“Hi,” says a buxom blonde as I step onto the sidewalk in front of the library.

“Oh, hi,” I say, my eyes scanning the sidewalks looking for my auburn beauty.

“You’re David Waterston, right?” the blonde asks trying to duck into my view.

“Um, yes. I am,” I say, forcing a smile, and do my best to be ‘present’ for the next five seconds while I politely let this girl down. I know that any poor press is not good for the family. It’s been drilled into me since I was old enough to notice that I’m noticed.

“So, I’m an eligible single, too,” she says confidently like that makes us an instant match.

Eager to find the girl who had captured my interest, someone the complete opposite of this fake creature in front of me, I say, “Well, I wish you luck on that,” flash her a smile and make a hasty escape by crossing the street. Okay, maybe that wasn’t politely letting her down. I’m pretty sure I hear her scoff behind me, but she can’t be serious that her ‘I’m an eligible single’ line would work… really?

I turn and instantly spot the girl I do want to talk to. She’s still on her cell phone. I watch her, how her mouth moves when she talks, and how she plays with her hair. She must like what she’s hearing on the other end of the line because she is smiling. I cautiously walk over near to where she’s standing. Is she talking to a friend? A guy friend? Or, please no, a boyfriend?

While I’m trying to figure out who she’s talking to, I think about ways I can meet this girl. Normally, I don’t have to even work at asking a girl out, they just seem to throw themselves at me like the blonde from about fifteen seconds ago… since the seventh grade. And this past month, after being voted one of Chicago’s 20 Most Eligible Singles, I seem to attract women like white on rice.

I hear the object of my recent obsession say, “Goodbye, Mom… I love you, too.”

Well! You can’t go wrong with a woman who loves her mother. My ex certainly didn’t. Those two were like oil and water.

I watch as my redhead tucks her phone into her back pocket, and the devil in me is a little jealous of that phone being so close to her perfectly shaped behind. She stands and looks a little lost in thought.

I shake off the high school kid in me and take a breath. I need to ask this girl out.

“Hello again,” I begin as I walk up next to her. “Twice in one day. I’d say it’s fate,” I say, trying to be my most charming self, but instead, I think I sound like an idiot. “May I take you out to dinner?”

She turns and looks at me, startled. “Sorry?” she says, her gentle eyes widen with alarm.

“Forgive me,” I say graciously, kicking myself for already messing this up. “This is the second time I’m seeing you today, well, the third, actually, and think that maybe it’s the stars in alignment or something. Like I’m supposed to ask you out. So, I thought dinner would be nice. Maybe tomorrow?” I sound funny even to myself. My voice sounds high-pitched and rushed.

“Um,” she says like a scared kitten. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Say ‘yes,’” I suggest, aiming for charm. “Unless you’re… there’s someone else?” I say and then hold my breath.

“No, I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Good,” I say and give her my best smile again. “So, dinner?”

She pulls her lower lip in between her teeth, and I see her run the pads of her thumb and forefinger of her right hand in circles.

“I don’t even know your name,” she says timidly as she looks me over. I notice, though, that as she’s looking at me, and it’s not with any recognition. Just like at the aquarium. Like she truly doesn’t know who I am. Or maybe she’s not sure I’m David Waterston.

“My apologies.” I extend my hand to shake hers. “I’m David Wat—” I start, and cut myself off before giving her my last name. If she doesn’t know who I am, should I tip my hat? Embarrassingly, I find the idea laughable that she doesn’t know who I am. I’ve been in so many papers, especially the tabloids, and appeared on so many talk shows about my ‘Most Eligible’ status over the past month. Furthermore, somehow, I feel as though telling her my full name and what I’m most known for, would scare her off. Or it would make me look like a douche. Hi, I’m David Waterston. You know… of the Chicago Waterstons. And one of Chicago’s 20 Most Eligible Singles. Instead, I give her my mother’s maiden name. “Redding. David Redding.”

