“T love you.” “What do you mean, you love me?” He leaned over, smooshed the burgers, and kissed me. It felt as if someone had turned on the electricity in a long-abandoned building. I had not been kissed like that since Celia left me. I had not been kissed with desire, the kind of desire that spurs desire, since the love of my life walked out the door. And here was Max, two deformed burgers in between us, his warm lips on mine. “That is what I mean,” he said when he pulled away from me. “Do with that what you will.” kk * THE NEXT MORNING, I woke up as an Oscar winner with a precious sixyear-old eating room service in my bed. There was a knock at the door. I grabbed my robe. I opened the door. In front of me were two-dozen red roses with a note that said, “I have loved you since I met you. I have tried to stop. It will not work. Leave him, ma belle. Marry me. Please. XO, M.”