I text her when I pull up outside her house.

After pressing send, it occurs to me that it’s been years since I’ve done this. Years since I’ve picked someone up for a date, especially a dinner date. I try to avoid these occasions. Usually it’s a single night and nothing more. No breakfast. No follow-up. No reason to ever cross paths again.

I’ve spent many pretty pennies on cocktails and bottle service, the shit women have an instinctual affection for. But putting money down on a lavish dinner will be a nice changeup. And I’m looking forward to it.

Her text comes a few seconds later.

I take my last chance to look in the mirror. One side of my collar is slightly creases and I firm it up again. I’m wearing one of my nicest shirts: silk and dark purple with matching cufflinks. It’s got a slim cut and fits well under my black sport coat. If she’s expecting a reservation at some Applebee’s, and I hope she is, than she’ll be in for a shock.

But if I’m taking a woman like this out to dinner, then we’re not going to a fucking Applebee’s.

And besides, what’s the point of accumulating this kind of money if you can’t splurge every once in awhile? The banks aren’t hurting. What we take is chump change to those bastards. And as long as Grayson’s medical bills are paid up to date, and they are, then I have a nice bit of disposable income on my hands.

And I’m going to use it.

I step out of my car the second Sophia steps out of her house. She smiles and I return it while rounding the car to open the passenger side door for her.

And Christ… I thought I looked spiffy, but she puts me to fucking shame. She’s wearing a tight black dress, heels, and a thin blue cardigan that electrifies her eyes. Her long brown hair falls in waves to her shoulders.

I close her door after she settles in. When I’m back in the driver seat, I slide the keys in the ignition and turn to stare at her before twisting. “You look absolutely gorgeous.”

“Oh, thank you.” She smiles her shy, timid grin. “You look quite dapper yourself.” Her eyes look me up and down before settling on my face.

“I didn’t even tell you where we’re going, and you still look better than I do.”

She beams. “I thought I’d better dress up just in case.”

I smile and twist the keys.

“But now that you mention it… would you like to tell me where we’re going?”

“Nope. It’s a surprise.”

“Huh.” She pauses and watches me pull out of the driveway. “I’m not very good with surprises.”

“Sure you are. Everyone likes the good surprises and hates the bad ones.”

“Nope, you’re mistaken. I’m someone who likes to have all the information.”

I click my tongue. “Ah, that’s too bad. Might make this kind of a long car ride for you,” I say, relishing in her fake look of frustration.

“Rude.” She crosses her arms and pretends to pout. “How far is it?”

“Only about ten, fifteen minutes.”

“What kind of food?”

I eye her for a moment. “How well do you know the restaurants around here?”

She shrugs, feigning a look of innocence. And God she’s fucking cute. “I don’t know, for some reason I’m blanking,” she says, smirking.

“That’s weird, for some reason I’m blanking on the name of this place, too.” I gesture with my spare hand. “Must be something in the air.”

Her smirk gives into a laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

I love to tease her, but the truth is that I highly doubt she’s ever been here. Giovanni’s is one of the best Italian restaurants in all of Florida, but it’s extremely exclusive. And just in case I wasn’t certain, her expression makes it obvious when we pull up.

I pretend not to watch her as I slow to a stop beside a chauffeur, who opens Sophia’s door. Her eyes follow me as I hand over the keys, then switch to the chauffeur as he hops into the car.

“Ready?” I ask, offering my hand. Giovanni’s is surrounded by an expansive garden and she takes my hand as we meander down the cobblestone path, under arches, and through the front door.

The interior is outright stunning. It’s modeled like a traditional Italian villa. Rustic bricks. Vined pillars. Candles on every table. An extensive wine list.

The perfect venue for our night.

Though for all its glamour, Giovanni’s isn’t actually very big. Luckily, I have an in with the owner, who I called the second Sophia and I got off the phone. The hostess snakes around various tables as she leads us to our reservation at a small booth tucked intimately into the wall. “Your server will be with you shortly,” she assures as we take our seats.