We lock eyes as she hesitates for a couple of moments before daintily accepting my outstretched hand. I’m enchanted as her cheeks grow pink again like she’s embarrassed. Why she would be embarrassed, I have no idea. I’m the one who appears to have screwed up his own name, but I’m astounded that it appears she doesn’t know who I am. There’s no hint that she is questioning my ‘name.’ I can’t recall the last time I was anonymous. I am hopeful that I can get to know her on a basic level—no big bank accounts or famous families and no cheesy ‘titles.’ Just a guy and a girl…

He’s looking at me with his disarmingly dark eyes. I feel like I’m lost in his gaze. And his size. He’s tall, a good few inches taller than Austin’s five feet eleven. At five feet nine, I often feel awkward and gawky around men as we’re often nearly eye to eye. I always envied the petite girls who were tucked into the crook of their man’s arm. I feel like I’d fit into this man’s embrace much that way.

My eyes trail from one shoulder to the other. He’s broad. I can’t help but notice how his suit fits him perfectly, and it’s very clear that under the fabric is a very fit body.

I practically jump when I realize that he’s holding out his hand to me. Waiting. What? Why? Oh, right! He’s just told me that his name is David.

I carefully place my hand in his and almost jump at how good his large hand feels as it curls around mine. I’m taken aback by how soft his hand is. Not like any man I’d known. All of the men I knew had rough, calloused hands. I guess I just thought all men had hands like that, but not David’s. Furthermore, his touch feels safe, yet there’s almost an electrical charge where our skin is touching. Then I tell him, “I’m Talia. Talia Jameson.” I smile inwardly, still secretly enjoying the sound of my ‘new’ name.

He doesn’t let go of my hand, and my heart races.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful woman. I apologize if that sounds cheesy, but…” He lifts my hand to his lips and right here—on State Street in Chicago, Illinois— he kisses the back of my hand like some old-time movie. And what? A beautiful woman? Did he just call me a beautiful woman?

“So, dinner?”

“I… I… um…” I stammer. I curse myself and wish I had the confidence of Heather, Lainey, or even Millie.

“Forgive me. Dinner is rather presumptuous,” he says. My stomach drops. Had I lost the invitation because I took too long to figure out if I should say ‘yes?’ “How about something with less commitment? Drinks?” he suggests.

“Drinks? Yeah. Sounds great,” I say, trying to look more relaxed when I feel anything but. I don’t get asked out by random men. Especially men who look like David.

But David smiles, and he motions for us to start walking on the street toward the lake.

We head down State Street, and I’m walking alongside this stranger in a haze as we talk about the unbelievably gorgeous weather the city’s had over the past few days. Thankfully, the conversation was an easy one because I’m hard-pressed to think clearly. I’ve just been asked out by the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Can you call a man beautiful? I would think yes, but if asked, I’ll say he’s handsome, but to me, he will always be beautiful. A beautiful voice… Beautiful eyes… I just hope that the rest is as beautiful, specifically his heart. I hope that I’m not being taken for a naïve fool.

As we make our way through the throngs of people, I can’t help but notice several women eye the incredibly handsome man walking with me. With me!

David stops at a nice-looking restaurant and opens the door for me like a true gentleman.

“Welcome to Zs. Table for two?” the perky hostess asks, grinning like a fool aside from her judgmental glance my way. Yes, she seems more David’s speed with her perfect, sleek, long and gleaming blonde hair, her glowing skin, and perfect makeup. Her clothes are trendy, and it looks like she goes to those fancy fitness classes. Again, I’m bewildered that he’s with me. Plain, little ‘ole me.

“No, thank you,” David says and looks at me and smiles, and my heart skips a beat. David places his hand at the small of my back which sends a thrill through my body, and I forget that I’m comparing myself to anyone. “We’re just getting a quick drink.”

He guides us confidently toward the bar filled with a mix of people dressed in suits and business clothes as well as tourists. Finding us a tall table in the bar, he pulls a chair out for me to sit. I wiggle into the chair and then watch David as he swiftly slides into his seat.

“So, how did you like the fish?” he asks.

