As soon as Helen and I arrive at the restaurant, she announces she's headed for the bar. I try to keep the shock off my face as she leaves me standing at the hostess station to add our party to the waiting list.

It never occurred to me that Helen drank. Or that a cocktail would be her first order of business when we're here to meet my future wife, especially since Raven was pretty clear about her no alcohol on the first date rule when we were choosing a venue for the meeting.

Helen rolls her eyes at me when I remind her of that.

"That silly rule is for you and your bride," she informs me, "I'm 82 years old, if I want a beer I'll get a beer. What's the woman gonna do? Refuse to let you meet the girl?"

With that, my chaperon is off to get herself a beer. I watch Helen disappear in the crowded bar and give my name to the hostess. Then I stand by the door where I can watch who's coming and going through the window by the door.

Not that I'm anxious, of course.

I try to keep myself busy by opening the door for people as they come and go, wondering what to expect from the woman that will be accompanying Ms. Swann on our dinner date tonight.

Helen hasn't been any help at all. She loves teasing me about my decision to hire a match maker and won't tell me anything about Tiffany-- ahem, Mrs. Rowe-- other than I'm exactly what she needs.

A group of women approach the door and I have it open for them before they can reach for the brass handle. There's about 5 of them, all in their late 20s maybe, dolled up in short skirts and high heels for what I'm sure they're calling "girl's night out" but they sure look to me like they're hoping to go home with someone other than each other.

As if reading my mind, every one of them smiles up at me and says "thanks" a little too sweetly as they walk past me, then the last lady stops dead in front of me and gives me a long look from head to toe and back again in an absolutely shameless eyefuck that makes me uncomfortable.

"Why don't you stop waiting by the door and come buy me a drink?" She purrs at me.

My guess is that this isn't her first stop for the night, and seeing as how it's only 6:30 in the evening, I'm sure it's not her last one either.

"The only woman I'll be buying drinks for tonight is my fiance, ma'am," I tell her with a nod of my head and a polite smile. I think it's a good cross between being politely letting her know I'm not available and still not insulting her but her expression goes sour and I get a hrumph from her as she stomps toward her friends.

I overhear her telling them that I called her "ma'am" and I watch in confused amusement as the rest of her party turn to stare at me like they're discussing what kind of drink to order just to throw on me.

Obviously I'm out of practice with the ladies. Probably a good thing I went with the match maker then, I think as I step outside in order to avoid further blocking the door as well as to put a little distance between me and my new fan club.

Maybe it's just because that's my own story. And a pretty common story for most of the guys I know who are on their own at this point in their lives, and most of the woman I know too, for that matter.

Now I'm watching the parking lot, scanning for the woman that's become so familiar to me over the months, glad that Raven herself is going to be here tonight.

While I keep a lookout for Raven's red hair, I find myself trying to piece together an image of the woman she'll have with her based on the little information I have.

I know she's already been married, hence the "Mrs." No one's given me the particulars yet, Raven told me it was Tiffany's story to tell. I'm guessing she's divorced, probably in her mid to late 40s-- my age or a little older. I know her name, I know she runs a bookstore, and I know she doesn't have family of her own and that's why Raven's been dealing with me directly instead of my having to go through a ton of interviews with a team like Helen and my girls have been putting Tiffany through.

I roll the name around my mind and say it aloud to myself just for practice. It's a pretty name. Soft, feminine. I wonder if she'll look like a Tiffany?

The woman I have pictured doesn't strike me as a Tiffany.

Then I see Raven. She's walking toward me looking every bit the class act I was expecting as she reaches toward me with a genuine smile and a tight hug like we're old friends. Something about her confidence immediately puts me at ease and I fall into idle conversation with her easily while I hold the door open for a couple of older ladies who giggle and flirt with me as they walk inside.

"You didn't need me at all," Raven laughs with a gesture toward the two women once the door closes behind them.

"Who knew all I had to do was stand down here at the Branding Iron and play doorman on a Saturday night?" I laugh with her.

Raven turns back toward the direction she came from and my eyes search the parking lot for the woman I'm here to meet, figuring she must have taken an extra moment to answer a call or run a comb through her hair one last time or whatever it is that women do that always seems to make them at least a few minutes late.

Instead, I notice Raven watching the antics of the young woman who's stopped at the end of the sidewalk to paw through her purse.

It takes me entirely too long to catch on.

I'd assumed the woman was just another local, here to catch up with girlfriends. She's not done up slutty like those other gals were but she made a hell of an effort at making sure she got noticed. Not that she needs the red dress or the matching lipstick to get noticed.

That girl is a natural beauty. The kind that gets a man's attention without even trying. She sure as hell had mine, my eyes were on her the whole time she was 6 paces behind Raven, right up till I had to take 'em off her to greet Raven.

Now that I see that the pretty brunette in the red dress has my match maker's attention too and once it sinks in that that's the girl we're waiting on, I don't know if I'm excited or scared as hell.

We wait while Tiffany looks through her purse. She looks like she's lost something and I want to help her find it but it's also plain as day that the girl is nervous as hell. Raven makes a sound beside me that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. When I turn my head, I see a smile on Raven's lips that tells me this is something she sees a lot of in her line of work.

Just when I'm about to go see if I can help, Tiffany-- Mrs. Rowe-- takes a visible breath and closes the few feet left between us.

Her hair is dark, pulled back and pinned at the nape of her neck with a few tendrils blowing around her face in the evening air. Her face is sweet and pretty with big, dark eyes rimmed in thick lashes that look so soft I want to reach out and run the tip of my finger over them.

She's a little shorter than average height for a woman, I'd guess about 5 foot 4 or so, and her body is-- my breath catches in my throat and I clear my throat as quietly as I can to avoid choking-- her body is all sweet curves taunting me in that red dress that hugs every line and begs me to do the same.

Mrs. Rowe is a good bit younger than I was expecting and looks exactly like a Tiffany-- she also looks like she's way out of my league.