I look up after she’s ambled away, ready with a little sarcastic icebreaker, but I don’t need it.

“This place is incredible,” Sophia marvels. Her bright blue eyes wander the room as she takes it in.

Finally she finds my gaze and I smile. “I’m glad you like it.”

She breathes out a laugh. “That’s an understatement. I mean, this is… we didn’t have to go somewhere like this.”

My chest warms with satisfaction. “I thought we deserved somewhere without interruptions.”

“This is going to cost a fortune,” she says, opening her menu for the first time.

Yes, it sure is—and together, we’re going to enjoy every damn cent.

“Don’t worry about it.” I shake my head for affirmation, then look up her. “Something tells me you deserve an outing like this.”

She huffs out another laugh and cocks her head. “Well. You’re not exactly wrong about that.”

That catches my attention enough to set down the menu. But before I can probe, our waiter is at the edge of the table.

“Hello, how are you doing tonight?” He sets down two empty glasses and fills them with iced water. “I’m Antonio, I’ll be your server this evening.” His words are coated in a pleasantly thick accent that pairs with his charm.

I watch Sophia as Antonio rattles off several specials and offers some red wine for tasting. She declines but already looks enthralled. The service here is unparalleled and I’m happy to watch them pamper her. It’s exactly why we came.

I would’ve been up for some wine tasting, but tonight is her night.

“Then can I start you with a beverage, signorina?” Antonio asks her.

Her eyes shift onto me. “Chardonnay?” she proposes. I don’t wave it off, but I might as well have.

“Do you have a Brunello?” I ask Antonio.

“Of course, sir.”

“We’ll take a bottle, please.”

“Of course.” He nods and extends his open palm. “On the first page of our larger menu you can find a list of appetizers. Please, take your time. I will return with your bottle and small a cheese platter momentarily.”

Sophia smiles in response. As if her skin wasn’t already soft, the dim lighting makes it look divine. The candlelight flickers in her eyes, enriching their light blue with a gleam.

She’s absolutely beautiful.

And so is the moment.

Finally. No distractions. No one to come barging in. No interruptions, no nothing. Tonight belongs solely to us. And dinner is only step number one.

I’ve only just begun perusing the menu when Antonio returns with our bottle. I’ve been too distracted to actually contemplate what I want. But hell, at this point it seems fair that I could exchange my meal for sixty minutes worth of her. Her eyes, her smile, her laugh—the way she banters with me.

“Are you interested in an appetizer, signorina?” Antonio asks.

“No thank you,” Sophia hums. “This cheese platter looks perfect.”

“Are you sure?” I ask her. I envisioned ordering at least three courses tonight, including appetizers. And it’s her evening, but if she stays this modest I might have to intervene.

“Yes, really, the platter’s fine,” she says. I’m tempted to continue pressing but she looks happily content. And that’s fine with me.

“Then I will come back after a few more minutes?” Antonio asks.

I nod at him.

“Yes, of course. Take your time.” He grins. “And please, call me if you have any questions.” He looks at Sophia and cups his hands around his mouth. “Antonio, Antonio—I’ll be at your side like that.” He snaps his fingers.

The two of them laugh and I savor her extended smile, the glow in her eyes and dimples in her cheeks. Her look of genuine delight.

Antonio, my friend, you’re earning yourself a generous tip. Just keep her smiling.

“No appetizers, Soph?” I ask after he leaves. Her head snaps up from the menu and her lips fall open.

“Did you just call me Soph?”

“Yes… Is that—”

“There’s only two people in the world that have ever called me that.”

“Really?” That surprises me a little. “I assumed it was a fairly common nickname for you Sophias?”

“Maybe, not for me though. My mom and a colleague at work are the only ones that have ever used it.”

“You don’t hate it, do you?”

“I love it,” she says. “I don’t know why, it’s just one of those things. I’ve always loved when my mom says it and my colleague Claire, she’s one of my best friends. She says it all the time.”