“The fish?” I echo, not sure what he’s talking about.

“The aquarium. I saw you studying the tanks. I know the dolphins got you wet, but you seem to have recovered from that.”

“Oh. The fish! Yes. They’re fascinating. That big tank, the reef, in the middle with the eel and the sea turtle and the shark. I have to go back one day and see what the feeding time looks like. The anglerfish,” I shudder. “Creepy. And the jellyfish, they’re so hypnotic to watch. I like the clownfish as it worked its way through the anemone. Like the movie Finding Nemo.” I don’t know what is happening to me. I’m just blathering like a fool! How embarrassing.

“Ah, the clownfish. Yes, a clever little fella. As much as I enjoy the fish in the tanks, nothing compares to snorkeling in their natural warm waters.”

“Thank you,” I say, relaxing a little.

“For what?”

“For not making me feel silly.”

“Nonsense. The aquarium has been a favorite place of mine for a long, long time.”

Thankfully, we are interrupted by the waitress. Although not so thankfully, the waitress ignores me, and I’m suddenly a little irked. “Hi, my name’s Genevieve,” she says to David. “I’ll be taking care of you. Can I get you something to drink?”

I’m instantly envious of her name. What a glamorous name. Foreign and soft. I say the name to myself with a French accent. And she’s beautiful to boot. Curves in all the right places. Skin that glows. Tall. But David doesn’t seem to notice. He turns his sultry brown eyes to me and asks, “Talia, hon, what would you like?”

‘Hon?’ What the…? Did he just call me ‘hon?’ Was it a way to diss the waitress?

Genevieve turns toward me, a slight scowl on her lips, and I feel a little vindicated that David didn’t let her forward flirting affect him.

“Just a Diet Coke, please,” I say.

Genevieve practically rolls her eyes before returning her attention, and her smile, back to David.

“And what can I get for you?” she asks David coyly placing the end of her pen on her lower lip.

David picks up a drink menu off the table and quickly peruses the offerings. “I’ll have a glass of the Frog’s Leap. The cabernet.”

“Nice choice,” she says and is off, swishing her hips as she goes.

“Talk about no class,” he mutters under his breath. “So, where were we?” he asks, focusing his brown eyes on me with his smile that his quickly becoming my favorite thing to see.

“Oh yes, museums. So, is it just fish, or do other museums hold similar interests?”

“Oh no. I like them all. The Art Institute is amazing. I was just there the other day,” I tell him. He smiles. “I have yet to get to the planetarium. And there’s the Science and Industry Museum,” I prattle on, the nerd in me in full bloom.

“The Adler is incredible. I’d love to take you if you would like the company. I know some people enjoy museums on their own.”

“Um, no. I like museums with a friend. That would be nice. But don’t you work? Or do you just go to museums all day? Or were you talking about this weekend?” God help me. Why is my mouth doing this? Saying crazy things? But I can’t seem to stop. “Do you work at the Shedd?”

“The Shedd? No,” he answers with a laugh, and I instantly feel stupid. Why did I ask such a lame question? Why didn’t I just ask where he worked?

“I’m sorry,” he says kindly, reaching out and taking hold of my hands that are now curling the beverage napkin Genevieve had set on the table in front of me. “I didn’t mean to laugh,” David explains. “I’d love to work in a museum, but I manage money, investment funds and so on. For a… a private group.”

I feel better. I’m not sure if it’s his explanation or if it’s that he’s holding my hands.

“Nice that you have time to go to museums in the middle of the day,” I say.

Our waitress returns and silently sets our drinks on the table. I can’t help but notice that she gracefully serves David first delicately setting his wine glass in front of him and then plops my heavy glass of Diet Coke in front of me, missing the napkin entirely.

“I have some wiggle room in my schedule,” David answers, not giving one bit of attention to the flirty yet rude waitress. “My boss likes me,” he says. “How about you? Where do you work?”

