As much as I don’t want the night to end after dinner, I flag down a cab to take Talia home.

“Oh, I’m so full. I’m better off walking home and walking some of it off,” she says, resting her hands on her flat stomach. Typically, the girls say that after eating a few bites of their most-expensive-item-on-the-menu dinner and a few glasses of wine. But to her credit, Talia ate her share of the appetizers, all of her dinner, and every bite of her dessert. A certified member of the ‘clean-plate club.’ “Besides, it’s not far. Thank you for dinner, David. I had a wonderful time,” she says, extending her hand to me like we’ve just concluded a business deal of some sort.

Oh no. We are not saying goodbye. “Can I walk you home then?” I ask, maybe a little too eagerly.

She carefully considers my question, then a small smile appears on her perfect mouth. Oh, that mouth is going to be the death of me. Watching her smile… talk… eat… Don’t get me started about dessert. A chocolate lava cake with raspberry coulis. I almost lost my mind. A drop of chocolate lava clung to the side of her mouth, and she had used her finger to push the drop in. She sucked on her finger and moaned, and said that it was the best chocolate dessert she’d ever eaten. Since that moment, my mind was consumed with that mouth. Maybe walking her home isn’t a good idea. All my gentlemanly ways may take a walk in the opposite direction.

“I’d like that. Thank you,” she says shyly.

She shivers slightly, and I realize that in the dark of night, the warm spring day now has a chill in the air. Quickly, I slip off my jacket and wrap it around her. It looks positively perfect on her. And I start imagining other things she would look perfect in.

We start heading south on Michigan Avenue dodging people left and right and looking in the windows of the stores. I want to hold her hand. I want anyone walking down the street who sees us to know that we are together, but both of her hands are gripping her clutch.

The whole night she’s seemed anxious when talking about herself as I saw from her nervous habit of rubbing her finger and thumb together, but I did learn a few things. Her favorite colors are fuchsia and turquoise, depending on the day. Her favorite food is tacos, but she’s never had fish tacos, and I intend to remedy that. And her favorite music is country. I don’t know the singers she mentioned, but it’s now my homework.

We pass by Tiffany & Co., and I bring her to the windows. I think you know a lot about a person by what jewelry they like. I love watching her face at the sparkling gems on the velvet cushions, taking note which things delight her most.

She appreciates the elegance of the pearls.

She admires the simplicity of unembellished pieces in silver and gold.

She holds in high regard the pieces that could easily represent symbolism like a filigree key or the infinity collection.

My ex-wife, and many of the women I’ve dated over the past few years, always felt that the more diamonds, the better. The more expensive, the better. The more more… the better. Talia continues to enchant me beyond expectation. She appreciates simplicity and beauty over price tags.

We amble down the street, and an ass rushes past Talia knocking her into me. I catch her easily and suddenly don’t think the guy is such an ass anymore. Having Talia in my arms feels… comforting. After our easy conversation at dinner and now with her in my arms, I feel whole like a piece of me had been missing, and Talia filled that space. I have never felt this before, and it’s a little scary.

She looks up at me startled, and we lock eyes. Staring into her sparkling clear blue orbs, feeling her delicate and lithe frame in my arms, smelling her gentle fragrance of… vanilla? All fear leaves, and I feel as though I’ve died and gone to heaven.

I want to kiss her, but would that be too forward?

“Are you okay?” I ask, searching her gentle blue eyes. Such a soft, peaceful blue like a new day, fresh and full of possibility. I feel a peculiar serenity just looking into the windows to her soul.

“Uh-huh,” she says quietly.

I tuck her into my side wrapping my arm around her shoulders for her safety, I tell her, and we continue down the street.

“Can we stop in here?” she asks as we approach a Walgreens.

“Sure,” I say, fairly certain I’ve never been to a drug store on a date before except that one time when I needed to buy some condoms, but my date didn’t come in with me.

Talia weaves herself through the store to the section with all sorts of foot care. Before my very eyes, she grabs a package, opens it, and produces a pair of slipper-like shoes. She pops off her heels sighing with relief as she wiggles her toes and slips on the new ‘footwear.’ She repeats the process again and stands, a few inches shorter now, in front of me.

