" Okay," she said playfully, with a shy little smile on her face that hovered between amusement and anticipation. My next door neighbor sure is a fast...worker, she thought, laughing inwardly at his eagerness.Mel, his excitement growing, quickly poured them each a hot cup of steaming black coffee. He noticed Yasmin was heading for the other end of the table."No... , please... , sit here," he said, patting the kitchen chair next to him. "Next to me." Will I be safe... ?" Yasmin said, in a lightly. It seemed to leach into their bones somehow, making itself a part of them. Then, seemingly out of the fabric of the Music itself, a voice rose. A thick, melodious and deep voice that seemed to resonate from inside them as well as outside."How do you feel, Dylan?" the voice asked the first of the men."Don't call me that," the man protested. "Everybody calls me Hopewell. I hate my name." Why do you hate your name?" It sounds like some soap-opera hunk name. I have no idea why my mom named me it.. More

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