People watching. It's not an uncommon pastime. Lots of us do it, right? I'm an introvert by nature, and a novelist by profession, so over the years I've used people watching as a way to get out and about and combat writer's block. I take a certain amount of pride in the skills I've honed over the years in my ability to observe details that let me figure out a person's story – to "read" them, if you will.

I had been staying at the Bluebird Lodge in the Florida Keys ostensibly to write, but despite the beautiful surroundings, the words weren't flowing. I'd taken to reading the other guests, and was feeling pretty confident that I had most of them pegged. There was the group of four women there, college friends on some kind of reunion. The haggard looking couple exchanging rueful smiles in between checking their phones were clearly white collar, working parents attempting a romantic weekend away. You get the idea.

Really, there were only two people staying at the Bluebird this weekend that had me stumped. I was sitting in a lounge chair watching them now as they walked up from the beach, heads bent together, holding hands. As they got closer, I pretended to be reading my paper while watching them from the corner of my eye. They were both very attractive; she was fair skinned and petite with flowing dark hair, while he was all burnished, blonde handsomeness. They stopped on the path not far from me. He said something quietly, which I couldn't quite hear. She looked over at me and nodded in agreement. Oops. Had they noticed me watching them? I raised my paper higher. He then leaned in and whispered something in her ear while lightly stroking her bare arm. Her cheeks flushed, and she shivered slightly, but nonetheless drew back and gave him a challenging, teasing look. He grinned, clearly pleased with himself, and she returned it before spinning on her heel and sauntering back toward the inn. He stuck his hands in his pocket and walked over to me, limping slightly. Standing over me, he gave me a friendly look that somehow made me wary.

"Writer?"

"Yes," I replied hestitantly, putting down at the newspaper and glancing at the unopened laptop next to me.

"Ahhh. That's what I told my partner." He called her partner. Interesting. "Do you mind if I ask you why you've been spying on us?"

"Spying?" I said, mortified. "I'm not spying on you."

"I've noticed you watching us. A lot. And you've been following us." He looked at me intently. "FBI agents don't like being spied on."

FBI! I certainly had not seen that coming. I had detected an air of mischief about him that spoke of anything but law enforcement.

"I'm so sorry," I said immediately. "Honestly, it's just a little game I play with myself –something silly where I try to figure people out without really knowing them. It's stupid, and I didn't mean to invade your privacy. Truly."

He had been watching me carefully and must have believed my apology, because he smiled again, this time with more warmth.

"Hmmmm." He paused and then sat down in the chair next to me. "So you've been trying to figure us out, huh? What have you got so far? What's our story?"

Oh, man. This was awkward as well as embarrassing. He just sat there waiting for me to speak, looking curious and amused. Well, if I wanted answers (and unfortunately, I really did) I would have to come clean.

"Well," I said slowly, "from what I can tell, you two are very much in love." I hesitated, but kept going. "It's new though, with all that nervous excitement and…a specific kind of energy that is there in the beginning of a romantic relationship. I could see that in the way you looked at each other at dinner, and how you touched her on the way upstairs. There's also a level of comfort and a sort of short hand in the way you communicate that tells me you've been close for years. Probably good friends or work colleagues that have made the leap to romance fairly recently."

He nodded, smiling to himself a little. "Good so far." He tilted his head, regarding me. "But something has you puzzled."

"Um, yeah." I didn't know how to put this. "I don't want to offend you, but I think you might be having an affair." I looked down and continued in a rush. "I mean, you wear a wedding ring that you've obviously just taken off. You have two separate rooms, but always are together in one of them. Are the two rooms for show? Is this supposed to be a work weekend as a cover? You tend to call each other by your first names in a quiet, intimate way, but also call each other by your last names in more public settings. But…but yet…nothing about your body language seems furtive or guilty. And you both – well, as long as I'm being honest, it's more her – she just doesn't strike me as a dishonest or sneaky person."

He chuckled. "No. She's not." He looked out to the ocean. I waited, hoping he would provide some confirmation, some answers. He looked down at his ring finger. "Well, I'll tell you this. I was wearing a wedding ring until very recently, but my wife actually died many years ago. I'm guessing you can write the end of the story based on that." He stood up, and looked towards the inn. His eyes were bright as he started back. He said smiling, "It's a happy one."