“So, all he told you was dress to impress?” Shiloh asks, giving me a skeptical look.

“Yes. What do you think that means?”

“It means better to be overdressed than underdressed,” she says, twisting her lips as she takes in my choice of dress for tonight. I’m wearing my best dress, dark blue with cap sleeves and a twirly skirt that reminds me of the fifties. I’m sure by New York standards, it’s old-fashioned.

“The dress is…you,” she says, twisting her lips before flashing her eyes back up to me. “Which is totally fine.”

“No, it isn’t,” I say, reading it in her expression.

“Hey,” she says, leaning in to grab my attention. “You be you, Prynne. Don’t change for anyone, especially a man.”

I smile, feeling a bit more reassured.

“But maybe we can do something about the shoes,” she adds, staring down at my black flats.

Ten minutes later, I’m wearing impossibly high black heels with some sort of intricate strap thing going on around my ankles. I stare at myself in her full-length mirror, wondering where Prynne Dawson went. It’s amazing what sort of transformation shoes can make in a woman. The dress that originally made me look like some mid-century housewife now makes me look like a French maid who has just removed her white, ruffled apron.

“You don’t think it’s a bit too…sexy?” I ask, staring at the whole package. I’m surprised to find that a part of me wants very much to look a bit too sexy.

“You look perfect,” Shiloh says, actually clasping her hands with pleasure at how well her choice of footwear turned out.

We both hear the bell ring, announcing Rhys’s arrival.

“Too late to change now!” Shiloh says, bringing her hands to my shoulders to guide me out of her bedroom before I can change my mind about the shoes.

The shoes are a perfect fit but I still hobble down the hall, completely unused to walking with such alien things on my feet.

“You’ll be fine,” she whispers in my ear as she escorts me to the front door. “Just make him walk slowly.”

In the living room, Caryn is lying on the couch watching TV. We both give her exasperated looks as the doorbell rings again. She just returns a mildly insolent pout. I guess there’s no Eric tonight, which is odd for a Saturday.

“By all means, just lie there, Caryn,” Shiloh says before rushing ahead of me to open the door.

“It’s obviously not for me,” she grumbles, her attention still on the TV.

Shiloh rolls her eyes, then plants a smile on her face as she swings open the door of the duplex we share with the couple upstairs. I hold my breath, second-guessing everything from the shoes to the decision to go out with Rhys at all.

“You must be Rhys Connors,” she announces.

He looks fantastic, completely different from the man-boy in jeans and band t-shirts of last weekend. Tonight he’s in dark slacks and a matching jacket. The top button of the white dress shirt underneath is unbuttoned, adding a casually sophisticated air. His hair is styled into some semblance of a “look” rather than that just-got-out-of-bed, boyishly disheveled thing he had going on last weekend.

“Guilty as charged,” he responds as he walks through the door she’s holding wide open for him.

Her eyes blink twice at that voice. I even see Caryn’s head lift with interest at the sound of it. Perhaps it will finally put a rest to all those mutterings about me not spending the night with a man.

Holy shit, Shiloh mouths at me behind him as he walks in.

I feel a tiny smile of pride touch my lips, before I remember myself. I wave a hand in her direction. “Rhys, this is my roommate, Shiloh.”

“Pleased to meet you,” she says, holding out a dainty hand. I notice that her voice sounds slightly more midwestern and girlish. I can’t blame her, he does seem to have that effect on women.

“Pleasure is all mine,” he says in a ridiculously gentlemanly manner as he grasps her proffered hand and kisses the back of it. Shiloh actually blushes, which I thought was beyond her.

“And this is Caryn,” I say, just as politely as I turn to gesture toward my other roommate.

By now, Caryn is sitting up at attention. I watch her not-so-smoothly pull her hair out of the messy bun it was in and tug at her old t-shirt. The regret in how she looks is written all over her face as she gets a look at Rhys.

“Pleasure to meet you as well,” he purrs, smiling at her. Even she colors slightly, no doubt entirely from that voice of his.

His head swivels back to me and his smile broadens into a bona fide grin. “Ready for your birthday celebration?”

“Am I dressed impressively enough?” I ask, pulling out the sides of my skirt.

“Definitely impressive,” he says, his eyes wandering over me from head to toe, which sends a burst of pleasure through me.

“So what are your plans for the night?” Shiloh asks with idle curiosity.

