At ten o’clock, I threw my white apron in the hamper and sighed. I leaned against the narrow gray locker, letting my head rest against the metal.

What a night. I had served as half-waitress and half-pastry sous chef. I’d never seen the restaurant this busy on a regular weekend, packed like cats in the only litter box in the house. It was as if it were a holiday weekend.

Laughter erupted behind me, and when I turned my coworkers, Todd, Candice, and Jim were already in their street clothes.

“We’re going out for drinks. Wanna come?” Jim called out, reaching into his back pocket for his phone.

My body was bone-tired, and my muscles hurt when I moved. “Thanks, but no. I’m beat.”

Candice slipped her arm through mine. “Come on.” Her pout was on full display and almost convincing. “Pretty please?”

If I wasn’t so tired, I’d have been up for anything, but my body wanted a hot shower and my warm bed. I didn’t have it in me. “I would, guys. You know I’m always down but not tonight.”

It hadn’t helped my mood when I pulled the secret phone from my purse during my break to see no missed texts.

Waiting for nothing totally blows.

“I’ll just text you guys if I change my mind.”

“You sure?” Jim called out before backing toward the exit. He pointed to me and grabbed Candice’s arm. “Let’s go, slowpoke.”

“Bye, Sam,” Todd called out. “If you change your mind, text us, and we’ll let you know where we’re at.”

When they left, my whole body slumped against the locker. Numerous things were flying through my brain on fast-forward. Work, Hawke, thoughts of my mother, and the fact that I had to get my shit together and get the recommendations I needed to apply to culinary school.

That was the sole reason why I had left my small town to move to Chicago. To escape memories of my family, to start anew, and because Chicago was where Le Cordon Bleu College of Culinary Arts was.

I needed to get in. Not only because it was my dream to have my own kitchen someday, but because it had also been my mother’s dream for me. And maybe, just maybe, I felt that, by fulfilling my dreams, I’d be fulfilling it for the both of us.

Stepping out of the restaurant and into the clear, cool night, a little bit of the tension from earlier oozed out of me. Something about the scent of the fresh air and the twinkle of stars against the dark sky calmed my insides. It reminded me of our small town in Carbarny. The stars brought back memories of when Chloe and I would have a midnight snack in my backyard. I would be dressed in my princess pajamas while Chloe would be dressed like she was going to some fancy-schmancy dinner party.

I laughed internally. Some things never changed.

Chloe and I would feign sleep, afraid to get in trouble for being up too late, but that was when Mom would join us, bringing us freshly baked cookies and never forgetting the milk.

I inhaled deeply. It had been years since her death, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cried. I’d come to terms with that part of my life through counseling and talking it over with Chloe.

I didn’t know what had happened earlier at the restaurant—how being around Josh had sparked those memories of her.

I pulled my hair into a high ponytail, reached for my CTA pass in my purse, and texted Chloe that I was coming home. It was our protocol when I worked a late night. Girl code, safety, and all.

After a beat, she texted back with an, Okay.

As I walked toward the subway, a couple of cars whizzed down the street. It wasn’t the normal traffic because all the restaurants were closed for the evening. I clutched my CTA card in one hand while my other hand dug deep in my pocket, gripping my pepper spray. I’d come from a small town where nothing ever happened, but in Chicago, I knew anything could happen.

My feet padded faster to the subway when, in my periphery, I saw a car trailing slowly behind me. There was not another car in the vicinity, only the one a few feet behind me.

The streets were eerily vacant.

There was a chilly black silence in the air.

In two seconds, I was about to book it like a crazy woman. That, or empty my whole can of pepper spray onto the driver’s face.

“Cut it out,” someone called out.

When I heard the car door slam, I didn’t wait for them to drag my body into the car and abduct me. I booked it, like a bull was chasing me and I had a target on my back.

“Wait!”

I ran faster.

Wait for what? Them to attack? Were they crazy?

I turned the corner, but I heard the stomp of heavy footsteps trailing close by. Whoever was behind me was gaining speed and closing the gap between us. Beads of sweat formed at the back of my neck, and my breaths heaved in and out in exertion.

