"Do you want me totake a look at you," asked Melissa, "to make sure it is cut ok aroundthe bust?" Uh, no," I protested. "Well, only if it is ok." Com... on out," she said, "There is no one else here."I sheepishly came out of the dressing room and posed for this cute girl.I mostly still had a "masculine" complex that did not want me shown offto Melissa while I was wearing a dress..."Ohh, that is super cute," she cooed, "And I think you should definitelyget this one. It has plenty of room left in. The image of the young man didn’t fade from memory as the stories we wove did. Later, in Hilton Head, he was there in my dreams—and so was a concept of a house on the river, a house called Fiddler’s Rest. By Tuesday night, I couldn’t take it anymore. On Wednesday I pushed a confused and mouthy Julie into my Mustang convertible and we were headed back to Beaufort. I’d looked up Fiddler’s Rest on the Internet, so I knew exactly what Realtor to go to. I gulped at the asking price, but it was. More

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