“Well, I don’t have a job here yet. I’ve only been in Chicago a couple of weeks,” I explain. “I used to live in southern Illinois, but I wanted a change. Something exciting. Chicago seemed to fit the bill. I recently thought about going…” I stop talking, and I can feel my cheeks grow pink again. I can’t possibly tell him what I was just about to say.

“Going where? I hope you’re not leaving,” he says with earnest, a worry line creasing his forehead.

“No. Not leaving Chicago,” I tell him. “I… um… well.” I look down at my hand in my lap as I confess, too fearful of his judgment and the look I’ll see in his eyes when I tell him. “I am thinking about going to college. I didn’t go right after high school.” I hold my breath and wait for his criticism. Surely, he’s well educated, and to be ‘out’ with a girl like me? One with only a high school diploma? I can only imagine if he learns I grew up in a trailer park. This date is over. I should probably just grab my bag and slink out now.

“Oh, is that all,” he says, looking relieved. “I think college is a great idea,” he adds, then continues. “My friend, Stephan, from high school took a gap year after we graduated. Pissed his parents off big time. He was so smart, too. He’d gotten accepted into Princeton, Yale, and Carnegie Mellon. Anyway, he was big into programming and headed to Silicon Valley after we graduated high school. It worked out for him, though. He’s now a big-wig at Google. Never stepped a foot in a college.”

“Wow,” I say, feeling less embarrassed that I’d not gone to college when I graduated. Even smart kids skipped college. And they succeeded. I wasn’t doing great, but I had been doing okay. But now I have money to go further. And I want more than some lame customer service job at a utility company. “Where did you go to high school?” I ask, not like I would know the school. I wasn’t from Chicago. But, again, my mouth was just blurting odd questions.

“A private, small, all-boys boarding school in the Northeast. My dad went there, and so did my grandfather. A stinky old place, but it holds some good memories.”

“Like in that old movie, Dead Poets Society?” It’s one of my favorite movies of all time. I wished that I could have gone to a boarding school. Of course, in that movie it was an all-boys boarding school, and it took place in the 1960s.

“Great movie,” he says, then looks off into the distance, pounds his fist on his chest and proclaims, “Oh captain, my captain!” he says it a little loudly quoting the famous scene in the book that was cited in the movie, and drawing a few glances from the tables around us. He then leans toward me over the table and asks, “Should I stand on the table?”

“Oh, my! No! Not here. Please don’t!” I say, mortified at the attention it would bring. We both start laughing, and I’m finally starting to feel really comfortable talking to this charming, perfect stranger. Well, he’s not so much a stranger anymore.

We chat a little about our favorite movies, and it seems like he’s seen every single one ever released, even tossing out quotes from many. I tell him that I’m more of a reader and that launches a hearty discourse of our favorite books, and I’m elated that he’s well-read although his taste in books is a little different than mine.

“Can I refresh your drinks?” Genevieve asks David, interrupting our laughter and still giving me her backside.

David looks at his watch and says, “I’m sorry.” He looks at me sadly and explains, “I really have to go. I have a dinner thing in Winnetka tonight.” With barely a glance at our attentive waitress. He asks her for the check.

She gives a slightly disappointed pout and says she’ll be right back.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks.

“I don’t have any plans,” I tell him.

“Dinner?”

We’re back to where we were about an hour ago. I battle in my mind with the pros and cons of going out with a stranger. I mean, we’d be out publicly, so that’s safe, more or less, much like this bar. But I’m not in this guy’s league. I mean, surely, he sat at the cool kids’ table at his private boarding school. Is he making a mockery of me? A pity date of some kind? Did someone dare him? I scold myself for thinking like a kid, for thinking like I did back in Harton, and take a breath and let it out. What would Heather do? Or Lainey or Millie? Even very cautious Cara? I search his eyes looking for any indication that he’s at all skeevy and can’t find anything. And I’ve encountered more than my fair share of untrustworthy men.

I take a breath and answer, “Okay,” as confidently as I can, nodding to further convince myself that I’m doing the right thing as well as hoping I’m not making a colossal mistake.

When his face bursts into a smile, I automatically respond with a grin of my own.