In the next second, I staggered to a stop and held out my mace to protect myself. “Don’t you—”

“Sam.”

I squinted under the overhead light. “Josh? What the hell?”

“Whoa, don’t spray,” he said. Both of his hands were up, and he walked carefully toward me, his face cautious. “Sorry. My friends are idiots.”

I panted and took a deep breath, pressing a hand to my racing heart to slow my breathing. “You scared the living crap out of me.”

He laughed. “Drop the weapon, ma’am. I mean no harm.” He inched toward me. “You have the right to remain silent.” One step closer. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” Another step. A flash of humor crossed his face.

It was hard to be mad at him when he was acting so goofy. We were a couple of steps apart when he stopped.

My heart was still racing. Racing like a car in the Indy 500. “What’re you doing here, Josh?”

“I’m arresting you.” Both dimples were on display. Under the overhead light, his chocolate-brown eyes lightened to an amber color.

I quirked an eyebrow. “And what did I do exactly?”

“You can plead the fifth if you want. I know it’s not your fault.”

“Uh-huh.” And, now, I was smiling to match his smile.

“I really should blame your parents or the gods that be.” He leaned in and took my hand in his, the one still clutching the pepper spray. “It’s a crime to be this devastatingly beautiful.”

I laughed. It was the worst overused line, but I couldn’t help but feel flattered, especially by the way he was looking at me, like his cheesy line was the absolute truth.

“Whatever. You and your lines.”

He grinned, his dimples deepening. “Really. It’s not fair to the other women. And guys like me…” He placed his free hand on his chest. “We don’t even have a chance.”

His boyish good looks made my heartbeat pitter-patter and pick up in pace.

The honking in the background broke up our connection. My eyes took in the shiny black BMW that had pulled up next to the curb.

“Hey, hey, hey. Get in the car, birthday boy!”

Two guys were in the car. The driver had spiky yellow hair and the bluest eyes, and the guy in the passenger seat, halfway out his window, had a buzz cut so close to his head, I could see his scalp.

“Let’s go!”

Rich, obnoxious boys with their fancy toys.

I shook my head and turned, ready to get home. If I wasn’t home in ten minutes, I was sure Chloe would send out an APB on me.

“Josh, I’m going to go.” I motioned my thumb toward the subway.

I didn’t know why our paths had crossed again. Maybe it was a coincidence, or maybe it wasn’t. My tired self at the moment didn’t care.

“No, wait.” He threw his friends a look. A look that said, Beat it. “Guys, go. I’ll meet you at your place.”

“Hell no, man,” Josh’s friend in the passenger seat argued from the car. “It’s your birthday, and we’re going to party.”

The muscle in Josh’s jaw jumped, his smile slowly fading.

“Josh, go with your friends.”

“I want to be with you,” he said softly, his words sounding like they meant more than they should. “I came here for a reason.”

My jaw tensed because I didn’t want to answer questions about earlier, on why I’d let the waterfall of tears flow.

“Josh!” The driver popped his head out the window. “Come on, man.”

Annoyance replaced his normally happy demeanor. “Just fucking go. I’ll get home.”

His friends’ eyes widened, and their mouths shut. Part of me believed that Josh didn’t let the word fuck fly often.

“Your car?” the driver asked.

His car? Shoe salesmen could afford BMWs?

Josh threw them an aggravated look. “I’ll just pick it up later.”

“Just text us, ’kay?”

“Yeah,” Josh called out, not bothering to look back, his eyes directly on me.

His black Beemer drove down the street and turned a corner.

“Nice ride,” I said, gauging his reaction. “They must pay you a ton at Nordstrom.”

“Long story.” He took my hand in his, intertwining our fingers, as though it were natural for him to do so. “Let’s go.”

I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Josh, first of all, I don’t know you. Second of all, what’re you doing here? Third…I’m just tired.” I retracted my hand from his, needing the space, needing to leave, needing my bed.

