As I read through old messages between Tom and me, I smile.

I lie on my back on my rose-covered duvet, my cell held between my hands above my face, my red hair fanning out behind me. Even though it’s growing cold outside, it’s warm in my apartment. I’m wearing a pair of cupcake-patterned pajama shorts, my gangly legs stretched out, my bare toes twisting in the fluffy pink blanket at the end of my bed.

—There are so many people here tonight, and all I can think about is you.

A girlish glee fills me with warm, fizzy bubbles. Tom’s the most engaging, charming man I’ve ever me—sort of—and over the last six months, he’s been there for me.

—Sometimes, I feel like opening this flower shop was a stupid idea. I must have been a fool to think that loving flowers constituted a business plan. I seem to be running off my feet and making no money at the same time. How does that work?

—Keep your chin up, Zoe. Starting a business is hard, but when the reward comes—and it will—you won’t regret it for a moment. The feeling of seeing something you’ve built from the ground up doing well is indescribable.

I could tell Tom anything—and I did. Tom knew everything about me, except what I look like.

When Tom first messaged me, I was suspicious, because his profile didn’t have a picture. I read his first introduction anyway because the system had matched us. Ninety-eight percent compatible. I found the way he wrote was so different from everybody else on the site. He was funny and articulate.

During the weeks that followed, we exchanged hundreds of messages. When I asked him for pictures, Tom would only tell me that he thought it was more fun to let the mystery linger, although he sent me the occasional body shot to keep things interesting. If things go well, you’ll get to see me on our first date. Just look out for the most handsome man in the room. It doesn’t matter which room ;)

I appreciated Tom’s bold sense of humor. He was confident, which drew me in and kept me hooked on the mystery. Another profile with no picture would have soon lost my interest after a few, dull, generic messages, but not with Tom. For him, I keep my phone on all the time, unable to wait for the next message.

We’d been talking about a work party that Tom was going to tonight. I didn’t know much about what Tom did, only that he worked in publishing.

—How’s the party going?

—Boring as hell. I wish you were here.

—New York’s a long way to come for one night.

—It would be the night of your life.

I shiver with excitement. Tom’s words always send tingles zipping through me. Part of the beauty of not having a picture was that I can imagine him however I want. In my mind, he’s tall, but not too tall—just enough that I could rest my head on his shoulder. Just tall enough that I could kiss him without standing on my toes.

I imagine him dark and dashing, with a bit of mischief in his eyes, and a smile that makes my knees go weak. I picture him as the most gorgeous man in the world.

He’s probably nothing like the way I imagine him. How could he be? If he was a handsome, sexy man, he wouldn’t hide behind his keyboard and pretend that keeping his photo to himself was some fun game. Then again, those body shots were perfection.

Soon enough, I’ll find out. Tom arrives in town on Friday to visit family, and that’s when we’ll meet.

• I’ll be waiting for the night of my life on Friday.
• I’m going to turn your world upside down.

My heart beats faster. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a man, and Tom’s flirty promises keep me up at night with vivid, lustful fantasies.

I’ll open the door when he arrives. Straight away, I’ll recognize him as the man I’ve been picturing.

“I’ve waited so long for this moment,” he’ll say. Then, without another word, he’ll step through the door, wrap his arms around me, and kiss me so hard and so deeply that I lose all sense of time.

We’ll fall into the bedroom. He’ll lead like he’s walked through my apartment a thousand times before, full of a bold, suave confidence that makes me feel like a Bond girl.

He’ll throw me down onto the bed; rip off my clothes. I’ll run my hands down a perfect row of abs. We’ll make love all night, our bodies blissful and alive.

My mouth is dry, my palms sweaty. The vision makes my head spin. I’ve held onto this fantasy for so long: the day I meet the man who’s already won my heart.

Please let him be the one.