I blush as I reach for his hand. Touching him sends jolts of electricity through my body. “I was afraid I was never going to see you again, Clark. I missed my friend and partner.”
Clark opens his mouth, but instead of telling me that he had missed me, too, he closes it again. For agonizing seconds, he says nothing at all.
Then after what to me seems like an eternity, he replies. “Well, I guess you were right from the beginning. I just wasn’t cut out for the big city.”
I frown as new tears well up in my eyes. “So you just ran off, practically vanishing from the face of earth? Just like that?” I snap my fingers.
“I left a letter,” Clark argues, probably knowing that is a weak excuse. “You were the one distancing from me first. I didn’t think you cared that much.”
“I had just gone through a pretty difficult break-up,” I mutter defensively. Difficult break-up, indeed. I almost snort at the thought. Of course, he’s right. Clark is not the bad guy here. I am. “I’m sorry that I shut you out like I did.”
“I’m sorry, too, Lois,” Clark replies softly. “About so many things.”
“Would you like to… I don’t know… go for a drink when you’re done here, Clark? I’d really like to talk some more, you know… catch up.” I ask him this shyly, desperately hoping that he will give me another chance to make things right.
“I’m sorry, Lois, but I really need to go back to the hotel now. Maybe some other time.” Clark uses that non-committal tone of voice that really means “Thank you, but ‘NO’.”
My smile falters a little, but I quickly try to put it back into place. Most likely it’s not all that convincing. “Sure. You’re pretty busy right now, I guess. Working on your next novel or something. Just give me a call when you’ve got some spare time, will you? It’s still the same number.” I turn on my heels, then look back over my shoulder. “Goodbye, Clark. It was nice seeing you again.” I wave at him as I leave the book shop, almost running.
To be continued... Please
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