In one big swoop, he lifted me off my feet.

“Josh!” I yelped. My arms wrapped around his neck to steady myself. “Put me down.”

“No.” His voice was laced with humor. “First off, I want to get to know you. Second, I still feel like shit about earlier, and I want to make it up to you.”

“It’s not your—”

“Third, I just really want a drink for my birthday. One drink.”

“Josh, please put me down,” I insisted.

“I wasn’t finished with my third point.” He raised his finger for emphasis, a dimple emerging on his face. “You’re tired, so I’m carrying you down the street to Jake’s Bar.”

“Josh…”

“Please, Sam,” he pleaded with a pretend pout. “It’s my birthday. I just got chewed out by my dad. My ex-girlfriend called me, crying. It’s been a shitty day. I need a drink. Can you do that for me?”

His face turned tense, as though he were afraid of what I was going to say, and I decided, in his arms, that I didn’t want to add to his shitty day.

“Only if you put me down.”

“Okay.” Without argument, he stopped and set me on my feet.

I peered up at him, noting how the moon highlighted the brown in his irises.

Stooping down, he pointed to his back and said, “Hop on.”

I gave him a look. “Piggyback?”

“Unless you want to hop on my front.”

I laughed. “Negative.”

“You’re tired. I want my drink. Hop on.”

And I did.

My feet hurt, and he was offering.

He took off in a full-on sprint to Jake’s Bar down the street. The neon lights were highlighted in blue against the red brick building. He gripped my thighs, and I linked my hands against his neck to keep from falling. We looked ridiculous, running down the street like we were children, but I didn’t care.

The cool night air whipped against my face. My hair blew behind me. I angled closer, and the warmth of Josh’s body radiated against mine, a contrast to the chilly night. Then, the tiredness dimmed, and I smiled, feeling carefree.

He slowed to a stop, and I hopped off his back. He wasn’t winded at all, and I was impressed.

“Do you run marathons or something?”

He laughed and then leaned in. He brushed escaping strands of hair from my face, taming my flyaways. “Yeah, I run but not marathons.”

“I’d be dying if I just ran two blocks, carrying a ton of bricks.”

“Whatever, you weigh nothing.” He opened the door, and I stepped into the bar. “I play ball a lot and swim. Typical boy stuff.”

I had a feeling he was being modest.

I moved, and he led the way, holding my hand again.

The city bar was packed with patrons. Televisions lined the wall, music filled the air, and tables were topped with bar food.

We plopped down on stools against the bar, and the first thing I did before ordering was text Chloe, telling her not to wait up.

I ran my hands through my hair and readjusted my ponytail.

Josh pulled at a loose strand and tucked it behind my ear. “Stop, you’re beautiful.”

“Whatever.”

“I only tell the truth.” He tipped my chin with his fingertips. “So, what’re you drinking?”

“Would it be lame if I just had water?”

He shook his head. “Nope. I’m not the peer-pressuring type. Have whatever you want.”

He turned to the female bartender with a huge tat that trailed all the way up her arm. It appeared to be an image of a dragon’s tail, and the rest of the dragon might have been hidden under her shirt.

“Can I have a Miller Lite? And this beautiful woman would like a bottled water.”

He took out his wallet, but I stopped him, noting the glint of his Rolex watch on his wrist.

“It’s your birthday, so I’m paying.”

With a slow shake of his head, he said, “That’s not how my mom raised me.”

“Josh—” My voice was on the verge of whiny.

“Sam, it’s water. You can just get me the next time we go out.”

I quirked an eyebrow, looking at him with amused wonder. “Next time? You’re pretty confident.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for.”

When the bartender passed us our drinks, he threw down his black Amex to open a tab. Curiosity spiked within me.

First, the BMW, then the Rolex, and now, a credit card without a limit?

“What do you do for a living again?”

His eyebrows pulled together, as though he didn’t get my question because he knew I already knew the answer. “I’m a full-time law student and part-time shoe salesmen?” he answered my question with a question.

