Explaining him to my doctors resulted in an appointment with the resident psychologist. Attempting to explain him to Sharon, my best friend, resulted in audible eye rolls.
   I was okay with that. I would probably feel the same way if someone tried to tell me they heard voices in their head. I mean all kinds of serial killers hear voices, right?
   At that point I decided it would be the wiser course of action to just not mention Tim.
   After last month’s adventure in crime solving, an accident for the most part, Tim left me. Something new took his place.
   I began to see silver pickup trucks everywhere I went, including home. To tell the truth, I preferred Tim. Then I began seeing this guy, the same guy, along with the truck sightings.
   My fear that I traded Tim for a fear of silver pickups and a stalker was erased in one fell swoop at our local watering hole, the Gem.
   Locals just like to say they are going to the Gem because it sounds like the gym. They feel healthier just saying it. It’s a local thing.
   I was there on a Friday night with my usual friends – Sharon, Cora, Archie, all the regulars in my little group – when the stalker showed up.
   Sharon pointed him out, lurking in a corner and watching me. Okay, he wasn’t really lurking. He was just standing in the corner, leaning up against the wall and watching me.
   Fueled by a couple of beers and the no show of my maybe boyfriend, Detective John Kincaid, I mentally grabbed my bootstraps, or whatever it is you are supposed to use to pull yourself up, and went to face this guy down. Am I tough, or what? Gutty as hell.
   My actual name is Thomasina Joseffa which is why I go by Tee or Teejay. Tim had always called me Muse, because he said I inspire him. I don’t know what I inspired him to do. With invisible friends, hey, they can claim anything they want. Right?
   So there I was, bootstraps firmly in hand. I walked right up to this guy, the stalker, in his corner.
   This guy was gorgeous, a very handsome man, model material. Smoke colored eyes, blue gray with lashes longer than mine and cheekbones to die for. Dark blond hair curled almost to the collar of his shirt. I’m as plain as milk so there was definitely something askew.
   Facing him, I said “Are you following me?”
   He smiled, opened his mouth and said, “Hey, Muse.”
   I fainted. Faulty bootstraps or something. I knew the voice very well, having listened to it for almost two years.
   Tim caught me before I hit the ground. He pulled me against his chest, supporting my body with his while keeping his balance.
   Sharon, who was moral support for the whole face down thing, leaped to her feet and charged, whooping at the top of her lungs, causing the others to jump up, beer bottles in hand, ready for fight or flight. I missed that part but I have been told it was exciting. I’m sorry I missed it.
   Tim can think really fast.
   Catching me as I slumped, he held me up with arms around my waist, turning me so I was between him and Sharon. “It’s okay, folks! We’re old friends.”