“Oh, just a little of this, a little of that, mixed with a lot of fun,” he replies ambiguously.

“Well, that sounds…exciting,” she says, not at all mollified. She turns to me with a pointed look. “You have your cell phone, Prynne?”

I see Rhys hold back a smile as I respond. “Yes, Shiloh.”

“Call me if you need to.”

“Or don’t,” Caryn chimes in with that smug voice of hers. “You know, if you finally plan on having some real fun for once.”

“Let’s go,” I say hurriedly, before she can expound on that. Caryn would be just the sort to do it. Shiloh shoots her a hard look, which will probably only stoke the fire.

“Ladies,” Rhys says, actually bowing at them.

“Nice to meet you, Rhys,” Shiloh says with a hint of warning in her voice, just in case.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Caryn shouts as I lead him through the door. I feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment. Shiloh quickly, blessedly, closes the door before she can say anything more. I know there will be a minor battle behind that door as soon as we leave.

“So what are we really going to do tonight?” I ask, sitting next to him in the taxi with a thrill of anticipation running through me.

“First, I’m buying you an unexpected birthday gift.”

“Unexpected?”

He looks down at my dress. “Definitely.”

I look doubtfully down at my dress. “You don’t like what I’m wearing?”

He laughs. “Oh, I love it. It has a certain charm to it that is so you, Prynne. However, the place we’re going to tonight after dinner has a dress code and this ‘afternoon tea’ look won’t get us past the front door. Besides, we need something that goes better with those fantastic heels of yours.”

“This is my best dress.”

He cocks half a smile. “Well, it’s about to become your second best dress.”

We end up at Belmont’s of all places.

“We can’t shop here,” I say as he exits the car.

I debate whether or not to tell him that I work at this particular department store. I can’t very well have my coworkers seeing me walk in with this man.

“Why not?” he asks.

I’m at a loss to explain why, even to myself. It isn’t as though I’m forbidden from shopping here. Plenty of Belmont’s employees take advantage of the five percent discount we get. Besides, most of the people on the sales floor probably wouldn’t even recognize the girl who works in customer service.

“It’s—it’s so expensive.”

“It’s also your birthday. You deserve the best,” he says, leaning in with a look so sincere that it makes my heart stop.

It would be stupid to argue in the face of that. I take the hand he’s offered and allow him to lead me out of the cab.

“This is…” I stare at my reflection in the mirror, “way too much Rhys.”

In every sense of the word.

“It certainly is,” he says, eyeing me in the mirror.

I’m staring at myself in a black, one-sleeved, skin-tight Tom Ford dress with a price tag I refuse to look at again. I couldn’t even wear my bra underneath it, which works out since the dress is so clingy it holds my breasts perfectly in place. At least it goes better with the shoes Shiloh sent me out in.

My family would be horrified.

“I can’t wear this,” I say in complete denial of how spectacular I actually look. There’s no way I can allow him to buy this for me, birthday present or otherwise.

“If you can’t, no one can,” he says, then turns to the saleswoman who’s been fawning all over us since we came in. Thankfully, she isn’t someone I recognize. “Put it on my card. She’ll be wearing it out of the store.”

“Rhys!” I protest, tearing my eyes away from my reflection to look at him.

He walks over and places one finger against my lips. “No more arguing. This outfit is as much a present for me as it is for you,” he adds with a devilish grin.

“What about my original dress?”

“You can have it shipped, correct?” It’s more of a statement to the saleswoman than a question. He’s been like this since we entered the store, as though he has settled into his element. As though everything about this minor shopping adventure is second nature to him. It can’t just be the romance novels. Everything about him tonight tells me that this is the sort of environment he must have grown up in. It reminds me how little I know about him.

I feel like a babe in the woods, even though I walk past these racks of designer clothes every day to get to the customer service department. Even if I could afford taking advantage of my employee discount, I don’t think I’d be comfortable shopping here. Most of my clothes growing up were handmade or bought from Goodwill.

“We can absolutely have it delivered,” the woman says, taking my old dress as though it was a royal ballgown.

I turn and look at myself in the mirror. It’s Saturday night in New York City. There are a thousand places a dress like this would be completely acceptable.

“So, where are we going?” I ask, looking at him in the reflection.

He just smiles and winks back at me.