“Do you have a favorite restaurant?” he asks me.

Having so little knowledge of the restaurants in this city, I answer, “Not really.”

“Let me think of a couple of good options,” he says thoughtfully. David hands me his phone. “Put your cell number in. I’ll message you a couple of places, and you can decide.” I take his phone and enter my name and cell number into the appropriate fields. “And I’ll need your address so I can pick you up.”

I’m unsure about giving my address, so I tell him, “I can just meet you there.”

“On the one hand, I like that you don’t freely give up your address. You’re smart, and I like that. On the other hand, the gentleman in me is having a hard time with the idea of letting you get to the restaurant on your own, not that you aren’t capable,” he adds, hastily. “How about I pick you up at a public location… other than your home? The library, perhaps? Seven o’clock?”

I like that he’s not steamrolling me. He called me smart. “Okay. Seven. I’ll be there,” I say handing him back his phone.

David picks up the black folder with our bill, and I am struck that I don’t even remember it being placed on our table. Maybe the Flirty Genevieve finally got the hint. David pulls out his billfold and pulls out a few bills and drops them in the folder before he escorts me to the door.

“Can I flag a cab for you?” he offers, nodding his head toward the busy road with both private cars and yellow cabs.

I shake my head and say, “No, I’m good. Thank you.”

David gently takes my shoulders in his big hands and leans in placing a kiss on my cheek like I’ve seen in the old Audrey Hepburn movies. The gesture is so kind and almost familiar, but what gets me most is that scent—warm and cozy with a dash of spice.

“See you tomorrow,” he says quietly next to my ear, his breath sending shivers down my spine.

I carefully look up and down the street to see if anyone else is watching what has just happened. Everyone is completely oblivious either racing on foot down the street or have their eyes glued to their phones.

“Yeah, tomorrow,” I reply breathily.

With every ounce of strength I have, I pull myself out of the gravitational pull that is this handsome and charming man and head toward Van Buren and my building.

Don’t look back, I tell myself. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do… not look back? Be cool. Aloof. But I can’t help myself, and I look back still not fully believing the past hour. I’m convinced that when I look back, there will be no one there and my overactive imagination had gotten away from me. My stomach lurches when, very much to my surprise, David is still standing there watching me walk down the street. I smile, and my heart pounds. I give a small wave, and he waves back. I have to face forward firstly, so I don’t bump into someone, but secondly because I’m dizzy and feel myself blushing too much, and I don’t want David to see that.

I am still buzzing and bewildered from my encounter with this mysterious ‘David’ when I get back to my apartment building. I can still smell his spicy cologne. I can still feel my hand in his soft grasp and how tenderly strong his hands were on my shoulders. I can still see his deep brown eyes. I can still hear his rich, smooth voice. And the shiver of excitement that raced down my spine from his breath when he whispered in my ear is still energizing me.

I head up to my floor and am just about to unlock my door when Lainey pops her head out into the hallway.

“Hey, sweetie! The gang is coming over. Join us?”

“Sounds good. I’ll be over in a bit?”

“Great. Door will be open.” And as quickly as she popped out, she pops back in and is gone.

I really feel so lucky to have gotten a great neighbor and friend like Lainey.

And now lucky to meet a man like David.

Once inside my apartment, I check my reflection in the mirror at the front door. I don’t think I see anything remarkable about me today. My hair is still straight, and it’s a ruddy brown color. My eyes are still their washed-out, beyond faded, barely blue. My clothes are nothing fancy, in fact, they’re quite plain. I don’t look glowy, and I’m not outgoing like Lainey. Or Genevieve. I definitely don’t look rich and gorgeous or like I should have been anywhere near David, let alone having dinner with him tomorrow. Nothing is exceptional about my appearance. I smile, and it’s my ordinary smile. How is it then that I have had the day I’ve had?

I’m just so unaccustomed to these attentions. High school, and then life after school, was never like this. Never. The boys only wanted the perky cheerleaders and not the ‘girl from the other side of the tracks.’ The only time other girls gave me any attention was when they wanted to meet Jude.