“Thank you. Those heels were torture. I’m not really used to wearing them. These don’t really go with the outfit, but I just don’t think I could have gone another block in these,” she huffs, picking up the stunning black heels.

“You don’t need to explain to me,” I say, chuckling at her easy nature. I couldn’t recall a single date who chose comfort over fashion. She’s more than a breath of fresh air. She’s positively delightful.

We make our way to the registers, and I immediately spot the magazines where my face, along with nine other Chicago bachelors, grins back at me with the headlines about the stupid list. I start to panic, but it seems as though Talia hadn’t seen them. I’m trying to figure out a way from keeping us from going down that check-out lane, but the gods are smiling on me as another lane opens, one with more candy than magazines, and no Chicago Now magazine.

As I calm my frantic nerves, Talia hands the clerk the torn packaging, apologetically.

Quickly, I pull out my wallet, and I’m just about to slide my credit card through the card reader when Talia stops me.

“Oh, no. I didn’t mean for you to buy me these,” Talia says, looking alarmed and surprised.

“Not at all. It’s my pleasure,” I answer, again aiming for the card reader.

“Seriously, I can pay for them. I insist,” she says confidently as she pulls a credit card from her wallet.

I nod and step back. I don’t like it, but she’s insisting. Talia pushes the card’s chip end into the reader and smiles politely to the petite cashier who has been watching our little exchange with some amusement and looking at me a little curiously. I get the nervous feeling that this woman knows who I am, and I silently pray that she has the common courtesy to say nothing.

“I would have let your date pay for them,” the woman says quietly to Talia, who replies with a shrug.

Talia tucks her heels into the bag with the packaging, and we head back onto the street.

“Thank you,” she says, turning to me.

“For what?” I ask, truly confused.

“For letting me pay for my shoes.”

Frankly, I’m stunned into place. Normally, my dates try to get me to pay for everything. Shoes, dresses, and jewelry. Trips to Europe. I find Talia to be refreshing if not a total puzzle.

“Talia Jameson, you are one very special woman.”

I feel my cheeks glow pink. Special? Me? Because I wanted to pay for my own shoes?

“I just feel weird when people buy things for me. I can’t explain it,” I fib. I can explain it. But I don’t want to. Not yet anyway. Probably never, to be honest. After taking hand-me-downs and handouts for so long from the generosity of neighbors to letting Austin buy me dinner and later we’d hook up. I enjoy being able to buy things for myself. Besides, I’m sure dinner was quite expensive already. David had spent more than enough on me tonight, especially since I wasn’t going to be letting him take me to bed. No longer would I be that kind of girl—easy to get into the sac.

“At least let me carry your bag,” David offers graciously. I let him.

We continue down State Street, and I ask David about colleges in town that I might apply to so that I can get my degree.

“What would you major in?” he asks.

“Maybe library science. I mean, I love books and libraries… I think I would like a career with books on some level.”

I tell him about the volunteer opportunity at the Harold Washington Library, and David doesn’t discourage the idea at all. He also suggests I consider other literary type careers like getting involved in editing and publishing. My mind is full of imaginings of the classes I would take for any of the careers we talk about.

“Or maybe law,” I tell him, testing the waters. “My friend, Millie, said her dad, a civil rights attorney, is looking for an intern. I may call him and learn more about being a lawyer.”

“I think both ideas are wonderful.” My heart fills with hope as I start to see myself, at least a little bit, the way David is seeing me.

Before I know it, we’ve passed the library and are in front of my building. I’m horrified that I’ve just led him here. What is my brain doing? I was supposed to stop us at the library where he’d picked me up.

“Oh. Um, well, this is it. My building. Thank you for walking me home.”

He looks at the building and one of the evening doormen. I think this one is Conrad standing sentinel.

“My sincerest pleasure,” he says gallantly. He’s quiet for a moment then asks, “What are you doing tomorrow?”

I shake my head slowly and say, “I don’t really have any plans.”

“Would you like to see Chicago from the lake?”

“Lake Michigan?”

“Yeah. We… um, someone I know has a boat. A small one. If I can arrange it, and I’m pretty sure I can, would you like to have a picnic on the lake?”