“I mean…” My voice trailed off because it was none of my business, yet curiosity pushed to the surface.

“Go ahead. I’m an open book.”

“Is that why you answer everything with ‘long story’?”

“Touché, Princess.” He lifted his beer bottle and tapped it with my water bottle.

My face scrunched up, nose wrinkled, eyebrows pulled together. “Are you going to keep calling me that?”

“Pretty much.” He motioned one hand for me to continue.

“I know you’re not struggling for money.” I pointed to the watch on his wrist. “And that ride? Your Beemer?”

“Yeah…that.” He shifted with unease, and his focus dropped to the table. “High school graduation bribe.”

I cocked my head, but I was unsure if I should be nosy about a guy I didn’t even know.

With one long exhale, he hesitated, measuring me for a moment. “Let’s just say, my family has money.”

“Is that all I’m getting?”

He nodded. “For now. I can’t talk about it now ’cause it’s my birthday, and it just brings up all these memories I’d like not to think about on the day I was born.”

I threw him a pointed, unsatisfied look, and he flashed me a dimple.

“It’s not first-date conversational stuff,” he said.

“Date? I think you kind of kidnapped me.”

He placed his hand on his chest, feigning offense. “Me?” he scoffed. “If I remember correctly, you’re the one who jumped my bones.”

“Whatever! I hopped on your back.” I slapped his shoulder, and my mouth fell open. “You told me to.”

“Tell that to a judge, and see if he believes you.” He narrowed his eyes, challenging me.

I laughed, and when I did, he leaned in closer.

“Red or blue?”

“What?” I frowned, feeling the heat from his proximity.

He waved one hand in the air. “It’s our first-date speed round.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

He threw back his head and peered up at the ceiling and then back to meet my eyes. “It’s like playing Twenty Questions on our first date but speedy fast.”

“This is not a date!” I insisted.

“Fine, whatever.” He tapped the bar. “Red or blue?”

“As in, which is my favorite color? Neither.”

“Princess, just tell me which word pops up first in your head. No-brainer here.”

“I just don’t get the point.”

He tapped the bar again. “The first thing that pops in your mind is your true answer.”

And then I decided to humor him. “Okay, fine. Red.”

“Brownie or cookies?”

“Cookies.”

“Christmas or New Year’s?”

“Duh!” I laughed. “Christmas.”

He face split into a wide grin. “Sunset or sunrise?”

“Sunset.”

“Money or happiness?”

“Happiness,” I said softly. Because ultimate happiness was hard to obtain when life got in the way.

“Beer or wine?”

“Beer.”

“Love or lust?” His cheeks reddened, his eyes getting intense.

“Love.” My cheeks flushed at my honesty.

He paused and placed a finger against his lips, contemplating.

“And what was the point of that?” I asked.

“To see if we are compatible.” He winked. “And we are.”

Goodness gracious, was he corny, but weirdly enough, it added to his appeal.

“Please don’t tell me you’ve used that before.”

“I haven’t.” He leaned toward me, pulling the stool forward. “I don’t know why either. That’s a good pick-up line.”

I shook my head, amused.

His eyes took in my face, his one look bringing warmth to the apples of my cheeks. And I took him in as well. His eyes were like the deep chocolate in the middle of a molten cake. He had the handsomest face, a face that would never change.

“You must look like your mom,” I commented.

His father was good-looking, but they didn’t look the same. They didn’t have the same eyes or hold the same smile.

“Yeah.” His voice dropped, his happy demeanor disappearing.

The chatter around us seemed to dull to a low buzz, and I wondered again where his mother had been for his birthday dinner. I remembered him simply saying she wasn’t there.

A sudden dread washed over me as I asked the question, “Where was she tonight?”

“She’s dead,” he said quietly, confirming my fear.

He tipped back his beer bottle, taking a long swig, most likely to bring back the warmth to his chest.

The air escaped my lungs in a swift exhale because I knew about death. I knew how much it hurt. I knew how the burn never went away, even after years. I knew how much one would sacrifice just to have that person back on earth again, how one would spend their days differently. If I had my mother back, I’d never waste a moment, not a minute, not a second.