I’m totally second-guessing myself. Why would Lainey invite a total stranger to her place last week? Maybe she felt sorry for me? The first time we met, she did mention that she thought I might not have any friends in town. I was never a popular kid in school. In high school, I was pretty much on my own. My only comrades were Leo and Heather, and after high school, Austin. In high school, before he ran out on me, Leo and I were together because our home lives were so similar. Then there was Austin, but he was more or less a ‘friend with benefits.’ Heather… I never could figure out why she ‘adopted’ me. True, her dad was the manager at the grocery store where I worked under the table until I was sixteen and could legally work, but she didn’t have to be my friend. I know she didn’t include me on everything, and that was fine. I really appreciated every invitation she tossed my way. Because of our friendship, I was exempt from a lot of the bullying I’d been subjected to in middle school. Was Lainey my new Heather? Did I look like a pity case? What about David? Was I a twisted challenge for him? Ask the mousy girl out? Did he think I was going to be an ‘easy lay’ or something?

“Stop it, Crystal,” I tell my reflection. “You are smart and pretty, and there’s no reason people shouldn’t like you,” I tell myself. But the pep talk isn’t working much. I hate the self-doubt that threatens to swallow me whole.

Was it the same luck that I had when I bought my lottery ticket that put David and me at the aquarium and then the library? Kind of weird to run into the same person twice like that. And Lainey. And her friends. So welcoming, inviting me everywhere at every turn. Again, am I just ‘lucky’ now? All my life I’ve never had luck like this. Bad luck, sure. But all of this, the ticket, the neighbor, a man like David? This is far from bad luck.

Or maybe…

Curiosity and a wild imagination have me dashing to my laptop and search the news for anything about big lottery winners in Illinois. Maybe Lainey, and now David, aren’t nearly coincidental ‘run-ins.’

A few searches don’t reveal any news articles. I navigate to the lottery’s website, and I do see the entry for my winning.

Crystal J. from Chicago, IL

Win for Life

$5,000 a Week for Life

Ticket purchased at Joe’s Newsstand, Carlyle, IL

Further searches don’t reveal anything more. No history about me, nor photos. So, it wasn’t like David or Lainey had targeted me. David behaved like a perfect gentleman. Lainey’s invitations and friendship are purely neighborly. Right? I mean, she wouldn’t have to invite me anywhere ever again if she didn’t like me the first day we met last week.

My phone chimes signaling an incoming text. I fish it out of my back pocket, and when I see the message, my heart starts to beat wildly. It’s from David. Hi, Talia, this is David. I really enjoyed meeting you today. Looking forward to tomorrow. And now you have my number if you need to message or call me.

Instantly, in my mind, I’m back to standing on the street looking into David’s amazing brown eyes and smelling his scent both on his handkerchief at the museum, and when he leaned in to kiss my cheek.

I decide that I’ll ‘fake it till I make it’ and wonder how long that will be. And if I’m discovered for being a fraud, I can always head back to Harton. Or find a new town.

I read David’s message again and save his number into my contacts then head to freshen up before heading next door to Lainey’s. I brush my teeth and hair and look at my plain face again. I decide that tomorrow, I’m going to go to one of those makeup counters in a large department store and have them do my makeup. Heather tried to show me once, but I never bought my own cosmetics to practice what she’d taught me. Now I have the means to buy makeup. And I may have someone to wear it for.

In Lainey’s apartment, surrounded by my new friends and boxes of three kinds of pizza, my fears of being the pity case fade. I genuinely feel that these people like me.

Trent is trying to get everyone on board for a road trip before the end of the summer. Taking into consideration Lance and Millie’s performance schedules, the task seems impossible, but Trent is determined. Cara tries to get us to consider someplace exotic, and she’ll write all about it for the blog she writes and will get to write off her expenses to boot. I don’t care where we go, I’m just thrilled to be included.

My phone chimes, and I pull it from my pocket glancing at the screen. I see it’s another text from David. So, dinner choices.