The idea sounds romantic and terrifying all at once. Not only am I not a great swimmer, I’m hesitant to be in a very remote place with a man I barely know. My over-active imagination starts to concoct crazy scenarios with huge ransoms due to my lottery winnings. However, looking into David’s eyes, I don’t see one ounce of malice. My belly clenches when I look into his deep brown eyes, but that reaction is not due to fear… rather a strong attraction. Before my head can stop me, my mouth says, “Sounds like fun.”

That said, I don’t have a chance, and dating David is just for fun. Once he learns of my background, he probably won’t want anything to do with me. Clearly, he comes from a more sophisticated lifestyle.

“Tomorrow? Ten o’clock?”

I nod lest I speak and let and my nerves about dating David or being on a boat show.

He leans in and kisses me on the cheek the way he did after drinks yesterday, although this time, his lips are a bit closer to mine. I want a real kiss, but at the same time, I’m enchanted by his gentle, chivalrous ways. It’s ‘old world.’ Besides, a ‘real kiss’ might lead to more, and I don’t want to lead David on.

“Thank you for accompanying me to dinner,” he says. “I’m looking forward to tomorrow.”

“Me, too.” I can’t help the stupid smile that’s plastered across my face.

I turn to head inside, and Conrad opens the door for me, but just before he does, I spot my reflection.

“Oh!” I say. “Your jacket!” I turn back to David who takes his jacket back and smiles and offers one more kiss to my cheek.

“Sweet dreams,” he says.

Up safely in my apartment, I text Lainey quickly to tell her I’m home and all is good, then try to force myself to sleep. Quite a feat when all I can see is David’s smile when I close my eyes.

I lay in bed for hours recalling every detail of the night—David’s voice, his eyes, his warm and spicy scent. The feeling in my belly is warm and jittery. It’s a feeling I’d never had about a guy. Not with Austin and definitely not with Leo.

And tomorrow we were going out on a boat? Is this all too good to be true? David is way out of my league. Is he a con artist? I should have asked him more about his job of ‘managing money.’ What does that mean? He’s so smooth and confident. Maybe too confident. Too smooth. Do I have ‘small town idiot’ written all over my face? Am I being taken on a horrifying ride?

I have to remind myself to stay on my guard with him tomorrow, or I could very well fall for David, and then what? I’ve trusted a man before and was left high and dry.

Maybe I should have said no.

As I walk away from her apartment building and settle in the back of my waiting car, I can’t shake how very different Talia is. Probably why I asked her out for a second date when I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had more than one date with a woman. Most of the time, girls are throwing themselves at me, inviting me up to their apartment or arranging the next date even if I’ve seemed disinterested all along.

Talia didn’t do any of that. In fact, she seemed hesitant even to accept the second date after I thought dinner went very well.

Slipping into the back seat of my car, my driver doesn’t miss my grin.

“I take it things went well, boss?” he asks with a smirk. He knows my dating habits better than anyone. He’s driven my dates and me on most of them.

“Taking her out again tomorrow.”

I see Chip’s eyebrows fly up in the rearview mirror. “Oh really?”

“On your boat.”

“Excuse me, my boat?”

“I can’t let her know the Princess Bonnie is mine. I’m going to tell her it’s yours, and you’re letting me borrow it.”

“I don’t get it. Why?”

“She has no idea who I am. Do you know how rare that is? The more I can get to know her before she finds out who I am, the more I can trust that she likes me for me.”

“Sounds like a dangerous game, sir.”

I shrug. I know he’s right. I don’t like the whole dishonesty thing, but I am enjoying getting to know Talia, and I am loving being able to control the narrative of who I am.

I can’t help but wonder why she is so guarded. I’m grateful that she accepted for tomorrow, but I will definitely have to take things slowly with her. I don’t want to do something to make her bolt. I lift my jacket and can smell her perfume on the collar. If I don’t watch myself, I could find myself in territory I wasn’t expecting to be in.

After Angelique, I swore I’d never fall in love again. She betrayed me in a way I never imagined. Most of the women I’ve dated were easy not to fall for. They were either distracted by sparkly things or clearly looking for ways my family or I could benefit her. Chip liked to call it Princess Syndrome. Talia is no princess. She’s down to earth. But what is she hiding?