Tuesdays were supposed to be her easy days at work. Tuesdays were the defacto days off for the writers, who usually had to work most weekends to make the Monday deadlines. She still came into work on Tuesdays, so that she could get ahead on emails, check in with her assistants, catch up with the printing supervisors, and generally plan for the next issue of the weekly magazine.

This Tuesday was proving to be different. From the moment she walked in the door, she had been assaulted by wave after wave of other people’s problems.

Several of their writers had gone out to a club last night, and one of them had been involved in a fight. Cassie had a good relationship with the local police chief, but when she went to the police station to meet with him, she wasn’t completely successful.

She tried her best to get her writer off the hook. “Clark, I’m just not sure why Kyle is being charged. You said he didn’t start the fight. The report says that no one was seriously injured. The club manager is not pressing charges. So why are we still talking about this?”

Clark said, “I’m sorry, Cassie, but I don’t think there’s much I can do. It’s an open and shut case, and even though the other guy started the fight, we can’t make him drop his ridiculous charges against your writer.” Clark was silent for a moment and then added, “Kyle did hit him back, after all.”

Cassie tried another line of reasoning, “So, you’re telling me that I can walk down the street, and punch a guy, then I can press charges against him if he hits me back?”

Clark smiled sadly and nodded, “Yes, if he returns the punch, you can press charges. So, you seem to have the gist of things. What I can do for you, Cassie, since I like you, is that we can remove any details about where Mr. Damien works.”

Cassie shook her head and sighed, “At least that will minimize the damage to the reputation of my magazine.”

As Cassie left the building, she thought, Did I really just say, “my magazine”? When did I start thinking of it as mine?

She shook her head and walked back to her office, only to deal with more mishaps.

A day that was supposed to be reserved for getting a jump start on the next week left her feeling far behind. As four o’clock rolled around, she forced herself to turn off her computer and walk out of the office. She reserved Tuesday nights for something very special, and she wasn’t going to let this crappy day ruin her long awaited Tuesday night.

On her way home, she stopped by her favorite wine shop. She got a bottle of her favorite Sauvignon Blanc. The storekeeper was a man about 35 years old, who had large bushy eyebrows. Cassie liked his eyes; he seemed to see right through her. She wondered if he knew what she did on Tuesday nights, and a thrill ran through her.

She tried not to blush, as she approached the cash register.

He smiled at her and said with a slight Eastern European accent, “Oh, a French wine tonight. Well, Bonsoir, belle.” [Good evening, beautiful.]

She couldn’t contain her blush now, as she smiled and said formally, “Bonne soirée commerçant.” [Good evening, shopkeeper.]

He smiled with a playful skepticism, and then she added, “Je voulais dire, Bonsoir, beau commerçant.” [I meant to say, Good evening, handsome shopkeeper]

He laughed and said, “I like the second choice much better.”

Cassie watched him ring up her purchase, and wondered if he could be the basis of her next story. He was handsome; he was flirty, and she did get a certain tingle when he spoke French to her. She began thinking about a slow seduction of a wine shop owner, how she could come in every other day for wine, she could ask for advice, she could practice speaking French. She would slowly learn more about him, and he would eventually reveal that he had moved to America from Serbia, to escape religious persecution, but the love of his life didn’t make the journey with him. Cassie began to piece together a tragic story of his loss, but the real story was about how he found new hope and new love in the sexy woman who bought wine there every other day.

She snapped out of it when he asked for the second time, “Will that be all today?”

She shook her head, and then nodded. “Yes, thank you. That’s all.”

He said, “What are you going to do tonight with this nice wine?”

She caught herself blushing again, and decided she would be completely honest. “I have a to-go order at DiLucco’s waiting for me. I’ll get it, take it home, drink my wine, and write a new post on my blog.”

He smiled, seeming genuinely excited when he asked, “Ooh, what type of blog, if I can ask?”

She pushed back her hesitation, and she blurted out, “It’s an erotic fiction site.”