I feel my cheeks get warm, and I work at suppressing a smile.

“Someone looks like she got a nice text,” Millie says. “From a guy?” she asks.

“Um, what makes you think that?” I ask, feeling my cheeks grow hotter as I look around the group, and everyone’s eyes are on me.

“Well, you read the text and bit your lip while you blushed,” Millie explains. I recall Millie telling me that one of her classes for her acting degree was body language, and I dismissed the idea as silly. Now I’m thinking that there’s something to the body-language stuff.

I swallow and try to work out what to say.

“Probably a hot guy, too, to make you blush so pink,” Trent adds.

I can’t deny that. I nod slightly. “Just a guy I met today at the aquarium. And, yeah, he’s pretty good looking,” I admit.

“A hot guy,” Cara repeats, tapping her finger on her chin. “At an aquarium? In the middle of the day? Does he have a job?” Just like a journalist to fire a number of questions all at once, I expect.

“Yes,” I answer, blushing while recalling David’s reaction when I asked him if he worked at the Shedd. “He says he manages money for a private group, and his boss likes him, and he has a flexible schedule.” Suddenly, my fears that I’m being taken for a fool start to overwhelm me again. What does that mean? I manage money, investment funds and so on. For a… private group? Is he a con artist? Secreting away with ill-gotten monies from unsuspecting girls like me?

“What was he wearing?” Lainey asks.

“A suit. An expensive suit, I think. And really good smelling cologne,” I say, the memory of the scent washing through me again.

“Okay, so what else did he say?” Cara presses.

“Well, he wants to go to dinner tomorrow.” I decide not to divulge that we’d already gone out for drinks because I’m afraid everyone will say even that was a mistake. I wait, expecting everyone to tell me that I’m insane for considering the invitation, but before anyone can say anything, the phone chimes again, and I check my texts with a few more pairs of eyes on my screen now. I’m thinking of Everest, The Signature Room, or an Italian place called Gio’s.

“Everest is good, but the portions are skimpy,” Lainey says, stuffing a piece of pizza with everything on it into her mouth.

“Ooohhh? Gio’s! For sure. Go there!” Nina, the chef, insists. “They have this braised sea bass and oh my God! To. Die. For.”

“But the view is only so-so,” Millie advises. “And personally, I prefer the American fare of The Signature Room. It’s on the ninety-fifth floor of the John Hancock Building and has incredible views.”

“I’m with Millie on that one,” Trent says, then adds, “All places are pricey. He must be loaded.”

I think about that for a moment. If he’s loaded, then my money won’t be an issue—my money is safe.

“You think I should go?” I ask the group for confirmation. “He’s a perfect stranger.”

“What else do you know about him?” Lance asks.

“Um, his name is David. He likes museums or at least aquariums. He went to a boarding school for high school and had something to go to in a place called Winnetka tonight.”

“Yep. Loaded,” Trent repeats.

“Text him back. Signature Room,” Lainey says, clapping her hands. Lainey then suggests, “Trent and I can hang out at a bar nearby, and if he does anything that makes you uncomfortable, you text me, and Trent and I will be right there.” Trent nods in agreement.

My heart is thundering in my chest, but I start to type a reply regardless. How about The Signature Room?

“Perfect!” Millie confirms. “Interested, yet light.”

“What will you wear?” Nina asks.

I feel my body drain of blood. “What do people usually wear to this place?” I ask, scared out of my mind. I hadn’t considered that for one second! I should have suggested a pizza place. I have outfits for pizza.

“Oh you know, chic, sophisticated, understated…” Trent lists.

“So, jeans and khakis are out?” I ask, trying to sound a bit humorous yet letting my new friends know that I don’t really have much else.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Lainey asks me.

“Um, was going to go to the planetarium. I didn’t get there today.”

“Clear the schedule. We’ll rake over your closet and go buy what you need. It’ll be fun!”

Her enthusiasm is infectious. I have wanted to go clothing shopping, but I’ve been fearful about spending and especially using my credit card.