The restaurant we’re at, Chantelle, is so elegant that I feel practically naked in this dress. The maître d’ doesn’t bat an eye though, greeting Rhys with a warm smile. Even the other guests look on approvingly, which sets me at ease.

“Mr. Connors, it’s good to see you this evening,” he says in a gracious way that suggests Rhys is a regular here.

“Do you bring all your dates here?” I tease, as he takes my hand and follows the man to our table.

“Only the special ones,” he responds with an ambiguous smile.

I’m surprised to find how jealous I am at that response. This isn’t a date date. He’s just helping me celebrate my birthday. Nothing more than feeling sorry for the pathetic girl who would otherwise be sitting up in bed, binge-watching some horror films on Netflix, maybe gorging on something from Shake Shack.

As we are seated, I take a moment to look around. He does have a point, this place does make me feel special. Based on the ambiance alone, I certainly couldn’t afford to eat dinner here, even with a romance book that earned me a couple of thousand dollars. I hope he’ll let me pick his brain a bit tonight as to what makes him such an obvious success. It is my birthday after all. Before I can give him a subtle hint, our server arrives right on the heels of the maître d’.

“Good evening,” he says, greeting each of us with a nod and a smile. He proceeds to rattle off the specials for tonight. I can’t even pronounce half of what he’s saying, let alone have a clue as to what they are. Finally, he finishes with, “may I start you off with something to drink?”

“Champagne,” Rhys says, grabbing the wine list before I can even open my mouth. His eyes quickly scan it before he announces his decision. “The Dom Pérignon P2 Vintage.”

“Very good, sir,” the server says. I briefly catch how his pupils dilate at the choice, which makes me wonder how much it actually costs.

“I’m not much of a drinker,” I confess, leaning in with a whisper.

Rhys leans in, just as intimately and whispers back, “tonight, Prynne Dawson is going to try all sorts of new things.”

I feel a smile of pleasure stretch my mouth even as a rush of trepidation runs through me. What sorts of new things will he be introducing me to?

He falls back into his chair and considers me. “How do you normally celebrate your birthday?”

“Oh, you know. Nothing special really.”

“Well then, all the more reason to spread your wings tonight.”

“If you think I’m getting naked, you’re mistaken,” I blurt out, vocalizing the very thing I fear from him.

He just throws his head back with a laugh, which turns a few heads nearest us in this hushed restaurant. “Don’t worry, Prynne, I know which boundaries not to cross with you.”

Before I can ask what the heck that means, the waiter is back with our champagne. He uncorks it with a celebratory pop and pours it into the two flute glasses he’s brought with him. I eye the pale gold, bubbly liquid with a mix of excitement and wariness. My first time trying alcohol of any sort was when I moved to New York. I’m embarrassed to say that this is my first glass of champagne.

Rhys lifts his glass and eyes mine, encouraging me to do the same. I bite my lip and pick mine up raising it toward his.

“To…” he pauses and looks at me with an unreadable gleam in his eye, “new beginnings.”

It seems innocuous enough, clichéd even, but there is an entire universe of interpretations to that toast. Still, I smile and repeat, “to new beginnings.”

As soon as the words leave my lips, my twin sister pops into my head. The last time I saw her, I was being packed off to Bluett, cutting all ties with the family. I missed her engagement, a very big deal among the Flanders. I missed her wedding, an even bigger deal, at least between the two of us who always pinky swore we’d walk down the aisle together (twinsie weddings for twinsies!).

Now, I might very well miss the birth of my niece or nephew. Being the middle child of sorts, I already have plenty of nieces and nephews. Quivers must be filled after all! But I always thought of Hope as my real sister, the others being in a class of sort of quasi-siblings. Close-knit, but not tight.

I catch the motion of Rhys dipping his glass to mine, which is frozen in place. It elicits a surprisingly loud clank, which snaps me out of those memories. I blink and shake my head a little, a smile already plastered on my face when I meet his. He looks at me a little too intensely, as though he can read my thoughts as plain as day.

I bring my glass to my lips, in the hopes that it hides my thoughts. The champagne feels foreign in my mouth. It’s like a mix of the pop I used to drink growing up, but with the flavor of wine, which I’ve tasted on rare occasions since I’ve been in this city. I don’t hate it. In fact, I think I could grow to like it.

Rhys is eyeing me over his glass as he sips. As soon as I bring mine down, he does the same then leans in closer.

“Want to tell me about it?”