Kira had never felt so painfully self-conscious being around her last table of dinner customers. These men she’d gone to high school with raved about the food, drank three bottles of wine—divided by the five of them didn’t amount to that much really, and then it was coffee pots until closing.

“Thanks for letting us hang out here to go over our trip reports,” Caleb said when she handed over the check and a credit card. “The other guys were needling me about an early morning tomorrow. Now we can all sleep in an extra hour.”

“You’re very welcome; I hope you have enjoyed your evening.” Even to herself, Kira’s reply sounded formal and stiff. Her awkwardness around these tall, handsome men showed in spades.

Her embarrassment from the evening had her ready for a break from everything. The only place she forgot about her family’s woes and her interrupted music career, was on the piano bench. Lost in the music. Fingers flying over the ivory keys like dear, old friends. She often felt Mozart sending love through the centuries, or Rachmaninoff showering her with romance.

Maybe that was pathetic, but it was true. She rarely dated, and evenings with friends were rare since she began working nights two years ago, adding extra hours or shifts when they were available to make ends meet, not only for herself, but her parents.

Pasting on a smile, Kira took the credit card from Caleb. “I’ll run your card and be right back.” His fingers were warm on hers, and she had to force herself to wrench her hand away so she could concentrate and continue doing her job.

Kira swore she could feel his eyes on her back as she walked to the register. Caleb’s expression held a curious melancholy all evening. Had there been some kind of history between them ten years ago and she’d completely forgotten?

Was she supposed to be embarrassed? Was she supposed to have remembered and gone flying into his arms with a, “Caleb, it’s you! How could we have ever parted?”

The thought made her grin as she tore off the receipt and scrabbled through a drawer for a pen to get his signature.

Tonight’s encounter left her unsettled—and more than curious.

Unless she’d been suffering from amnesia the last decade, Kira knew she had never spoken to Caleb Davenport before. They had never dated. Not even partied together.

He must be mixing her up with somebody else.

The group of five rose, scraping back their chairs across the carpet, and then shrugging into jackets when she returned with the receipt.

Caleb scribbled his name and left it on the table, giving her a small wink. A peculiar thrill ran up her neck and Kira forced the blush that was rising down to her toes so she didn’t embarrass herself further.

“Hey, Kira, save us a dance,” Troy and Ryan joked as they departed.

She lifted her hand in a brief wave, exhaustion hitting her when she glanced at the time on her cell phone. Caleb and his group of friends had closed up the place. It was well after ten o’clock and her eyes were scratchy with fatigue.

Kira cleared the last of the dessert dishes, hurrying so the night cleaning staff could get to work. It would be close to midnight before she got to her apartment.

Underneath Caleb Davenport’s cheesecake plate, she found his business card for his company. DREAMS, the words read in a striking font. Set against the striking backdrop of the Colorado Rockies. His name, business address, and phone number were on the bottom like every good business card design.

She was curious, after listening to them at dinner, to learn more about the business these guys dealt in, and why they seemed to travel so much. “Huh,” she said, wiping down the table with antiseptic soap and fingering the business card. “DREAMS is an app.”

It was interesting that five guys from high school had started a company together. Supposedly, they’d been in her graduating class, but she never recalled them hanging out together. The big group of guys she remembered seeing around school was usually the sports players, not computer nerds.

But what did she know? She’d never taken a computer class. She was always in choir, and then musical theatre for one semester, but too shy to belt out Broadway songs. She ended up accompanying the soloists.

Dropping the card into her pocket, Kira finished up and met Jan at the door.

“Long night, huh?” Jan said wearily, running a hand through her hair.

“We still have the weekend to go, too,” Kira agreed.

“Miss Bancroft,” Mr. Rossi called out.

“Yes,” Kira said, turning toward her boss and stifling a yawn.

“You forgot to pick up your tips. It must have been a good night,” he added, handing over an envelope.

She gave him a tired smile. “That’s always the hope.”

“Keep up the good work,” Mr. Rossi said with a bemused smile on his face. “I think those young men were taken with you. They were quite generous.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was Mr. Bickels. He’s always so sweet and big-hearted.”

“Goodnight ladies,” Mr. Rossi said. “See you tomorrow.”

Walking out to their cars together, Jan turned. “So how much did Bickels tip you tonight? Pass him along to me sometime, will you?”

Kira opened up the envelope that contained a copy of the dinner receipts from the customers she’d served and the cash tips enclosed. She let out a sharp gasp of disbelief when she saw a thick stack of bills.

“What is it?” Jan asked, peering at her in the dusky light of the parking lot. “Everything okay?”

Pulling out the bills, Kira counted out the thickest wad attached to a single ticket with a paper clip. “Mr. Bickels gave me five hundred dollars,” she whispered. “Why would he do that?”

“No way,” Jan said, her eyes widening. “Maybe he’s dying of terminal cancer and doesn’t want to leave a big bank account to the government for death taxes.”

“That’s crazy. And embarrassing. I can’t let him tip me like that. He’s a nice old man, but it feels a little weird.”

“Hey,” Jan joked. “I’ll take over serving him his dinner next week. Every week. Wait a minute, are you sure it’s him? Check that ticket again.”

“It’s hard to read in the dark parking lot.” Kira headed to a streetlight and pulled out the contents of the envelope.

“Do you see that?” Jan stabbed a finger at the slip. “That tip isn’t from Mr. Bickels, honey.”

“Then who?” Kira felt a buzzing race up the back of her neck. Her ears rang when she stared at the receipt. “This is from my last table tonight. That group of boys, guys—men.”

What did you call a group of males in nice slacks and button-down shirts? Definitely not boys, they were all grown up and past childhood. The word “guys” denoted jeans and t-shirts, loud laughter and joking over sloppy burgers and beer. Men, now that was a better description that fit their attire and business talk. But it also made Kira feel older than she was.

“My last table. They said we went to high school together.”

Jan gave a sly grin. “Is ‘we went to high school together’ the new pick-up line? Kind of cute, I guess. Looks like you have a new admirer, girlfriend. Or maybe five new ones.”

“Very funny.” Kira turned over each hundred-dollar bill, and started when she saw that Caleb had written a note on the back of the last one. Thank you for a great evening. Save me a dance next week. “It is Caleb,” she told Jan. “I recognize his signature from signing the credit card slip.”

“Five hundred smackers!” Jan hooted, poking Kira in the ribs. “Go shopping, girl! And take me with you!”

“I’m in shock,” Kira said slowly.

“What does he mean, save me a dance?” Jan asked, running a finger over each bill in a show of ecstasy, which made Kira giggle.

“Our ten-year high school reunion is in two weeks.”

“I hope you’re going. You need to give this guy a chance.”

Kira shrugged. “I’m thinking about it.”

“Stop thinking and go buy yourself a new dress. That’s an order,” Jan added, climbing into the seat of her car.