She drove us to a nice little restaurant known for its continental cuisine (AKA French). We were seated in a quiet booth in the back and we began the usual light pre-dinner conservation. Favorite and least favorite patients, the obscene amounts of paperwork now required, swapped new stories, and news on old friends. Since neither of us knew much about wine we let the waiter select for us.

Megan seemed almost giddy, like a kid on Christmas day waiting to open her presents. She seemed to be glowing with anticipation. On the other side of the booth my knees were quivering ever so slightly, and I felt like I was waiting in the doctor’s office for test results. I had full blown date jitters, exacerbated by what happened at her place.

The waiter returned with our drinks and took our orders. Megan o...

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