RICH RUSSELL
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“So when can I meet your husband, Mrs. Martins?”
The deafening silence that came right after my question was a relief. Or so I thought.
Before that question, I had been uncomfortable, not just because I was battling anxiousness as I anticipated or, more accurately, expected Mr. Martins to show up. I wondered what kind of man gets to be the crazy redhead’s husband and the father of her beautiful daughters.
Also, despite apologizing to Fiona and doing a proper introduction when she arrived a few minutes after the crazy redhead invited me into her home, I could still see the two women sneaking peeks at me, muttering words to each other. While Fiona giggled, Crazy Redhead kept rolling her eyes.
All of that had been going on until I popped the question.
Aside from th
