"You know, for strangers, we have pretty good conversations," I commented as we were riding the bus.
"You still consider us strangers?" he asked with a hint of surprise.
"A little."
"So get to know me."
"Uh, what do you like to do?"
He rubbed his jaw, thinking. "I'm not sure. I like to read, play tennis, work. I'm actually quite boring. You?"
I shrugged. "I'm more boring than you. I spend most of my time writing."
"For work or for fun?"
"Both."
"You know, my mom's a novelist," he revealed.
I raised an eyebrow. "Really, what's her name? Maybe I've read one of her works."
"Martha Howards."
I grinned and shook my head. "You're kidding?"
"I'm not," he said smiling. "You've heard of her, haven't you?"
"Heard of her? I read her books religiously. She's brilliant." I couldn't believe I was talking to her son. In fact, I didn't even know she had a son.
"I'm glad to hear that. I'll tell her ..." he trailed off.
"What?" I asked.
He shook his head and smiled. "Nothing."
