By Leslie Lindsay Another piece from my novel-in-progress.  This is a section from a chapter in which a married woman is considering returning a long-lost book to a former boyfriend.  [Remember, it’s fiction.  Remember, it’s original.  If you like great–if you don’t, that’s okay too.  But please don’t claim as your own.  Thanks.  And enjoy reading it].          I could mail the book to Steve’s home.  I had his address, after all.  The solid-looking two-story presented itself in my mind’s eye.   The Estates of Cherrydale Farms.           I’d been there before.  I could go there again.  I wouldn’t have to see him.  I could just slip it into his mailbox or tuck it onto the threshold of the front door. It’s what any good friend or neighbor might do.  How many times had I returned a casserole dish to a neighbor in our own cul-de-sac, leaving it on her wicker bench sitting atop her front porch with a note of thanks, praising her culinary skills?  Or, the times I got a random itch to bake and …