“Why not go by Soph, then?”

“Nah.” She plucks from the decorative platter. “It’s just a nickname. The people that use it are why I like it.”

“Well dang, I hope I’m not intruding,” I say. “It might slip out again though, I kind of like it.”

She smiles. “I hope it does. You make it even better.”

I smile too, tenderly holding it for moment. “How’s the wine?”

“Incredible.” She lifts her glass and takes a sip.

“Good.” I join her.

When Antonio returns, Sophia orders lobster ravioli and I the lemon chicken piccata. So far, I’ve been able to successfully avoid the two topics that are completely off limits. Career and family. But just when I think we’ve surpassed that kind of small talk, out of nowhere Sophia says, “So, tell me about your family.”

And I freeze. My windpipes close up.

Never once have I derived any joy in describing my family. They’re the most important people in my life, but they’re not exactly ingredients for a casual conversation.

But regardless, I tell her my parents were killed in a car wreck. And when she instantly goes quiet like everyone always fucking does, I try my best to throw the ball back in her court without letting the conversation falter.

“My parents retired in Atlanta a few years back,” she replies. “My brother just got married and they wanted to be close when he starts his family, you know?”

“Oh yeah? He older?”

“Yep, four years.”

“And what’s he up to?” I ask.

“He’s at the University of Georgia, actually.”

“For grad school?”

She nods and sips from her wine. “I grew up with the older brother that’s so smart that everyone wonders what the heck happened to you.” She laughs at herself, but before I can reply, Antonio is at our side with a tray of food.

Sophia smiles politely as he slides a steaming lobster ravioli in front of her. He sets down my plate and as soon as he leaves, I find myself looking for another way to avoid the question I know is coming.

“Did you ever want a sister or anything?” I ask. It’s not my ideal choice of inquiry, but at least it keeps her talking.

“Ha, sometimes,” she snickers. “My parents were always a little older though. Once they saw that their second child was a girl, I think they…” She bobs her eyebrows and makes scissors out of her hand. And I laugh.

“Well good on them,” I say. “At least they know when to call it quits.” I take a substantial swig from my second glass of wine and I’m glad to see Sophia do the same. She’s nearing the end of her second glass, the effects of which are starting to creep into our conversation.

And I love it.

She’s relaxed, cheery, and obviously enjoying herself quite a bit. And hell, I’ll buy every bottle of Brunello they have if it means we can continue talking. Maybe over a nice plate of dessert.

So as we finish up I ask for a menu, which Antonio brings while clearing our plates. I finish the last sip of my glass as Sophia surveys the options.

“Anything catching your eye?” I ask.

“Do you mean to ask what isn’t catching my eye?” She drops the menu down on the table. “I can’t pick. It’s your choice.”

“Don’t you dare offload your burdens on me.” I smirk and hold our stare until she concedes. She picks up the menu again right as my leg vibrates. Instinctively, I reach to silence the iPhone in my right pocket. But the vibration continues.

My heart contorts and my joints tense.

It’s my burn phone. Left pocket. And that means only one person is calling.

The thing’s an old flip phone without a discrete way to ignore the call, so I let it continue buzzing until it goes to voicemail. Then it comes again.

Son of a fucking bitch.

No matter how hard I try to conceal my annoyance, I’m sure it’s showing on my face. I fidget in my chair to obscure the obnoxious vibration, but I cannot ignore this second call. Not twice in a row.

Sophia looks up. “Is that your phone?”

I feign a look of surprise and reach for my leg. “It is, damn.” I pretend to check who’s calling. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

“I’m sorry, it’ll only take a second.”

“No, don’t worry,” she says, but this time her eyes stay on me. I’m doing a piss poor job of masking my urgency, but I’m also racing the clock.

God dammit. This is the last thing I need. It pains me to leave her right now. As I stride into the hall I fight the urge to look back, but I can feel her watching.

Finally I turn the corner of the bathroom hallway and hastily flip open the phone.

“What do you want?”