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Like I said, Erie was a disaster.

The editor, Jonathan Albright, must have thought it was a joke that a girl wanted to be a reporter. Oh, he let me write. He let me write obituaries. He let me report on goings on at the local garden club. I learned more about hydrangeas and geraniums than I thought I'd ever care to know.

But you want to know about my love life.

For the first few months there was nothing to talk about.

Except for one weekend. Out of the blue on a Thursday afternoon, "I hope you don't have any plans this weekend?"

"Professor Mann?"

"I'll be driving through Erie and I thought maybe we could get together."

My panties were already damp. "When you say get together, you mean get together?" I laughed.

"I was hoping."

...

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