As though I knew it was what he needed, I angled closer and hugged his middle. “I’m sorry.”

His somber look tore at my insides. His eyes glossed over, and if he was going to cry, I was about to lose it, too. “

It’s okay.” He turned back to his beer. “It’s times like this, my birthday—because she used to make my birthday so grand—that I miss her. It’s not the same without her. My dad can’t deal. My sister forces us to go out for functions and shit. I just want to forget, but I can’t.”

I hugged him tighter, smelling the scent of his laundry detergent through his clothes. His strong arms encircled my waist, holding me, too. Though I was comforting him, he was comforting me also.

“She was my favorite person, full of life and positivity. You could never dim her light. Even when she was suffering at the end and cancer had spread throughout all her organs”—he winced—“she wasn’t worried about herself. She was only concerned about whom she was leaving behind.”

I choked back a sob as tears were about to let loose. I wished my mother had been that selfless. I wished she had thought of me first—how much I’d needed her, how much I couldn’t live without her, how much I would miss her every single day.

“She was beautiful, kind. And she forced me to follow my dreams.” He released a gut-wrenching shaky sigh. It took energy to breathe through his thoughts. “I just miss her, so damn much.” His voice came out so heartbroken that my insides crumbled. “She died on December twenty-third, right before Christmas.”

He opened my dam of tears again, and I hiccuped into his chest as thoughts of my mother rushed to the surface. Loss could relate to loss, as pain could relate to pain. I appreciated his honesty.

He pulled back and tenderly brushed the back of his hand down my cheek. “I’m sorry. That’s two for two today.”

And then I let it out because I wanted him to know that I felt his heartbreak, that I understood.

“Something about today, or you…reminds me of my own mother.” I swiped at the bottom of my eyes and blinked, forcing my focus on the overhead light above us to prevent any more tears from falling. “She passed away my freshman year of culinary arts school.”

“Sam…I’m so sorry.” He pulled me tight against him, rubbing my back with his palm, gently yet firmly.

I had no desire to back out of his comforting embrace.

“How?” he asked.

And then it started. The familiar choking sensation crept up my throat, as if someone had their hand around my neck, gripping tighter, tighter, tighter until I couldn’t breathe.

“She took her own life, overdosed on prescription drugs”—I squeezed my eyes shut and rushed out my next words—“when my father left us.” The salt from my tears touched my lips.

My trembling limbs clung to him, and he held me until my whole body relaxed against his. Josh had unleashed memories of my mother. Something about him reminded me of her, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. His embrace tightened until the chaos from the customers around me ceased, and all I heard was silence.

Time passed, and even though I was pretty sure the bar was about to close, I was afraid to lift my head. I was a tad embarrassed that I had cried a river on his shirt.

When I peeked up, Josh was looking at me. And he did the opposite of what I’d thought he’d do.

He smiled, two dimples and all. “I thought you fell asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you. And I’m pretty sure my shirt is wet from your drool.”

The patrons at the bar had disappeared. His drink was watered down and sweating on the bar top.

I gave a watery laugh, defusing the awkward moment.

“Whatever…” I averted my eyes and scanned the room.

The bartender was drying up glasses and wiping down the bar. The music softened to a quieter beat.

Josh’s smile faltered, and he brushed the side of my cheek with his hand. “What do you want to do, pretty girl? Anything you want, we’ll do.”

I peered up to his gentle eyes and answered with hesitation. “I just want to go home.”

He nodded and stood, extending his hand. I wrapped my fingers around his, and that comforting warmth spread up my arm. It was hard to believe I’d just met this guy mere weeks ago, and it was only our third encounter. The calmness in his demeanor and soft fierceness in his hold made me feel so safe with him.

When he kissed the back of my hand, I inhaled deeply.

“Then, let’s take you home, Princess.”

There was something so natural, so comfortable, about being around Josh. And I realized this night hadn’t turned out how I’d thought it would.